by Gemma Weir
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby, but we’ll make them pay. We’ll stand by and toast their ruin with a bottle of champagne and big fucking cigar. Then we’ll flash them the bird and forget about them, because by then they’ll be insignificant,” he says, holding me to his chest as his body shelters me and protects me.
“Promise?” I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t be banking on him even being there at that point, but needing something to cling to, for when this is all done.
“I promise,” he replies, not even hesitating and making me think that maybe he might actually mean it.
By the time we get dressed and make our way downstairs it’s after lunchtime. “When’s your dad back?” I ask Arlo as we lounge in the den, the unusually cold day barring us from using the terrace, even with the heaters on.
“His flight lands at four, so he’ll be back just after five.”
“Does he even know I’m here?” I ask, wondering if I need to leave. Should I go back to the hotel, or even go and look at that house I told the guys I’d found but had completely forgotten about? It dawns on me that I’ve gotten comfortable here living with all of them and that’s what we’ve been doing this week; we’ve been living together like a weird Brady Bunch dysfunctional family.
“Of course, he knows you’re here. I had to convince him he didn’t need to come home early,” he laughs, dragging me closer to him despite the distance I keep trying to put between us.
“Oh, so should I go back to the hotel? It feels weird to stay here once he gets back,” I say, twisting out of his grasp again and turning to face him.
“Don’t be stupid, you’re staying here. Why would you go anywhere else, we’re engaged for fuck’s sake,” Arlo snarls, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me into his lap, laughing as I try to evade him.
“Give up and just sit on his lap,” Watson laughs. “He’s only gonna pull you right back onto him if you manage to get away.”
“Or you could help me and stop him from mauling me,” I cry, reaching my arms out toward where Watson is sitting.
“Hell, no, I’m not gonna get between you and him,” he says, leaning back and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
“I’ll save you,” Carson shouts, letting out a loud war cry and scooping me from Arlo’s hold, before unceremoniously throwing me over his shoulder and running around the room.
“Put me down,” I cry, giggling as I bounce about, smacking his butt as I hang down his back.
“Give her here,” Olly says, lifting me from Carson’s hold and cradling me in his arms bridal style.
“Thank you, Ol, I knew you were the nice one,” I say, pressing a kiss against his cheek.
“Not that nice,” he smirks, winking before he drops me back into Arlo’s lap.
“Argh, I hate you all,” I shriek, laughing as Arlo wraps his arms tightly around me, turning my face to his so he can press a kiss against my lips.
I can feel his smile as he kisses me and I giggle against him, feeling far too playful with him and the other guys, but not wanting to lose this moment and how young and happy I feel. Perhaps I shouldn’t, given how I came to be here, but I’ve enjoyed the last week with them. They’ve never expected me to be anything other than me. They don’t care that I prefer baggy sweats over designer dresses, they don’t care that I’m snarky or that I’m not permanently Suzie Sunshine.
They seem to like me, the real me, and even though there’s still doubt playing at the back of my mind, this all feels genuine and I think that’s the hardest bit to understand, how can this all be real?
Arlo must sense my change from playful to serious, because he pulls his lips from mine, his expression sobering. “Stay here with me. I don’t want you at a hotel. My dad doesn’t care. In fact, I think he’s excited at the chance to get to know his future daughter-in-law.”
“Maybe we should tell him,” I ponder aloud.
“Tell him what?”
“That none of this is real; that it all started out as a joke and has changed into revenge,” I cry, glancing from the guys then back to Arlo.
“Tally.”
“What?” I ask. “It’s the truth and I don’t feel right about just lying to his face about this. It’s one thing doing the interview and telling the kids at school. But this is your dad. It’s wrong to deceive him like this.”
“I’m not telling my dad. This isn’t like before. This isn’t a joke taken a bit far, this is your life. If nothing else hung in the balance, I’d tell him the moment he walked through the door, but this is about you now. If we tell him how this all started, we have to tell him what happened with your family, all the stuff about Carrigan and what we plan to do next. He might stop us, or he might cheer us on, but I’m not prepared to take the risk. We’re in this now, all of us, and unless you’ve changed your mind and plan to go back to pretending to be your sister, we have to stick with the plan,” Arlo says, his voice strong and filled with determination.
“He’s right,” Carson says, surprising me. “You can’t go back into hiding, you’re one of us now.”
My eyes dart to the other guys and I find them all nodding. “You’re not a ghost anymore, Tallulah. If you don’t make this stand, then what makes you think your parents will let you stop pretending to be your sister after high school? They’ll force you to do this all through college too. Hell, they’ll never let you get away.”
I shake my head, denying his words, but inside I know what he’s saying is true. I’ve clung to the idea that after high school they’d let me leave, but I was kidding myself. Arlo’s right, they’ll never let me go and I can’t let them steal the rest of my life from me.
“I…” I falter, because I don’t know what to say.
“Let’s go over the game plan for tomorrow,” Watson says, sounding more assertive than I’ve ever heard him before.
