by Gemma Weir
“Morning.” The fact that our fake relationship is becoming more and more real is playing on my mind. I know I should be stopping this, but with everything that’s going on with my sister, the constant events, parties, and media attention, I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I don’t know what’s real anymore.
At the start of the week, I told him I didn’t think we should be sleeping together anymore, but my lackluster protests fell on deaf ears and my overworked vagina is smiling smugly after all the ridiculously amazing orgasms he’s given me since then.
I don’t want to admit that I love waking up with him. I love the way he touches me, and I love the way he reacted so vehemently to the idea of me going back to my parents’ house when Olly suggested it last night.
When Arlo and I are together, he acts like a possessive boyfriend, and even though I consider myself somewhat of a feminist, I can’t deny that I love his growly caveman side. The sex is unbelievable, and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I feel seen and wanted. If you’d have asked me a month ago—after that first dinner with him when he thought I was Carrigan—if there was ever a time when I thought I’d have any kind of feelings beyond revulsion for Arlo Lexington, I’d have laughed. But I’m not laughing now. Right now, he feels like the lightning that brightens the sky after the thunder rumbles. He’s still dangerous, but it’s a beautiful danger; the kind that makes your blood sing and makes life exciting and terrifying all at the same time.
Being with him is stupid, it’s a risk, but I just don’t seem to be able to bring myself to care.
Twenty
Arlo
It’s Monday again, and a new school week. Only instead of us stomping through the school hallways intent on making a scene, I’m walking in holding my little ghost’s hand and feeling like a motherfucking king.
There’s not a single person at St Augustus who doesn’t know her name, and even though that makes me want to go kamikaze on every guy who glances in her direction, it’s also the reason why my mouth is spread in a wide smug grin because she’s mine and not theirs.
I’ve never understood possessive guys, never got why they wanted to piss on their girlfriends to keep others at bay, but I totally get it now. Tally is mine: my girl, my fiancée, my little ghost, and anyone who thinks they can fuck with that, needs to back the hell off.
When we woke up on Sunday morning in the hotel suite, I wasn’t at all surprised to find Carrigan missing. She left no note, no thanks, or recommittal to her ending this inheritance nightmare by deliberately sabotaging her schoolwork.
Tally believes her sister will come good, that she’ll do what we discussed on Saturday night, but I don’t have as much blind faith as she does. One drunken chat does not a changed person make, and I just can’t see Carrigan Archibald, the most self-serving woman I’ve ever met, be prepared to walk away from billions of dollars no matter who she has to marry.
I really hope I’m fucking wrong, because if I’m not and the Archibalds really do have the teachers in their pockets through bribes and conveniently timed donations, then we’re fucked and Tally will never be free of them.
Squeezing her hand a little tighter, I lead her toward our homeroom. Wats falls into step with us, offering me a head nod and Tally a flirtatious wink. “You heard from Cruelligan?” he asks quietly.
Tally shakes her head, but her confident expression doesn’t waver. She truly believes in her sister and that this could all be over soon.
What I’ll never admit is that as much as I want this noose to be gone from Tally’s neck, I don’t actually want her to be free. It’s fucked up to even think it, but once the money is out of her family’s reach, she won’t need me anymore and I want her to need me. As much as I’d like her to stay with me for purely altruistic reasons, I’m not confident that she will, and that scares the hell out of me.
Tally and Wats are talking, but I’m not paying any attention. My thoughts are all focused on what I can do to keep her. I’m sure I could think of something to blackmail her with to keep her at my side, in my bed, in my life, but I don’t want to force her to stay. I want her to want to be with me and I don’t know if she ever will.
For someone who’s used to getting what they want; what do I do if Tally doesn’t want me?
My morning classes pass quickly, and I go through the motions, making notes and paying just enough attention to get by without really engaging in the class, because my thoughts are with my little ghost.
I wonder for a minute if I could change our engagement party that’s scheduled for two weeks’ time into a surprise wedding and force her to actually marry me. The idea feels like it has merit until I metaphorically knock myself upside the head and remember that this isn’t the dark ages and I can’t force a girl to marry me, even if it will kill me to lose her when she eventually walks away.
“Hey.” Tally’s voice pulls me from my fucked up inner musings.
“What?” Blinking down at her I hadn’t even known that I was standing still or that she was in front of me, her odd violet eyes looking at me curiously.
“Are you okay?”
Shaking my head, I rub at my temples with my fingers. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you just shook your head no while you said yes,” she says with a sweet smile.
“Yeah, I’ve just got some stuff on my mind,” I say noncommittally, pulling her closer to me and ending the conversation by kissing her.
I kiss her too hard, too intensely for school, but I don’t care. I’m going to lose her soon, so I need to make the most of her being mine while I can still call her that.
