Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I quickly scrambled off my bed. “Uh, hi, Mom.”

  She had a small unreadable smile on her face as she came to the side of my bed. I could count on one hand the number of times Mom had been to my wing.

  Mom pushed my hair behind my ear. “It’s a shame your father had to miss last night.” Her smooth, nearly wrinkle-free hand lingered on my ear. I couldn’t breathe. “To see your beautiful, masterful magic trick.”

  I frowned, biting the inside of my cheek to suppress a swallow. Mom’s sweetness barely veiled the sharp edge of her words. Anytime Mom brought up our late father, something awful was about to happen.

  “A quarter of my garden and two point five million dollars disappeared in thirty seconds.”

  Still she played with my hair, the same smile on her face. If I were any other person, I would’ve thought that was what got me in trouble, but money didn’t matter to us.

  I waited for the shoe to drop.

  “The acquisition and your engagement nearly went with it.”

  Her voice was deathly quiet, but her grip on the lock of my hair tightened. If I moved the slightest bit, it would be painful.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, straining my neck to stay still. “It was an accident.”

  Her eyes narrowed. I looked the most like Mom out of all of us. I had her small stature and her almond-shaped eyes, button nose, and bee-stung lips. I think she resents me for it.

  All at once she let me go.

  I loosed a long exhale.

  She stood, walking over to my desk. I watched silently as she opened the drawer with my college pamphlets, the found jewelry I’d been building as a portfolio, my treasures and my dreams. One by one, she picked up my jewelry, walking over to my open window.

  I didn’t bother wondering how she knew. Tansy Crowne knew everything, saw everything, heard everything.

  “Should I show you my trick?” She dangled my necklaces, earrings, and bracelets in the empty air.

  She dropped all but one, holding the glimmering item in her grasp.

  Fear crawled up my throat. “Mom—”

  “You know how this works, Abigail. You take, I take.”

  She dropped the last one.

  My mouth parted, staring at the open window as she walked by me, whispering in my ear not to be late for the party later. Staring even after she left. Years of artwork lost in a second. The only pieces left were in my secret box, stowed away in my closet.

  The worst part… I wasn’t mad at her. I was mad at myself for believing I could be anything more.

  I don’t know if my family was ever happy, but we weren’t so… unhappy.

  There was a time when I wasn’t so vile.

  With Dad gone, all I ever really knew was Mom, and for as long as I can remember, she’d favored my siblings, specifically Gemma. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. She set Gemma and me against each other, but Gemma always came out on top.

  I keep hoping one day she’ll let me win, or at least, let me know why I’m losing.

  When I finally turned around, Theo was in the doorway, watching.

  How long had he been there?

  Vulnerability scraped at my throat. I couldn’t handle whatever he had planned, not after my mother. Something flickered warm in his light eyes, but it was gone before I could decipher it.

  He kicked off the frame. “Let’s go, Reject.”

  I felt Theo’s judgment at my back. It’s what everyone would think. How could Abigail Crowne even dream of college? Dream of anything other than the life she was given? Abigail Crowne was less than. Abigail Crowne was second best.

  Abigail Crowne was worthless.

  “Not gonna fight back?” Theo asked.

  Dark, silky cello music grew louder the farther we descended downstairs. Today I could dress in jeans, Chanel pumps, and a bulky, oversized crewneck sweatshirt, which meant Theo was dressed casually in dark-gray fitted jeans and a cable-knit sweater that outlined his biceps and forearms too well. We had a world-class cellist, and we liked to show our privilege by dressing down.

  The party should be in the garden… but it had to be moved, for obvious reasons, and was now in the terrace overlooking the ocean and unburned parts of the garden—though it had been mostly fixed, the only evidence of Abigail Crowne and her near-constant fuck-uppery the smell of burnt leaves.

  Bloody Marys, mint juleps, and assholes await me. I can’t wait.

  Theo grabbed me by the collar, yanking me backward right before I would enter. He pressed me against the wall.

