by Ivy Fox
Elle grabs my hand, hooking her arm with mine, as we make our way down the sidewalk to the parked car nearby. As we walk with our heads leaned on top of each other’s, Ollie takes the lead, looking back every few seconds to make sure I’m alright.
When we reach the car, I purposely take the back seat with Elle, which doesn’t go unnoticed by a perplexed Ollie. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he would have preferred me to seat up front by his side. What he doesn’t know, though, is that right now, I need Elle’s understanding more than I need Ollie’s overprotectiveness.
I lean my head on my best friend’s shoulder as Ollie pulls into traffic, and with a low tone to prevent him from listening, I whisper in her ear, “I need you to keep Ollie busy when we get back to the manor.”
“Do you now?” She smirks at my side.
“You think you can distract him for an hour or two?”
“I’m his kid sister. There isn’t anything I don’t know about the guy that I can’t use against him, long enough to keep him occupied for a couple of hours.”
“Hmm,” I mumble, sensing Elle’s grudge against her brothers still alive and kicking.
“You’re going to have to forgive him sooner or later, Elle. Ash, too. They only kept quiet about what happened between your father and me to protect you. You get that, right?”
She turns her face toward me, her features completely unreadable like a marble sculpture—beautiful edges and curves, but cool to the touch. She’s been using this cold mask of hers more often than I would have liked. I get her putting on a chilly front when the paparazzi show up at our doorstep or at the courthouse, but I see no need for her to keep her guard up amongst the people that care about her. Especially her brothers.
“Everybody lies. The reasons behind why they do it doesn’t make the hurt of being deceived any less painful. Forgiveness has to be earned before it’s given,” Elle states arctically.
Shame coats every pore of my being, knowing I’m as much at fault as her brothers, even though she’s shown mercy to me when she’s reluctant to do the same for them.
“I’m sorry,” I say for the hundredth time.
A meek grin appears on her flawless face, but I’m not sure if my apology makes any difference.
I know Ollie and Ash have pleaded for forgiveness, and to a degree, so has Rome. Although for him, it was a trickier thing to do since he couldn’t openly talk about that night in a place where someone could hear and make the prosecution aware.
But no matter how many apologies Elle hears, it’s taking her some time to overcome it all. I get the feeling that once a certain line is crossed, it takes more than well-placed words to gain her trust back. Remorse-filled actions mean more to her than any spoken apology.
“It’s done. No use in crying over spilled milk now. I just wish people would be honest with me. I can take the ugly as well as the good, you know? I’m not some wallflower that can’t deal with the shadows and darkness that lurk inside our lives,” she mumbles, turning her head away from me toward the side window, her stare miles away.
I straighten my back onto the leather interior and squeeze her hand to bring her back to me.
“I love you like a sister, Elle. I hope you know that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” She gives me a stiff nod but doesn’t say anything in return, so I ask, “Is there anything you want to talk about it? About whatever is going on with you? With Chad, perhaps?”
She snaps her neck, turning her full attention back to me, her features showcasing a flicker of far too much pain for one so young.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Are you sure? I can tell he’s hurting terribly, and I think you are, too.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is Rome. That’s the hurt you see. Nothing else,” she answers sternly.
“It’s okay to be concerned for your brother’s welfare and still be sad for losing a friend, Elle. That is what happened, isn’t it? You and Chad had a fight? One that neither of you has been able to move past?” I probe gently, not wanting to pry too much into her personal life, but still wanting her to know that I’m here for her.
“Holland, I know you mean well, and I’ll help you ditch my brother, but can we not talk about Chad? Please?”
“How about Santiago then? You two have been awfully chummy of late.”
I scrunch my nose and bite my lower lip, trying to keep the knowing smile—the one I want to lash out—in its confinement.
Saint and Elle being friendly with each other is the understatement of the century. The two have been inseparable for the last few weeks. And even though Elle doesn’t want to confide in me on what went down with Chad, something tells me her newfound friendship with Pembroke High’s ultimate bad boy might be at the very root of their quarrel.
“He’s off-limits, too,” she counters, with a forced scowl, but unable to hide the glow in her amber eyes.
“You like him,” I state matter-of-fact, having experienced firsthand how similar golden eyes melt unceremoniously when they are infatuated with someone.
“When did you get so nosey? Seriously, my brothers are a bad influence on you,” she snickers, her scowl flipping on its side to reveal a grin wider than she intended it to be.
“Oh my God, you do!” I yell out, only for her to place her hands over my mouth.
“Shhh! Damn it, Snow! This is not the time for you to go all girlie on me!”
“You girls okay back there?” Ollie asks, looking at the rearview mirror to see what is the whole ruckus about.
“Everything is fine, Ollie. Just keep your eyes on the road before you crash us.”
“I know how to drive,” he mumbles through his teeth.
“Sure, you do. How about you turn some music on so I don’t have to hear you sulk?” she adds, overly sweet.
“I’m getting really tired of you PMSing all the time, Eleanor.”
“Bite me, Oliver. Just turn the radio on, will ya?”
Ollie does as he’s told, and “Team” by Lorde instantly blast’s through the speakers.