“I had my dad speak to Principal Irvine and get Tally transferred into all the classes that one of us share with Carrigan, and then into my classes for the couple of electives that Tally takes that Carrigan doesn’t,” Arlo says purposely.
“We go to school and come home as a group. We can either use my limo, or drive together in one of our cars,” Carson says.
“The NYT article will drop today, so I think it’s fair to say that by lunchtime everyone will know about your engagement, and we have a mixture of parties and events that will keep you guys on everyone’s radar until your engagement party in three weeks’ time,” Olly reports, like he’s a soldier briefing us on a mission.
“Engagement party,” I squeak.
“Yep, the biggest, most lavish party to celebrate us,” Arlo laughs, pressing his lips to my cheek.
Tears fill my eyes as I look at each of the boys faces in turn. “This could all be for nothing. My parents could just pay the school enough money to buy Carrigan the grades she needs.”
“If they could do that, why have you been taking all her tests for her?” Olly questions.
Furrowing my brow, I think about his question. Is he right? Have they already tried to bribe the teachers to give my sister A’s?
“Even if all of this is for nothing and your sister manages to keep her perfect grade point average, we’ll still have pissed them off royally and you’ll still have that rock on your finger. If nothing else, you can sit back smug in the knowledge that you managed to get what they couldn’t,” Arlo smirks, his eyes reassuring and comforting.
“Do you know what the other stipulations are in the will?” Watson asks, his lips pursed.
I shake my head. “I wasn’t allowed in the room when it was read because I’m not named in it, but I’ve overheard them talking about it to know most of it. Carrigan has to lead what my great grandfather deems is a successful and productive life. If she or I had been a boy, I’m sure the rules would be completely different,” I snark. “But as it stands, Carrigan has to graduate from St Augustus with her 4.0; she has to be accepted to and graduate from one of the Ivy Leagues with a 4.0; then she has t
o marry one of the sons from the list of old money families he provided, remain a virgin until she marries, and I think she has to produce an heir.”
“Jesus, your great-grandad was a control freak,” Carson hisses.
Sighing, I nod in agreement. “The stupid thing is that my sister has to jump through all these hoops to get this money and then she isn’t actually even allowed to run the companies she inherits. She has to be smart and well educated and then he expects her to relinquish control to her husband and basically be a very rich trophy wife.”
Arlo’s fingers rub soothing circles across the back of my neck, one hand still wrapped around my waist and holding me on his lap. “So, all this is just his way of forcing an alliance between the Archibalds and another wealthy dynasty?”
I nod my head. “Yep, the rich always want to be richer.”
“We need to change the subject, because I’m starting to feel a bit sorry for Cruelligan and it’s fucking with my head,” Olly says, with a mock shudder that makes me laugh.
“We don’t feel sympathy for the enemy,” Arlo growls. “Tomorrow, we let the light shine on our little ghost and hopefully watch Carrigan be brought to her knees, but tonight neither her or anyone else with the name Archibald matter. So, let’s drink and be fucking merry, because tomorrow it’s war,” Arlo says, lifting his bottle of beer into the air and we all follow suit.
“To war,” I say, clinking my bottle against his.
Fourteen
Arlo
Thrusting my hips, I wait for her to tip over the edge, her pussy clamping down on my cock like a vice as she mewls, her cheek pressed into the pillow muffling her moans as she shudders through her second orgasm.
I follow her, slamming into her one last time, spilling myself inside her and collapsing against her back, trying not to let my full weight land on her as I roll us to the side, my dick still inside her. It still fucking amazes me that she was a virgin only a few days ago. She’s so confident and sure of herself and much more intimidating than I’ll ever let on.
I’ve fucked virgins before, their eyes full of stars, candles, and romance. But Tally shrugged off her virginity like it was nothing. The sex with her is out of this world amazing. She’s not cautious, or scared; she just seems to want to experience everything and I’m more than happy to oblige her.
She’s quickly becoming my new obsession, because I’ve realized that Tallulah Archibald is fucking perfect. In the last week I’ve learned that she’s playful and funny, she’s loyal to a fault and quite possibly the most beautiful, intelligent, intriguing person I’ve ever met. If I’d known she existed before last week, I’d have stalked her until she was mine, because she’s the type of girl I could never grow bored with.
I want her, and not for a night or a week or even six months. I want to keep her indefinitely. Around her I’m possessive and jealous of the glances she gives to my friends. Because even when she’s in my lap and I’ve got my hands touching her I want more.
We shared a bed again last night and not for sex, just because I wanted her in my arms. The idea of her sleeping in her bed in the room opposite mine feels unthinkable and even if she never let me touch her sexually again, I’d still want to be close to her.
Last night she charmed the hell out of my dad and I’m pretty sure he’s almost as besotted with his future daughter-in-law as I am with my fiancée. He never asked her about the bruises I think she forgot are still visible, but when he pulled me aside, I told him that her parents did it to her. She’ll probably kill me if she finds out I told him the truth about that, but I needed to make sure he didn’t let her family convince him to send her home. If I have anything to do with it, she’ll never set foot in that house again.
