by Nora Flite
Where everyone’s were.
The woman in the archway was tall like my father, curvy like my mother. She was pale snow and midnight eyes, a smile that could go on for days, and—I knew from experience—a tongue that could cut you apart if you tried to mess with her.
She stood there as if she hadn’t been gone for ten years.
Lulabelle.
My older sister.
- CHAPTER TWENTY -
SAMMY
“Lula!” Frannie squealed, jumping onto the other woman. Where the twin was tan, Lula was light. Her dark eyes were more like Hawthorne’s, her long hair pulled into a loose tail that ran closer to caramel brown than the rich mahogany of her sister’s hair.
I barely recognized her from the family photo, but I was smart enough to realize who she had to be.
Holding her tightly, Lula said something into Fran’s ear. I couldn’t hear it, but it made Fran pull back, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “I know,” she said, “and I don’t care. Gawd, it was just a wedding, you had your reasons for not making it.”
It was plain as day that whatever Fran said, she was hurt by her sister not being here for her big day. Lula hesitated, then she just gave the girl another quick hug. Pulling free, she eyed the large kitchen. Her hand came up, waving casually at all of us. “Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”
Maverick rushed forward, breaking the frozen moment. Crushing his daughter in his arms, he held her so long it should have been awkward. It wasn’t.
Her mother hadn’t moved, she—much like Costello—just stared from where she was.
Puffing out a bit of air, Kain said, “Don’t hog her, Dad.”
The large man deflated, patting the woman on the shoulders even as he disengaged. Standing aside, he let Kain and Hawthorne take turns embracing Lula.
Thorne motioned at her suitcase. “How long are you staying, Lulabelle?”
“I don’t know yet.” Her glance at Costello was so fast I almost missed it.
Dropping beside me again, Kain gripped one of my hands under the table. I clasped it in return, smiling at him. The tension was thick, and still, I understood so little of it.
I realized Lulabelle was staring at me. Leaning away from Kain, I waved a hand. “Hey. I’m Sammy.” I’m the girl who’s trapped here. I didn’t say it, of course, but I kind of wanted to.
Mama Badd stood up, shoving her chair backward from the table. “Well. Tonight we should have a nice celebration. We can bring in a florist, some live music . . . the works.”
“How?” Fran mumbled. “Daddy won’t let us bring anyone onto the estate, he thinks everyone is out to murder us.”
“Frannie!” her mother snapped.
I’d seen them all together once before. That photo where they were all smiling . . .
Where the future looked bright.
None of them looked happy now. Especially not Francesca.
Lulabelle shifted enough to face her father. “You know what, I don’t even want to know what she’s talking about. It was a long flight, I’ll be happy just to get settled in.”
He held out a wide arm, corralling her from the kitchen.
The rest of us were left to the silence. Mama Badd hovered by the sink, her lips trembling, moving from an uncertain smile to a much more solid frown. The appearance of Lulabelle had thrown their world for a loop.
Hawthorne ran his hands down the front of his shirt. “Come on, Mom.” Heading to her, he scooped up her elbow. I wasn’t used to seeing him acting so . . . kind. “Let’s go look over some ideas. Lula might not want a celebration, but fuck her, we can still throw something together anyway. Dad isn’t stopping me from going anywhere, I’ll buy whatever you want.”
Patting his arm, she let him lead her from the kitchen. “Buying me things? You always know how to cheer me up.”
Costello had been as still as a suit of armor in a museum. Abruptly he pushed off the wall, his legs cutting a path from the room.
And then there were three.
Peering from Kain to Fran, I asked flatly, “What am I missing?”
“It’s personal,” Francesca said. Grabbing the pile of wet napkins from the juice spill, she slammed them into the trash. “Family stuff.”
“Family stuff,” I repeated. “All right.”
Resting his forehead on his fist, Kain eyed his sister. “It doesn’t have to be a big secret, Fran. What happened between Costello and Lula—”
“It didn’t just happen to them,” she said sharply.
Kain narrowed his eyes. “Funny, you always act like it’s you everything happened to.”