After lunch, we make our way to chemistry, sliding into our seats at the back of the room a moment before Carrigan enters and takes her seat in the middle of the class. She turns and flashes a quick glance in our direction before turning back around to face the front of the class just as Mr. Ford walks in dropping his battered leather satchel to his desk with a thud.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Today we will be partaking in a chemical application debate. This is something new and wicked that I’ve come up with, and to be honest, I’m pretty damn proud of the idea,” he says with a masochistic grin. “I will be writing a topic on the board and you will discuss the potential real world applications with both arguments for and against its effectiveness. Every person in this room will be expected to contribute to this discussion. There are no passengers when it comes to this class. Anyone who doesn’t open their mouth within the next hour will receive an F for this assignment.”
Loud murmurs break out throughout the room, but I ignore everyone else, turning to look to Tally at my side, then to Carrigan ahead of us. “This is it,” I say quietly. “All she has to do is stay quiet and she gets an F.”
Tally nods, her gaze focused on the back of her sister’s head, but Carrigan never looks back and a stone sinks in my stomach. Scoffing lightly, I reach out and entwine my fingers with Tally’s. She’s not going to do it, I was right. Carrigan can’t walk away, no matter how convincing she might have seemed on Saturday.
The discussion title appears on the whiteboard, along with a timer counting down from sixty minutes. Someone at the front speaks first and it starts. People speak one at a time, some even arguing, really getting into the assignment. Tally, Wats, and I offer up a point as I stare at Carrigan, half watching the timer click down. Thirty minutes, twenty, ten. When it reaches one minute, I hold my breath as Tally clings to my fingers, gripping me so tightly it hurts. Then a buzzer sounds and it’s over; sixty minutes gone and Carrigan never uttered a word, not a single word.
Tally exhales loudly, the sound of her relief so audible that I turn to her, a genuine smile on my lips. “She did it,” I whisper.
“I know. I can’t believe it,” she says, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
“Oh my fucking God,” Wats says, laughter lacing his shocked voice.
“Congratulations.” Mr. Ford’s loud voice breaks
through the noise in the room, dragging all of our attention back to him. “I’m impressed. There were some valid and well thought out points raised that we will be discussing in more detail and doing practical experiments to further develop next week. Everyone spoke; so everyone gets an A today. Well done.”
Freezing, I slowly turn to look at my girl and my friend beside me. Both have matching shocked expressions as we take in Mr. Ford’s words. Carrigan didn’t speak, we know that, she knows that, and I’d lay money on the fact that Mr. Ford knows that too.
The bell rings and everyone packs their stuff and leaves. All except for us, Carrigan, and Mr. Ford. Tally pushes up from her seat, but I hold her back watching as Carrigan approaches the teacher’s desk, her books hugged to her chest.
“Mr. Ford,” she says quietly.
“Yes, Miss Archibald.”
“I didn’t speak. I don’t deserve that A. I failed the assignment,” she says, her voice clear and unyielding.
“Miss Archibald, I think this is the first time a student has ever questioned my grade allocation when they have received an A,” he says, his amusement clear.
“But I didn’t earn it. I didn’t speak, and the assignment was to contribute to the discussion.”
“Perhaps your memory is a little fuzzy. I clearly remember you making a valid point,” Mr. Ford says, dismissing her as he moves his attention to the pile of books in front of him.
“No, sir. My sister contributed. I didn’t say a thing,” Carrigan says a little more forcefully.
The teacher’s lip’s purse and tighten as he huffs out a frustrated sigh and dramatically lifts his gaze. “I saw and heard you speak, Miss Archibald. Go to your next class, else you’ll be late.”
Turning back to us, Carrigan stares with wide, imploring eyes. Equally dumbfounded, we all look back. Because apparently the girls’ parents really do have this school under their thumb, and as easy as it sounded before, I don’t think Carrigan failing a class is going to be as simple as we thought.
Another two weeks pass, and it seems that no matter how hard Carrigan tries, this school won’t allow her to fail at anything—even the gym teacher gave her an A when she point blank refused to get changed into her gym kit.
When she agreed to fail a class, I assumed she was messing with us, playing some long game cooked up by her nightmare family, but I’ve seen her hand in papers that literally say ‘I don’t want to do this assignment’ repeated a thousand times over and then receive an A back for it.
It’s Friday, and tomorrow is mine and Tally’s engagement party. My dad has gone all out and rented the ballroom at the Hamilton hotel and invited two hundred of his closest friends and business associates. After living with us for over a month now, Tally has my dad firmly wrapped around her little finger and I’m pretty sure he’d do anything, and give her anything, she ever wanted.
But my dad isn’t the only Lexington male that’s obsessed with Tallulah Archibald. I’m completely, obsessively in love with her.
My little ghost has possessed me—mind, body, and soul—and I want our relationship, our engagement to be real. She’s changed me. I’m still a selfish asshole, but not with her, never with her. I don’t recognize the person who blackmailed a beautiful stranger those few, short weeks ago, but I can’t begin to regret doing it, because it gave me her and now I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.
Twenty-One
Tallulah
You know when you get to the point that you have no idea what to do next, so you just go along for the ride and hope something will come to you before it’s too late? Well that’s where I’m at. For the last month, Carrigan has done everything from skipping class, deliberately answering every question wrong on quizzes, and refusing to hand assignments in or handing in stuff that just says the same word repeated over and over. But she still receives an A for every single class. It’s become almost a joke between the six of us, that no matter what she does they’ll never fail her.