  “You in there?” He ruffled my hair and curls fell over my eyes, blurring his face. I saw only important parts of him, the parts that defined Theo Hound. His sharp jaw. The cut of his gaunt cheeks. His piercing green eyes.

  Theo’s soft voice and playful actions cut worse than any of his harsh words. After Mom’s reminder this morning, I knew how dangerous it was to believe in something good.

  I turned my head.

  He pushed one strand behind my ear. “Abig—”

  Laughter cut him off, and he dropped his hand, taking a step back.

  “Morning, Reject.”

  Geoff, this time with Alaric. Another asshole I was unfortunate enough to be “friends” with by the forced proximity begot from wealth and power.

  “Uh-oh, don’t make the reject cry. Look, her dog is already growling.”

  I glanced at Theo, who oddly enough did look upset.

  They kept talking, but I was focused on Theo. I don’t get him. He probably thought I’d been too asleep the night before to notice him say nice things to me—but I wasn’t.

  One minute he’s hot, the next cold. When I show him any hint of sweetness he throws it in my face, as if he prefers me when I’m a bitch.

  Geoff and Alaric walked outside, joining the others in their casual attire outside on the terrace.

  Theo stared after them, a look on his face that made me shiver.

  “People call me that all the time,” I said quietly. “You call me that.”

  It was a moment before he acknowledged I’d spoken. So long I thought he wouldn’t. Then he looked down at me with a look so intense, so ripping, it cured my soul.

  “Exactly. Only I get to call you that.”

  Then it vanished from his face, and I was summoned by one of my mom’s friends, forced to play Abigail Crowne.

  THEO

  I stood behind Abigail as she talked to some older woman with so much work done she had a constant Joker smile. We were on the upper part of the terrace. Above us, a tiered chandelier cast soft light, and Grecian columns slatted our view of the iron-blue ocean.

  I rolled the bracelet in my pocket between my fingers, weathered from all the times I’d rubbed it during the years Abigail and I’d been apart.

  You belong to me now, forever.

  I worked the bracelet in my pocket harder, focusing on the blocky beads, not the arch of Abigail’s neck, exposed when she moved her hair over one shoulder. I could still feel Abigail’s skin beneath my fingers. She was a tempting lie, a promise I wanted to believe wouldn’t break.

  The woman wandered down one of the two forking stairs to the lower deck of the terrace—probably to wreak havoc on Gotham—and Abigail was alone again.

  “Hey,” I said. “Reject.”

  Nothing. Still.

  This was what I wanted. Abigail broken.

  I was so busy working the bracelet I didn’t notice the music grow distorted, cacophonous, and shrieking.

  “Someone switched her bow,” Abigail said absently. I glanced at where Abigail was looking. The cellist was red-faced.

  A smile came—that used to be our move—but it vanished just as quickly. Abigail was watching her mother, brows drawn.

  “Do you know what would really piss her off?” I asked, voice low so only she could hear. She tilted her head to listen. “Fucking your bodyguard.”

  Her breath caught and she tried to cover it up by clearing her throat.

  “You’re just try
ing to trip me up, get me caught and in trouble.”

  I grinned. “Definitely.” She looked at me, catching my darkening eyes. “Doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

  “I’m not falling for this.”

  My grin widened. “The Abigail I knew wasn’t such a coward.”

  “The Theo I knew wasn’t such a dick.”

  I pressed a tongue to my teeth, halting a laugh. “That’s just not true.”

  “I don’t even want to see you. I definitely don’t want to fuck you.” She turned back so fast her hair whipped my face.

  “My little liar,” I said. “When will you learn just saying words won’t make them come true?” I leaned forward, breath skating along her neck, goose bumps betraying her almost as much as her pulse. “You wanna fuck me…but I’m gonna wait till you beg.”

  She canted her head, eyes meeting mine over her shoulder. Something sparked in the clay depths. Desire?

  She tore her body away from mine before I could decipher and said, “I have to pee.”