“Oh!” She scowled, flailing her hands like she was going to slap him. He gripped her wrists, stopping her before she could get far. Scooting my chair away, I stood quickly. I wasn’t going to get a black eye from some crazy sibling fight.
Kain didn’t stand, he remained where he was with her stuck firmly in front of him. “Frannie, listen. You’ve been taking this grudge too far.”
Seething, she said, “Screw you, Kain. I’ll be pissed as long as I want.”
“And how long is that?”
“For as long as he’s around!”
“Fran, he didn’t make her leave!”
“He did!” That was her breaking point; she wrenched away, and I knew Kain let her go, because I’d felt his grip before. He could have held her there for hours.
Without another word, Francesca stomped from the kitchen. I heard her feet clomping down the hall, then up the stairs . . . and then nothing.
Ever so slowly, I looked back at Kain. He was sitting there with his hands on the table, shoulders knotted like he was still busy holding his sister in front of him.
I clapped my hands sharply; he jumped. “Kain, it’s all right, you don’t need to tell me what’s going on. I get it.”
He snagged my arm, pulling me into his lap. I started to argue, but his sudden, hungry embrace shut me up. Kain circled me fully, his warmth . . . his strain . . . full of so much more than I could understand.
Whatever had happened to this family, it had left a wound that was still raw.
The day vanished with everyone passing like ships in the night.
Hawthorne disappeared—presumably to shop for his mother.
I had no clue where Costello was.
Maverick dragged Kain off into the den to talk in heated secrecy.
And Fran . . . well, I caught her whispering with Lulabelle in the room I’d slept in accidentally that one night. The door was shut, but through the wood, their voices were buzzing. I caught no words, I only grasped that one of them was upset.
I was sure I heard crying.
When the sky finally turned purple and Hawthorne returned with bags, I decided I should get ready for whatever “celebration” they were going to concoct. Francesca wasn’t in her room, so I helped myself to one of the outfits she’d set aside for me once it became clear I’d be here for a while.
It was a simple thing—well, simple for Fran. Just a long, white dress, the edges lacy and the top tying around my neck. Studying myself in the mirror, I gave a spin, watching how the cloth rippled.
It almost looks like a wedding dress. Not one I’d ever choose, no, but I could see someone wearing something similar. My wedding dress would have lots of ribbons, probably a mermaid design, and . . . Gripping the hem, I stopped short.
Why the fuck am I thinking about that?
Yeah, I’d fantasized about a wedding with Kain way back when, but that had been just silly fun. Nothing serious.
Get a grip. Standing tall, I breathed in—then out. Date the guy once this mess is done, then maybe think about marriage, jeez.
I was still chuckling to myself about my insanity when I entered the hall. Clicking Fran’s door shut, I turned . . . and then I saw her.
Lulabelle.
What is she doing in Kain’s room? She hadn’t noticed me. Closing his door, she began to head my way. The shoes in her hands were, without a doubt, the ones I’d worn a
t the wedding. I’d know those hellish glitter monsters anywhere.
“Oh,” she said loudly, as if I’d caught her doing something wrong. “I almost didn’t see you there. Sammy, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” My attention dropped to the shoes, then back to her face.
Lulabelle followed my eyes. Smiling, she lifted the heels and gave them a little twirl. “Ugly, aren’t they? Either Kain’s been moonlighting as a stripper with bad taste, or I’m guessing these belong to my dear little sister.”
My fingers twitched at my sides; why did I want to grab those shoes so badly? I’d hated the things. I’d been relieved to chuck them at Kain to get rid of them.
That was almost a month ago, I thought with budding wonder. He kept them this whole time? If I was still angry with the guy, learning that he’d kept my shoes in secret would have been terror inducing.
Instead . . .
I found it stupidly sweet.
“Actually,” I said, reaching out. “Those belong to me.”
Lulabelle scanned me from top to bottom, not hiding her confusion. I was sure she was thinking that I did not look like the sort who wore shoes like these. And she was right, I wasn’t. They were the worst things I’d ever had to stumble around in.