I can hear her softly panting as I slowly slide in and out of her, my dick growing hard again, even though I know we don’t have time for a second round before school. “You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she rasps. “I really like that position.”
Chuckling against her ear, I reach up and cup one of her breasts, rolling her nipple between my finger and thumb. “There are plenty of classrooms where I can bend you over a desk,” I say feeling her back arch as she pushes her ass further onto my dick.
“Do you like that idea, little ghost? Do you like the thought of me pulling up your school skirt and taking you from behind? Does it turn you on?” I ask, slowly grinding my hips, sliding myself deeper inside of her dripping wet pussy.
A knock at the door makes Tally tense and I reluctantly slide out of her and pull on some sweats before I cross to the door and open it. “What?” I bark.
“Miss Tallulah’s hair and makeup artist is here,” Susan says, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“Thank you,” I say curtly, closing the door and turning to find Tally already climbing out of my bed, scanning the floor for her discarded clothes.
“Here,” I say, lifting my shirt up and handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, pulling it over her head and hiding her perfect naked body from my view.
“You could send Cathy away and go into school looking rumpled and freshly fucked,” I tease, kissing her quickly.
“Well that would definitely make an impression, but no,” she says, laughing, as she skips out of my room without even a backward glance in my direction.
When she appears at the dining room door an hour later, she looks radiant. Her makeup is subtle and natural, apart from the bright red lipstick she likes to wear. My lips tug into a smile. That red color is defiant and outspoken and a visible fuck you to Carrigan. I love it and when she moves by me, I grab her arm and pull her off balance, dragging her into my lap and kissing her.
Her eyes are wide as she glances at my dad who is watching us, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“Tally, sweetheart, what would you like for breakfast? Susan’s eggs are amazing, and I know she made a batch of waffles,” my dad says, affection clear in his tone.
“That sounds amazing, I’m starving,” she says, swatting away my hands and climbing out of my lap to sit in the chair next to mine.
“Do you want coffee, baby?” I ask, rising from my chair and moving to where a pot of coffee is already waiting on the side.
“Yes please.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, I’ll have another. Let me just go and let Susan know what Tally wants and I’ll be right back,” Dad says, pushing away from the table.
“I can do that,” Tally protests but my dad waves her off.
Pouring her a coffee with creamer, I make myself one and take them both to the table, placing hers in front of her.
“Thank you,” she says sweetly, immediately reaching for her cup and sighing when the hot liquid touches her lips.
Dad re-enters the room and I pass him the coffee I just made for him. “Susan was making bacon. I told her to put some on your waffles too, sweetheart,” he says to Tally.
“Thank you, Mr. Lexington.”
“None of that formality, sweetheart. Call me Richard, or Dad.”
Tally blushes to almost the same color as her lipstick and I decide to save her from any further embarrassment, despite how cute she is when she’s off balance like this.
“We’re taking Carson’s limo today,” I tell her.
“Oh, do I have time for breakfast then? What time are they getting here?” she asks, still flustered.
“Of course you have time to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Dad says and I smile thinking of the many times he’s said the exact same thing to me.
Susan delivers our breakfast and we fall into a comfortable silence as we eat. Tally fits in here so well. She’s easy to be around and it terrifies me how much I’m coming to take her presence for granted, even after only a week.
The guys arrive, piling into the dining room and helping themselves to coffee as we finish. “Tally, you look hot as hell, ready for your grand entrance?” Wats says with a laugh after he plants a kiss on her cheek.
&
nbsp; “Ready as I’ll ever be. I have a feeling I’m going to spend a lot of time showing people the rock today though,” she says humorlessly between bites of food.
“You could just walk around with your finger in the air,” I suggest.
Without saying a word, she turns and flashes me her middle finger, and everyone, including my dad laughs.
After Tally and I grab our bags, we make our way to the waiting limo and I wait for Tally to climb in before I follow, sliding next to her on the long bench seat and immediately pulling her into my side. “Did you see the article yet?”
She shakes her head, her teething worrying at her lower lip. Reaching out, I pull her plump, red lip free with my thumb, then lean forward and press a soft kiss against her mouth.
“Here,” Olly says, interrupting this quiet moment between us, as he hands Tally his cell where the article and photographs are open on the screen.
Slowly she drags her gaze from mine, taking the offered cell and looking down. I can’t help myself as I watch her read the words I’ve already seen. The pictures show the world everything I thought I was keeping to myself. The way I’m looking at her, touching her; even the best photographer in the world couldn’t fake the intensity between us.
She looks radiant and absolutely fucking perfect in every single picture. From the princess-worthy red gown, to her bare feet with red painted toes, everything about her is so unequivocally Tally that there’s no way she could ever be mistaken for her sister.
The set of photos they took of us all playing around in the fountain with her white dress soaked at the bottom, her smile wide and genuine are utter brilliance and I already emailed the editor of the New York Times to ask for copies of all of the pictures.
I want to remember that day, to remember the way she laughed and played, so free and so beautiful. I want to remember the way she looked at me, and how it felt to hold her while I told the world she was mine.