“Good boy,” Elle taunts, going as far as to pat Ollie’s shoulders.
I watch him stew in the driver seat, trying hard not to give his baby sister the evil eye through the rearview mirror. Elle leans back to her seat, her wry grin taking over her face, happy as a clam for getting under her big brother’s skin.
“You’re in luck. I just figured out how to distract Ollie. I sense a little-sister tantrum is coming on. Do you feel it?” she teases lightly.
“Whatever you have to do to get the job done. Just don’t be too hard on him. Please?” I plea, worried that unleashing Elle on Ollie may not be one of my best ideas. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
“He can take it.” She grins widely, excited with the idea of tormenting Ollie for a few hours. I’ll really have to make it up to him.
“Mind telling me what you’ll be up to while I torture Ollie?”
“Please don’t.”
“Fiiiine. I’ll try to ruffle his feathers only a little bit. Still, fess up. What are you up to?”
I raise my eyes to the heavens because I’ll definitely owe Ollie some well-deserved love and care after Elle has had her way with him. She nudges me in the rib, not so patiently waiting for me to explain what I have in mind.
“My mother said something in court today that got me thinking. She said she knew your father all her life. I didn’t know that. Did you?”
“No. Not really. I always assumed they met through mutual friends. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, it just got me thinking about how little I know regarding my mother. She’s never shared any of her past with me, and it got me curious as to what else I don’t know about her.”
“So you want to dig some dirt on Vivienne? That’s your plan?” She furrows her brow as if I’m losing the plot.
“I’ve got to try something, E
lle. She’s the one behind Rome being locked up. If I could get some leverage for us to take to the Coens, something to make her look suspicious in the way she incriminated Rome, then maybe it will be enough for the judge to disregard her entire testimony, or even better, consider her as a suspect in your father’s death. If we find something remotely suspicious about Vivienne’s actions, it will be considered as reasonable doubt right there.”
“Are you sure you’re willing to throw your mother under the bus for murder? I know she’s a blood-thirsty, evil bitch, but she’s still your mother. My concern isn’t for her. Far from it. I’m just worried about the rabbit hole you’re so eager to dive into. Will you be okay in setting up an innocent woman, even one as awful as Vivienne?”
“My mother is far from innocent. She didn’t think twice in handing me over to your father, now did she? She didn’t even bat an eye at what he would do to me. If it comes to Rome spending his life in jail or my mother, then it will be an easy decision for me to make.”
“Okay, then. You won’t be seeing me shed any tears for the witch, I can tell you that much. So, how are you going to get some dirt on the Ice Queen of Manhattan?”
“I think I have an idea of who might dislike my mother as much as we do. At least I think I do.”
“Who?”
“Addison’s mother, Claire Hurst.”
True to her word, the minute we get to Grayson manor, Elle picks a fight with Ollie. I hate to leave him alone with an unhinged Elle, but at least I can take a little comfort in knowing that it’s all for show. Not that my poor Ollie will perceive it as such.
When I left them alone in the living room, faking a small headache to excuse myself to my room, he looked like he was gaining a migraine of his own with each lash thrown by his little sister. As much as I want to think that she’ll completely forgive her brothers sooner or later, she sure isn’t shy about cutting them a new one at every chance she gets.
Luckily, when I get out of the house, my Uber is already waiting to take me to the Hurst residence.
Twenty minutes later, I reach their building just off Central Park, and my nerves begin to surface, wondering if I meant everything I said to Elle earlier in the car. If by some happy chance I do get something worthwhile out of the senator’s wife, will I be strong enough to use it against Vivienne, or will I let her win yet again?
She’s never been a mother to me. She’s not my family. She doesn’t even know the first thing about what true family represents. And honestly, aside from Nana, I didn’t know either.
Living in the Grayson manor for these last few months has been an experience that taught me the true definition of the word family. Blood doesn’t bind you. Love does. And that’s something Vivienne never gave me or is even capable of having for anyone except herself. But knowing she deserves karma to slap her in the face, and being the catalyst for such karma, are two very different things.
I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the bravery I need to see this through. Because if I don’t, then the man I love will suffer for it, and that’s not something I can live with.
I look at my phone, happy to see a message from Elle stating that Ollie is still occupied. But she also states that I only have an hour at the most since even she is starting to feel sorry for the hell she’s giving him.
Looking at the time, it’s safe to assume that Addison is still in school, but I need to make this quick to avoid crossing paths with her.
I give my name to the doorman in the lobby and wait while he announces my visit. When he tells me to go right on up to the penthouse and advises that Claire Hurst is willing to see me, the boulder in my chest begins to lighten, letting me breathe a little easier for not being turned away.
When the elevator door opens on the top floor, Claire—in an elegant yellow number—greets me at the door, all smiles and open arms.
“I must say, this is an unexpected surprise, Holland,” she says with a sweet tone as she hugs me.
Confused as to why she would hug me to begin with—considering that we’ve barely spent more than a few minutes together—my arms stay still in place, making her retreat back awkwardly.
“Please come in,” she says with an embarrassed grin.
“Thank you.”