We need to come up with a new strategy, but apart from her proving that she’s no longer a virgin, or getting arrested and totally annihilating her character, none of us can think of anything that will break the terms of the will.
Tomorrow is mine and Arlo’s engagement party, and I’m nervous, although I don’t know why. We’ve gotten so used to pretending that we’re totally in love, that it’s easy now, effortless. That’s probably got something to do with the fact that I stopped pretending a while back.
Arlo is a beautiful fucking nightmare and I’m the idiot that’s fallen in love with him. I don’t know when what I feel for him went from hate, to friendship, to complete obsession and love, but as much as I remind myself a thousand times a day that it’s all fake, it feels pretty damn real to me.
“Hey, little ghost,” he says, as he wraps his arms around me from behind, his hand grazing the bottom of my breast as his lips settle onto the crook of my neck.
“Hey,” I rasp, a wave of longing for him hitting me, that makes no sense when he’s wrapped around me like a snake.
“Let’s go home. I’m over this day already and we have the party tomorrow night,” he growls, his lips kissing a path up my neck, teasing me on the spot he knows I love being kissed.
“We can’t just skip,” I say breathily, my eyes fluttering shut.
“Yes we can. They won’t care.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” my sister says, clearing her throat dramatically.
Arlo’s growl of frustration is loud against my skin and I can’t help but smile. “Hey, Carrigan.”
“I’m really sorry,” she says, her expression pained, her eyes sad and a little downcast.
“It’s fine, we shouldn’t be doing this in the hallway anyway. Principal Irvine has already threated to give us detention twice this week,” I say, trying fruitlessly to push Arlo’s arms from around my waist.
“That’s not what I mean,” she says ruefully, pushing a gold envelope toward us.
“What’s that?” Arlo says gruffly.
“It’s an invitation,” Carrigan whispers.
“To what?”
“Dinner tonight. Mom sprung it on me this morning. I swear I didn’t know anything about it until now, but she’s invited your dad too, and I don’t think there’s any way for you to refuse.”
My muscles stiffen as tension radiates through me. “Where?” I ask, my voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“At home,” Carrigan whispers.
“No,” Arlo snaps, pulling me closer, his arms holding me even tighter.
“I think Mom told your dad that they wanted to mend fences before the party tomorrow so the press didn’t get wind about the rift,” she says, her shoulders pulled back, despite the tremor in her voice. “She’s going to do something, but I don’t know what. You need to be careful.”
I nod, swallowing down the lump of very real fear in my throat.
“Fuck this. Come on, we’re leaving,” Arlo says. “I need to speak to my dad, find out what the hell he thinks he’s playing at, and see if we can get out of this.”
Letting him pull me away, I keep my gaze trained on my sister and the look in her eyes. She’s scared and that’s more terrifying than anything else.
It’s after seven thirty in the evening when I emerge from the room Arlo and I have been sharing since the photoshoot. Cathy and Fitzy have worked their magic and I’m dressed for war, or at least that’s what they described my outfit as. I look like a warrior going into battle, only instead of leather or chainmail I have couture. Tonight’s outfit is a structured tuxedo dress, cut to mid-thigh and paired with sky high patent leather Louboutin black pumps. My makeup is fierce with dark eyes and my signature bright red lip, and my hair has been teased into sleek finger waves that frame my face.
My image in the mirror had been startling. I look much older, much more intimidating than I normally ever consider myself to be, but tonight, I need that. I never intended to walk back into my parents’ house, but no matter how much Arlo has
screamed and yelled, the only way we’re getting out of this dinner is simply by refusing to go. Arlo is completely onboard with this idea, but I could see his dad wasn’t.
“Your parents would like to attempt to build some bridges before the party tomorrow night. Vanessa was hysterical on the phone. She sobbed,” Richard told me when he sat us down and explained why refusing to attend would seem childish and immature.
Arlo told him that he literally couldn’t give a fuck, but honestly, I want to know what my family has planned and I’d rather they play their cards tonight, than tomorrow at the party.
So, I’m dressed for battle and steeling myself to return to my childhood home.
The car journey is short and silent. Arlo is dressed to complement me in a black suit, with a black shirt and tie. His hair is combed back, and his expression is so somber and hard that we look more like we’re attending a funeral than a family dinner.
When we drive through the familiar gates that lead to my family’s home, I feel nausea rising up my throat. The last time I was here, Greg was collecting me bruised and broken. I’ve spoken to him several times in the last month and even went for dinner at his house to meet his wife and children. He and Mrs. Humphries are the only good things to ever come out of my parents’ home.
Looking down at our entwined fingers resting on Arlo’s thigh, I attempt to smile when he lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to the back.
“It’s not too late, we don’t have to go in there,” he whispers quietly.
“It’ll be fine. It’s just dinner and then we leave,” I say, assuring myself as much as him.
“Family is important,” Richard says comfortingly. “I’m proud of you both for coming tonight. I’m sure you’d be kicking yourself if you didn’t at least try to mend these fractured bonds.”