I wanted them more than anything.
With some uncertainty, she handed them over to me. I squeezed them tight, hugging them to my chest. “Thanks,” I said softly.
“No problem.” Her mouth opened, as if she had more to say. In the end, Lula just pushed her long hair behind her ears and looked at Kain’s door. I was relieved when she didn’t ask why my shoes had been inside. I didn’t have an answer, anyway.
How much did she know about what was going on?
She rubbed her ankle with her opposite foot. “Okay. Uh, good talk.”
On impulse, I stepped toward her. “Wait. Why were you in his room?”
Rocking side to side, she peered at me thoughtfully. “I was hoping to talk to him alone. He’s not in there, though.”
Nodding almost absently, I said, “He’s probably with your dad still.”
“Mm. Probably.” Casting her eyes to one side, she spoke to herself. “Or he’s avoiding me.”
“Why would he do that?”
Her lips twisted up benevolently. “Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t understand.” Studying me long and hard, Lulabelle walked down the curving staircase. “But you don’t have to. This is between family.”
Family family family. I was starting to think that word was becoming an excuse for their bad behavior. Left alone, I grazed my fingers over the high heels. I was marveling over how he’d hung on to the things.
Kain Badd was the fucking opposite of bad. He was kind, dedicated, and possibly—fingers crossed—hopelessly addicted to me.
Because I certainly was to him.
With a bounce in my step, I hid the shoes away under my old pajamas in the guest room Fran had helped me set up. I didn’t want anything to happen to those glittery shoes.
Strolling through the mansion, I walked headfirst into Kain just as he was rounding the corner. Stumbling backward, I was grateful that he helped keep me on my feet. I’d been eager to run into him—but I hadn’t meant it literally.
“Whoa there.” He chuckled, steadying me. “Someone is in a rush.”
“Well, you have to go-go-go . . . or something.” I floundered under his baffled stare, quickly rushing to change the subject. “Hey, your sister was looking for you.”
“Fran?”
“No, Lula.”
His hands curled into loose fists. “Ah.”
“What’s that mean, ‘Ah’?”
“Nothing.” He saw my stare, and though he looked to the side, I just shifted to keep my face in his line of sight. “Damn, you’re determined.”
“I’m just trying to understand you guys. There’s a lot happening that’s going over my head.”
“We’re a complicated family.”
“What family isn’t?”
Palming the nape of his neck, he sighed loudly. “It’s not the same. You’re not just talking about petty squabbles, you’re mixing old history, politics, hurt feelings, and a ton of tiny mistakes that no one as proud as these people will ever own up to.”
“You’re one of them,” I reminded him.
He shot me a cynical smile. “I’m aware. I’m probably prouder than all of them combined.”
“So what do we do? Just act like things are normal?”
“You,” he said, clamping onto my shoulders, “need to hang on tight. I promise that this morning was just a baby crocodile tooth when compared to the massively jagged mouth that is the drama of this family. Let’s go outside, they’re setting dinner up.”
He placed his hand possessively on my hip. Thrilling with the touch, I followed him through the home and out into the rose gardens. Night wasn’t far away, a long table had been set up under a few heated lamps to keep the shadows from ruining the meal.
On top of the white cloth, there were bottles of wine in metal buckets—far too many for eight people. Or maybe just enough, if things go as crazy as Kain suggested. Eyeballing the seats, I tried to weigh my options. What was the most tactical place to sit?
Kain decided for me. Pulling out a chair, he dropped me on the far end, away from the head of the table, where Maverick would sit. Sitting across from me, Kain poured a glass of rich, red wine.
“Aren’t we waiting for the others?” I asked.
His eyebrows went up as, on cue, voices began drifting into the garden. “Mom!” Fran groaned, allowing her mother to stop and fix the deep V of her dress. “It’s fine. Come on.”
“It’s fine for a street whore, not my daughter.”
“Please. You only care because Lula is here.”
“Watch your fucking tone, missy!”
