I set up a blank canvas, light a joint and grab my oil paints. Turning on my music, I lose myself. The long lines of her body, the gentle slope of her neck, the way her back arches as she moves, the anger on her face. I paint her. I devour the memory of her. Her wispy blonde hair clinging to her damp skin as her chest heaves from the exertion. I catalogue it all in my mind. The fire in her eyes as she tries to keep her composure, the way her mouth twitches as she thinks about me. I always have that effect on her, and I knew when I stopped her in the coffee shop earlier she would need to dance tonight more than usual.
Elena was my friend once, when we were little kids. We were the children of two of the most influential families in Silvercrest, of course we were going to be thrown together at every major event, and in the beginning, I thought we had found solace with each other as we shared knowing looks and eye rolls at our parents. As we got older, it became more obvious what our families had in store for us, and that’s when she started pushing me away.
Dawn light filters in through the window, and I sit back to look at what I’ve created. I may not have painted all the facial details in, but it was her. Everyone in The Society knew that she was mine, but they didn’t seem to realize that I was hers too. I didn’t want Lena to marry me because she had to, I wanted her to want it, and that’s why I was changing the game a little. I was going to take that hate she had and turn it into something more. I started small, just hanging out where I knew she would be. Today wasn’t a fluke, I knew she’d be in the coffee shop, and as much as she pretended Blythe didn’t bother her, I saw the look in her eyes. I saw the rage simmering beneath the surface. I was going to keep bringing that temper out until Lena faced it and saw it for what it was.
Chapter Three
Elena
The week has been dragging painfully, and it’s only Wednesday. The need to head to the dance studio keeps calling me, making my skin itch as I try to hold out until Friday. My family owned the studio but rented it out to a dance school that allowed me to use it when I wanted. Fridays were the quietest days, and so, it had become routine for me, a way for me to sort through my thoughts and simmer down the emotions that threatened to boil over when things became hard. And this week was proving harder than usual.
“Is everything okay, El? You’re quiet today?” Serena says as we eat out lunch out on the fields behind the school.
I nod; with elections coming up, my father was being more stringent than usual. He was determined to make everything perfect, including me, as he signed me up for more violin lessons despite the fact I wasn’t musically talented and gave up violin four years ago. He had it in his head that I should be good enough to play at a masquerade ball he was hosting in a few weeks’ time. I also had to lose ten pounds by then too, as the dress he’d chosen for me wouldn’t fit right otherwise. I stab my salad with my fork and force myself to swallow a bitter mouthful.
“I need to go and get a book out of the library,” I say with a sigh as I put my lunch back in my bag and get up, brushing the grass off my skirt. “I’ll meet you during the study period after lunch.”
My stomach growls as I look about the shelves; with cheer practice daily, I was starting to feel the lack of carbs. Finally, I find the book I’m looking for. It's a violin technique book that I’m hoping can help with the music I’m attempting to learn. I tiptoe to reach it, as it’s on one of the higher shelves, when I feel a warm hand on my hip and the faint smell of weed lingering.
“Need a hand, Princess?” he murmurs into the back of my neck as he reaches up above my hand, pressing his body closer against mine, as he grabs the book with ease.
I turn, which is a big mistake as my head is now just below his face and the fucker is grinning at me.
“One day, I’m going to wipe that smirk off your face,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“I hope so.” He places a hand against the shelf, blocking me in, and leans forward. “I’ll be here waiting.”
Taking my heel, I dig my foot into his slowly. He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look away, instead he smiles again. Why was he so fucking infuriating?
Handing me the book, he smirks. “Violin technique?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I hold the book against my chest, trying to create a shield of some sort as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
He chuckles as I swat away his hand. “Nothing. I just thought you gave up the violin years ago?”
“I... I did.” How did he remember that?
Tristan arches a brow at me, and I want nothing more than to shave the thing off. Smug bastard. “You were awful at it, so why are you trying to learn again?”