She ushers me into a living room, taking a seat on the couch and patting the space at her side for me to sit down. I take her cue and graciously decline her hospitable offer of tea and biscuits, but she insists nonetheless.
“You’re nervous,” she states out of the blue, her eyes consoling. “Whatever I can do to help, just say the word.”
I maul at my lip, thinking of ways I can start this conversation, but all that comes to mind is how different she and my mother are. How could they ever be friends when one is the polar opposite of the other?
“I’m sure I’m probably the last person you expected to show up at your door announced,” I begin, rummaging for the right words to use.
“Oh, Holland, trust me when I say I’ve had to deal with my fair share of unexpected guests. But I’m pleased to receive such a sweet girl at any given day,” she says sincerely, making her familiarity with me that much odder. “I am curious, though, at what made you come in the first place. Do you care to share?”
“Well… I wanted to ask you some questions about my mother.”
“Your mother?” she repeats less amicably.
“Yes. When we first met at her party last summer, I got the feeling you knew each other. Quiet well, even.”
The bright smile that had been on her face since the moment I arrived no longer lingers, raising my hopes that maybe this woman doesn’t like Vivienne, just as I assumed.
“I’m not sure anyone can truly say they know a person, especially one as complex as your mother,” she counters, trying hard to keep her smile intact.
“But, you do have a relationship with her, correct?”
“Being a senator’s wife, I need to mingle in all sorts of circles, and your mother has always been very influential in most of them.” She adds the last part a bit too bitterly.
“Is that how you two met? Frequenting the same social gatherings?”
“Well, no. In truth, I met your mother in my early twenties while I was in college. She rushed my sorority when I was a senior. I guess I was her friend by proxy since it was Eleanor that took a shining to her. Your mother was the one who introduced Malcolm to her. Although at that time, everyone called him Popovich.”
“Popovich? That’s a peculiar nickname to give someone.”
“Oh, no dear, it wasn’t a nickname. It is Malcolm’s maiden name. He took on the Grayson name when he married Eleanor. I guess he thought it sounded more distinguished if he were to pursue his legal ambitions. But I always thought it was to hide his humble beginnings. I think he was ashamed of where he came from. Were they both came from.”
“Both?” I question, confusion marring my features.
“Why, yes. Vee and Malcolm grew up together in Hell’s Kitchen. Didn’t she ever tell you that?”
I shake my head, feeling as if Claire is talking about a complete stranger rather than the woman who gave me life. But I never really knew her to begin with, so I shouldn’t be surprised to learn any of what Claire is confiding in me now.
“Malcolm hated when Vivienne brought it up, but that never stopped her from doing it behind his back. If I had a nickel for every time she bragged to poor Eleanor how Malcolm used to babysit her and tuck her in at night…”
Gross.
“Even though your mother introduced Eleanor to him, I think she never thought they’d hit it off as well as they did, much less get married.”
“So, they were close friends. Malcolm and my mother, I mean.”
“For a time, yes.”
“For a time?” I repeat, sounding like a moronic parrot.
“Well, after Eleanor died, they seemed to have lost touch with each other. I’m not sure why. Once Eleanor was out of t
he picture, I assumed that your mother would leave Craig and swoop right on in to fill the space in Malcolm’s life. But maybe her affections for Craig were stronger than I gave her credit for. Of course, when he passed, I wasn’t the least surprised to receive an invitation for your mother’s wedding to Malcolm the very next summer.”
“So, you, Eleanor, and my mother were all friends,” I say out loud, trying to wrap my head around such an image.
“I doubt anyone can be friends with Vee, but Eleanor tried. She trusted her.”
“Not you,” I state, seeing the answer clear in her blue eyes.
“No.”
Her gaze begins to blur as if recollecting something too painful to be mentioned without proper care and caution.
“Why?” I probe, hoping her vulnerable, weak moment might get me what I came for.
“She had something I wanted and couldn’t have.”
“What?”
But as soon as the question leaves my mouth, a woman in a pantsuit interrupts us, leaning down to Claire’s ear and hushing something I can’t make out. Unfortunately, when she lifts back up, Claire gives me a saddened smile and rises from her seat, too.
“I’m so sorry to cut this short, but unfortunately, something’s come up. Raincheck on tea, perhaps?”
“Of course. Thank you for your time and your hospitality.”
She grabs my hand between hers, giving me another pensive smile, her eyes seeming to memorize every detail of my face. It’s the oddest reaction.
“Any daughter of Craig’s is always welcome at my house,” she says with a genuine smile cresting her lips as she shows me out the door.
The minute I get inside the elevator, it dawns on me that perhaps I should have asked for details, not only about my mother but also about my father.
Any daughter of Craig’s.
Just what in the world did she mean by that?
Chapter 11
Asher
I run my fingers through Snow’s hair, listening to Ollie’s shallow breathing next to us. I envy my twin for being able to sleep peacefully through the night. I, on the other hand, haven’t had a good night’s rest since the police stormed our home and took Rome away. The sun isn’t up yet, and as usual, I’m wide awake, thinking about what new fuckery awaits us. Today we all have to return to that damned courthouse again, and for the life of me, I don’t know what to expect or how to prepare Snow for the prosecution’s defamation of my brother.