  I followed her inside silently, leaning against the wall opposite the door, waiting. Many windows and arched doors opened onto the terrace, but most partygoers were farther down. This was not a cramped patio. Like everything Crowne it was luxurious, opulent, and extravagant.

  I kept rolling the beads between my thumb and forefinger.

  Abigail thought she saw me first, that the first time we met was when she got out of that car on the beach. She thought she found me.

  I let her believe it too. Shit, I let myself believe it.

  The truth was, I found her.

  Before everything, before the day on the beach, before I broke her heart and she broke mine. She always wondered why I got in her car. I’ve told her half-truth after half-truth. I had nowhere to go. You were the best option. It was either sleep on the beach or get in your car.

  What I didn’t tell her was we’d already met, and the bracelet in my pocket was the reminder of the week Abigail Crowne had cemented herself in my heart.

  When we were apart, it was a lot easier to paint her as a villain. Now she painted insidious strokes across that picture.

  Loud laughter carried on the ocean wind, and my eyes landed on the chucklefucks walking toward me, Alaric and Geoff. They passed without noticing me, walking down the terrace steps to the private beach.

  There were so many assholes and bitches in her world—too many to keep track of—but I remembered Alaric and Geoff. We’d fought once before, but then it had been five against one.

  Abigail was broken. Broken from her bitch of a mom, from assholes like these who’d made her life hell since birth. Broken. Only I wanted to break her. She hadn’t smiled once today.

  I kicked off the wall.

  “Oh fuck, it’s the dog,” Alaric coughed on a laugh when he spotted me walking down the steps. The overcast sky made the pale sand shadowed and cool.

  “Did we bring a spray bottle?” Geoff asked.

  They laughed again, then turned back to the ocean, lifting a small, sterling silver spoon to their noses. Could be cocaine, could be fucking Oxy for all I cared.

  I crooked my neck. “You owe Abigail an apology.”

  A pause, then another laugh.

  I debated giving them one more chance.

  Fuck it.

  I grabbed them both by the collars, throwing them to the sand. I didn’t want them too bloody, couldn’t have what I’d done be obvious. As they attempted to stand, I grabbed them by their necks, pushed their faces deeper into the grainy sand. They coughed and choked on it.

  Above us, the party continued. The melodious laughter, crystal champagne glasses tinkling, and the deep shiver of the cello flowed despite us.

  “Don’t make the reject cry. Next time you’ll bleed.”

  This was nothing, I told myself. It meant nothing. It was part of the job.

  I shoved them harder into the sand; then I let off and wiped my hands clean, grains of sand sprinkled into their hair.

  “You think we’re going to take this shit lying down, dog?”

  “You’re fucking dead!” they called after me. “Dead!”

  ABIGAIL

  When I came out, I couldn’t find Theo. A few days ago, I would’ve been thrilled. I’d expected to find him opposite the wall, pale eyes piercing, and for some reason an odd ache settled in my gut.

  I quickly brushed it off.

  Back in the ballroom, the cellist had fixed her bow and the music was low, sweet, and haunting. I caught sight of Alaric and Geoff. Their eyes were blackening, noses red and running. Another trip to their on-retainer plastic surgeon. Something in my gut spurred me to stop walking and turn to them.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  Geoff gave me the finger. “Fuck off, Reject.”

  Alaric shoved my shoulder so hard I stumbled back.

  “What the fuck? Eat a dick, Rick.” I called him by the nickname he hated. He was Alaric, not some “blue-collar working man.”

  Alaric was, quite honestly, the worst.

  Alaric spun around, holding his nose, black and bruising eyes slits. “Keep your dog on a goddamn leash, cunt.”

  The words stole any comeback I had prepared, and I stared long after they’d disappeared into Crowne Hall. Could Theo have had something to do with their faces?

  No…that was impossible.

  I should follow them back out to the patio. I should be watching the famous cellist, mingling with whatever politicians and wealthy elite had come. No doubt my sister Gemma was doing that, and my mom would notice my absence.