Kain passed me the glass; I took a grateful sip.
From there the others trickled in. Mama Badd sat on a corner by Maverick, Lulabelle sat on the other. Francesca plopped beside her, and I was pleased to see Midas join us. I’d barely seen the man since the surprise ceremony.
Hawthorne pulled out a chair beside Kain, leaving a space beside me for . . .
“Uh, hi,” I said, looking up at Costello.
He pulled into place, his wolfish eyes darting to me for too long of a second. “Hey there.” I was relieved when he grabbed a glass of wine, freeing me from his intense energy. Of all the people in this family, I still struggled with him the most.
I’d watched him fight with Kain at his father’s orders. I’d watched him smile at a distance as Frannie got her wedding, all while knowing he’d originally been denied being a part of it. And that facial scar of his . . .
He was a mystery to me. I didn’t like unknowns.
Polished shoes clicked over the paved stones that led to our table on the grass. Seeing the servers, I endured a brief blast of fear. Great, did Jameson or Brick or whatever his name is give me PTSD over waiters? Going out to a restaurant was going to suck, if so. I decided that, when this was all over, I was going to mail that bastard a bill for my therapy.
As plates of tiny beet salads and candied walnuts were placed in front of us, Mama Badd said, “I’m really sorry, Lulabelle. I wish we could have done more. If we’d known you were coming—”
“No. It’s fine.” Looking down at the food, she poked it with a half smile. “I, uh, didn’t want you to make a big deal. Even this is a little much.”
“Please,” Francesca scoffed. “There isn’t even any live music. It’s a poor excuse for a celebration.”
Hawthorne tilted back a big gulp of wine. “I did my best, okay? I’m the only one who even bothered making a shopping trip.”
“The food is fine,” Lulabelle insisted.
Fran rolled her eyes several times. “The food is whatever. I’m talking about entertainment.”
“I said,” Lulabelle whispered, “that it’s fine.”
“It’s not!” Fran shouted, slamming her palms onto the table. The silverware shook with a miniquake.
“Frannie—”
“Don’t Frannie me, Costello!” She stabbed her eyes at her brother viciously. Beside me, I felt him twitch. “This is your fault!”
Kain and I shared a look. He started to half stand. “Fran, no, it’s no one’s fucking fault that we’re on lockdown. No one but the Deep Shots, anyway.”
She said, “You know I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about how he drove Lula away!”
Large and heavy, Maverick’s fist came down on his untouched plate. Beets splattered all over, a few sticking to Lula’s cheek. “That’s enough! Everyone needs to sit down and be quiet so we can have this damn celebration in peace!”
“Peace,” Hawthorne mused.
Mama Badd put her hand by her lips, like she could block her voice. “Fran, shut up and listen to your father.”
“I won’t! This family is a stupid mess, and no one wants to talk about the tall fucking elephant in the room!” Her polished nail flashed, indicating Costello.
Still, he hadn’t moved.
“Go ahead,” Fran said. Her body shook with her fast breathing. “Apologize to her for what you did. For what you did to this whole family.”
Costello lifted his eyes just enough to watch his younger sister. Slowly, subtly, I scooted my chair away from him. It was as if the air was crackling around him. Was he going to flip out? Attack Fran? What the hell was happening?
His voice was a mere ghost of his emotions. “I’ve apologized before, it didn’t matter back then. Why would it now?”
In a flurry of orange sequins and too much boob, Francesca tried to leap over the whole damn table. Kain moved faster, knocking his chair upside down as he rushed to hook his arms around her middle. “Holy fuck, Fran! Relax!”
In a crescendo of voices, the table exploded. Everyone shouted at one another, hands waving or fingers jabbing in the air. Some of it was aimed at Costello, who, through it all, sat beside me in silence.
His hands were in his lap; I saw how bone-white his knuckles were. Who was his quiet fury aimed at?
Over all the mess, Lulabelle’s voice rang the truest. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back, I’ve made it all worse.” Wiping purple stains from her cheek, she jumped to her feet.