I exhale, trying to control my temper. “Fuck you, Tristan.”
His hand drops back down onto my hip as he pulls me closer to him, so that my body is flush with his. “If you want to…”
“What?” I reply, trying to even out my voice, but I know my breathing is heavier. I can feel it in the way my chest tightens every time he touches me, which he is doing right now.
“Fuck me.” He shrugs. “I’m always here if you want to.”
I give a small laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t even like you.”
The bitter tone in my voice reverberates between the books surrounding us as he just keeps smiling. Grinning. Smirking. Arrogant. His lips are so close to mine, almost brushing against them. “You don’t have to like me, hate works just as well.”
I make a noise of disgust. “Get away from me, Tristan.”
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, but he doesn’t move.
I can feel my cheeks getting hotter and my skin becoming clammy as I feel every movement he makes. Every twitch. Every adjustment, no matter how small in his stance. With him being this close, there’s no way to avoid it. My head hurts as I feel like I’m overheating.
Using the book, I shove it into his chest and create some space between us finally. Rolling my eyes, I give him another push, stepping forward, claiming back more precious inches. “Honestly? No, to make me feel uncomfortable would mean that I give a shit about you, when I don’t. You stink of weed, and it’s making me feel sick.”
He grabs his sweater and gives it a sniff. “I didn’t smoke today just for you.”
I stop. “For me?”
The look he gives me reminds me of when we were children, when he was trying to be my friend. “I know you can’t stand it.”
“Why would you…” My head spins a little, and I step back, until my back hits the shelves.
He grabs my arm to steady me. “Are you okay?”
I try to shrug him off, but he has a firm grip on me. “Yeah, I’m just a little lightheaded.”
“C’mon, we should go to the nurse’s office.” He grabs my chin and tilts my face up towards his as he looks at my face carefully. His breath tickles my skin, the smell of weed fading as I pick up hints of sandalwood and something almost like...paint.
“No, I’m fine,” I hiss, shaking myself free of his touch.
He tuts. “You don’t look fine, you look tired.”
I don’t know if it’s the heat, the fact I am starving, or because I’m wedged between two bookshelves with someone I hate, but I snap. “Some of us have to actually try to succeed, Tristan. We aren’t all geniuses.”
Tilting his head, he gives me a sharp look. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve seen your GPA, and for a slacker, you seem to score pretty high.” I jab my finger into his shoulder between each word, I bet his little stoner crew didn’t realize that he was on track for an Ivy League school. Not that he needed it, daddy had enough money in the bank and several businesses. Tristan Radcliffe could do whatever he wanted with his life. And me? I’d be nothing. A trophy wife.
“Yeah, well, Princess, it’s all about balance.” He holds up his hand to stop my accusing finger, moving so that our hands are suddenly intertwined. If anyone came now, they would think we were sharing some sort of intimate moment in th
e stacks. “Besides, I have a wife to support.”
I yank my hand away as if he’s burned me. “I am not your wife.”
“Yet.” He snatches the book back off me and grabs my bag from the floor before claiming my hand again. “Don’t fight me, either I carry you to the nurse's office or you take a break with me. You have a study period next, right?”
He tries to pull me towards the exit, but my feet remain planted on the ground. “Are you stalking me now?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” he teases as he starts to pull me again. This time I go, I’m too tired to fight with him right now, and I feel nauseous.
“For Christ’s sake, what is wrong with you?” Why was he torturing me like this? I still had a few months until graduation. I still had time. What was he up to?
“Lighten up, Lena,” he laughs, his dimple easy to see this close.
“Stop calling me that,” I groan.
He winks. “Fine, the wifey will get what the wifey wants.”
Chapter Four
Tristan
I drag her out of the school, plop a helmet on her head, and lift her onto the back on my bike. How do I know something is wrong? Because the woman hasn’t protested once since we left the library. No smart-aleck comments, no pushing, and no resistance.