  Instead I walked up to the balcony overlooking the empty ballroom, sitting down and scooting to the edge so my legs swung over open air. To my left one of the tall, gilded, latticed windows was opened onto the overcast sea. I pulled out a joint from my clutch, tracing my fingers along the inscription etched in the marble floor.

  AC + TH

  I’d etched this the night I fell in love with Theo.

  My relationship with Theo was always different. From the very beginning, we were connected. Something else, something other. But this was where it became love.

  “Thought you would have grown out of your bad teenage habit.”

  I coughed out smoke at the voice, looking up to find Theo staring down at me.

  Some habits are impossible to break.

  I lightly punched my chest, trying to stifle the coughs. When I spoke, my throat was sore. “I only smoke—”

  “When you have a problem you can’t solve,” he finished.

  “I was going to say sometimes.”

  “Oh, you were going to lie.” He did his Theo laugh. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a scoff. Like he wasn’t laughing with me or even at me, but because he knew something I didn’t.

  He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and said, “Give me a light.”

  That was Theo. Never asking, only assuming.

  I leaned forward, cupping my hand against the low, salty wind blowing in from the open window. He bent forward, a strand of his hair falling over one eye. As I was lighting his cigarette, I focused on that. The closeness of him, his face a devilish temptation behind the flame.

  The flame caught.

  He grinned and fell back, blowing out smoke. “Good girl.”

  The words seized my gut, but Theo wasn’t even watching me. As if the words came out of his mouth without thought, as easily as the shivers racing up my spine following them.

  He leaned with his back against the railing, staring out the open window, cigarette between his pointer and middle finger. The sky was overcast, a soft gray muting the sand. He took another drag, then turned.

  And caught me staring.

  I quickly looked at the ballroom far beneath my feet.

  “How did you find me?” I asked after a minute, voice quiet.

  “I’ll always find you, Abigail.”

  My eyes snapped to his, finding him watching me already. Those devilish lips were wrapped around the cigarette, pale stare narro
wed on me with something too close to possession, made even more searing through the smoke. Maybe it was supposed to be meant as a threat, but his words punched me in the chest as I imagined an alternate world, where Theo still cared.

  “So…cigarettes now?”

  As far as I knew, Theo didn’t smoke cigarettes. We had a bad habit of smoking together, but it was weed, not cigarettes. I guess that was another thing that changed.

  He eyed me down from his nose. “Can’t be high. Not while watching you.”

  My gut somersaulted, and I coughed out more smoke.

  “So you still come up here?” he asked, blowing out smoke, eyes still locked.

  I was hoping he’d forgotten this place. The alcove where we’d laughed and I’d spilled secrets and desires to him. Where he’d held me when I cried.

  Theo broke my heart, and I’d tried to forget everything about him, but trying to forget only made me remember him more.

  I shrugged. “It didn’t mean that much to me.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and I thought he’d call me out, but then he tapped the ash of his cigarette out on the banister. Ash fell like muted glitter to the ballroom.

  Then he sat beside me, dangling his feet with mine like we had so many times before. Our thighs and shoulders almost touched, his legs stretched so much farther than mine. There was only enough space for the AC + TH now sandwiched between us to pop out, bold and taunting.

  His thighs were thicker now too, but still lean. Were his hands bigger? That seemed improbable.

  I knew one major difference for certain. I couldn’t look at him. I could barely breathe.

  He traced the very same inscription I had moments before.

  “Cute,” was all he said.

  “I was young and stupid.” Had I responded too quickly? I took a shaky drag from my joint.

  Suddenly he was at my wrist, pulling my joint from my mouth, thumb at my freckle and rubbing it with too much purpose.

  “Young and stupid,” he repeated. The wistful edge said there was so much more beneath his words and my heart pounded. His pressure deepened, and my breath caught.

  “Truth or promise?” I asked, needing to distract from whatever was happening.