“Where are we going?” she asks with a tired voice as I grab her hands and pull them around my waist. Again, she doesn’t protest, but her stomach does grumble loudly.
“To fix that,” I say, with a chuckle, trying to ignore the way her body curves around mine.
I bring her to my family house, not the apartment overlooking the dance studio but the Radcliffe mansion. I never really liked this big, old house, with its million windows and empty-echoing corridors. When my mom died, it was like all the warmth was just sucked out, and now it was just bricks and paint. The only good thing was the painting studio in the attic.
Lena doesn’t say anything as I lead her into the kitchen and make her sit at the breakfast bar. I grab a box from the cupboard and a pan before I hand her a can of soda.
“I’m on a diet,” she mumbles, looking at the can wearily as I begin making mac and cheese.
Of course she is, elections are coming up, and she was about to be paraded around like a show pony. I bet her father wanted her to look perfect, like a little doll, but it did also explain why she was taking that damn book out of the library earlier. Elena Montgomery, skilled violinist, ballet dancer, class president, captain of the cheerleading squad, and on the debate team. She was the ultimate poster girl, and Randolph loved making her a part of his campaign. He loved being seen as a nice family man with a high-achieving child and a pretty little wife, his whole image was built upon it. Such a shame the people of Silvercrest didn’t know what he was really like.
“You’re no good to anyone if you don’t eat,” I chastise as I stir in some extra cheese to the dish. “What time did you go to bed last night?”
She pauses for a moment to think about it, the dark circles under her eyes telling me all I need to know. “I had cheer practice, and then I had to prepare a speech for tomorrow about graduation.”
The hiss of the can as she opens the soda fills the kitchen.
“And what did you have for dinner?” I press as I grab two bowls out of the cupboard.
Tilting her head, her answer is almost like a whisper. “I don’t...remember.”
“Nothing then,” I scoff. “Here, eat.”
I shove a bowl at her and pass a fork from the drawer. For someone so smart, she could be so stupid. How was she supposed to be the perfect daughter if she fainted? Or if she became ill?
“I’m on a diet, Tristan,” she says, her voice firm as she pushes the bowl away, but I see the way her throat moves as she swallows.
I lean back against the counter and dig into my food as I stand, watching her. Blowing on a spoonful of hot cheesy goodness, I pause briefly. “I will force feed you, Princess, if I have to.”
My threat seems to work as she gently picks up the fork and begins to stir the food to cool it down. She sighs softly. “Why did I even let you drag me here?”
“Because you have no strength to fight me today, and that’s the problem. I like my women feisty.” I laugh, because it’s the truth. I wanted Lena to fight me. To get angry. I wanted to burst her open and unleash every repressed feeling, and then I could put her back together again. She wasn’t meant to be an ember, stomped out by her father. She was a blaze, and she just needed someone to fan it.
She mumbles, “Yeah, because Blip looks like she’s the feisty sort.”
“Blip?” I frown. “Do you mean Blythe?”
She ignores my question, instead rolling her eyes at me. “Just let me eat in peace. And then I’m leaving.”
“Are you...are you jealous, Princess?” I can’t stop the grin that pulls the corners of my mouth upwards. I chuckle as she flips me the bird, I guess the princess isn’t as adverse as she likes to pretend.
We eat in silence, and it isn’t until I’m washing up the dishes that I hear the front door open. Moments later, my father saunters in, a pretty redhead following closely behind, giggling. We regard each other wearily. He was a handsome man once, and in fact, many people say that I am the mirror image of him, but I don’t see it. There’s a cruel edge to the way he smiles, his eyes are filled with dark, dirty secrets, and while we have the same coloring, I think the similarities end there.
“You’re home,” he states as he loosens his tie. I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in his tone.
“So are you.” I lean back against the counter casually again. I know it drives him insane that I’m not the son he wanted. I smoke pot, keep my room messy, paint, and I refuse to show him respect. I’m everything he didn’t want. It doesn’t matter that my grades are perfect. Add in my mother’s eyes and he hates me. But he can’t do anything about it because blood is important in The Society. Lineage and wealth go hand in hand.
He clears his throat. “Business in Newtown finished up early, so I’m home for a few days.”
I shrug as he gives me a questioning look. “I made Lena lunch since she forgot hers, and we didn’t feel like eating in the cafeteria.”
He waves over to Lena, a big, fake smile plastered on his face. “Hello, Elena, lovely to see you.”
His persona is nothing but a mask, and the second we’re alone later I’ll see the real him. I decide that maybe staying in my apartment for a few days isn’t a bad idea.
“Mr Radcliffe,” she says with a nod, hiding her blush. I’m willing to bet the second we leave, he’ll be on the phone to her father. After all, we were supposed to be getting married.
He winks, and I resist the urge to gag. “Call me Dad, hon. You’re about to be part of the family after all.”
“I don’t even call you Dad,” I snort, ignoring the look Elena shoots me.
My father grits his teeth. “But Elena is a good girl, she knows her place. Don’t you, sweetie?”
Lena nods, and I curl my fists. No, she isn’t a good girl. She’s so much more than that.
“Hi, I’m Sasha,” the redhead gushes as she reaches out to shake my hand and break the tension. I don’t miss the way she gives me a once-over, and neither does my father as he pulls her into him.
“Hadn’t you better head back to school?” he says after a moment of us staring each other out. “I don’t pay those extortionate fees for you to stay in my kitchen all day.”
“We were just leaving,” Lena says as she stands and grabs my sleeve, tugging me towards the door.
“Will you be back for dinner?” he asks me, with a glance at Sasha. He doesn’t want me back, he just wants to make sure I don’t interrupt his plans.
“Doubt it.” I shrug. “I’m going to eat with Lena.”
Her head whips round to look at me, eyes wide with alarm before she narrows them. There’s my fighter, I think as she gives me a look that says I’ll be getting an earful later.
My father nods and flashes her another charming smile. “It’s good to see the two of you getting along.”
“See you later, Sasha,” I say with a smirk as Elena drags me out of the house.
Chapter Five
Elena
“What was that about?” I have to ask as we leave and head back to his motorcycle. The tension between Tristan and Malcolm was palpable, like a smoke cloud filling the kitchen, and I was glad to get out of there so I could breathe again. Tristan hands me the helmet and holds my bag while I place it on my head.
Tristan does the strap up for me, his knuckles brushing against my chin as he clips it into place. “My father hates me.”
The statement is simple, and for some reason, it makes my chest tighten. “I’m sure he doesn’t…”
Tristan chuckles softly. “He always has, Lena, trust me.”
Why was he always smiling and laughing like everything was a joke? Didn’t he care? I shrug. “Well, his girlfriend seems nice. But did you have to flirt with her?”
Changing the subject, Tristan holds out the keys to the bike. “Want to drive?”
“I’ve never…” I stutter. Me? Drive his bike? My father would have a heart attack if anyone saw us.
He steps closer to me, backing me against it. “I asked you if you wanted to. Besides, you used to ride dirt bikes with us. You’ll be fine.”
My mind flits back to the summer where we would all ride dirt bikes through the woods down by the lake. That was before we had to grow up and start thinking about our futures. Before the boxes we were placed in got smaller under the weight of The Society. My heart races, that was the best summer and the last one where I had felt like myself. “That was years ago!”
“And? Get on.”
I bite my bottom lip. One ride couldn’t hurt, could it? And my father might not mind if he knew it was Tristan I was with. I mean, after all, he was the one who arranged this ridiculous marriage. I take the keys hesitantly, but as soon as I’ve swung my leg over the bike, my nerves disappear. I don’t even care that my skirt has ridden up, or that Tristan is sitting behind me, his thighs pressed against me.
The Society Page 6