Rose
THIS ENTIRE DAY HAS BEEN bizarre and sucked the wind right out of me. The only way to get pumped back up is to crank “Defying Gravity” and sing it as loud as I can as I drive out to Highland Park. It’s my favorite song in the musical Wicked mostly because it’s about empowerment, about leaping into the unknown as you trust your instincts and push ahead with what you think is right. I want to be that girl. Desperately. I want to take a leap and be everything I ever imagined . . .
But not in Highland Park.
With a sigh, I whip through the double gates and park alongside Robert’s Mercedes.
Anne and I had lived comfortably in a Dallas suburb, but this house is insane. It’s a three-story whitewashed brick with French country details, from the rustic shutters on the tall windows to the huge medieval-looking front door. Around the back is a covered patio with two fireplaces, a mountain lake-shaped pool, and an outdoor kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine. Beyond the pool is an intricate garden, complete with a little maze of shrubs, stone benches, and alcoves. Sitting on about five acres, the estate is one of the biggest in Highland Park.
I try to picture Spider growing up here, but I can’t. He doesn’t fit in here, and neither do I.
I ring the doorbell because this doesn’t feel like home to me, and a freshly showered Spider answers, looking infuriatingly handsome with damp hair and wearing a a pair of low-slung jeans with a black Beatles tee. My traitorous eyes linger on his well-defined shoulders.
A small smile toys around his lips. “Hello, Miss Seventeen.” His accent washes over me, clipped, soft, and deep with layers.
And just like that, I’m under his spell, sucked into his allure all over again. I recall our kiss . . . the magic of it . . . the way his hands cupped my face.
Feeling frustrated, I stuff those thoughts and feelings down and brush past him into the foyer. “Let’s get one thing straight, stepbrother, your sexy little accent won’t work on me.”
“I never said it would, stepsister.” He leans against the wall, his copper eyes drifting lazily over my outfit. His lip twitches. “Did you wear that for my benefit?”
I straighten my shoulders, my body automatically remembering the deportment lessons I took. Yes, I wore the red dress and heels. And I look good.
I glide past him, like a gazelle . . . maybe. “I wore it for me.” Lie.
“I’m not surprised. I’m not worth dressing up for. You look beautiful, by the way.” He gets a pensive look on his face as he stares at me, and I sigh, reminding myself that he is my new stepbrother, and I do have to be an adult and get along with him. I brush my gaze over his attire. “No mesh tank top? I must confess, I’m going to miss all those tattoos on display.”
He shoots me a quick look, as if trying to suss out if I’m teasing him or not. His eyes search mine, and I smile, just a little one.
A gruff laugh comes out of him, and for the first time since the whole flight attendant thing, there’s a slight easing between us.
I clear my throat and stick out my hand. “I’m hoping we can be friends. What do you think?”
He takes my hand as sparks fire over my skin. “Fine with me.”
I arch a brow. “Pretending not to care is usually the tendency of someone who really does care the most . . . Clarence.”
He tosses his head back and laughs, the sound clear and deep. It ignites a memory in me, one from my childhood. I grapple to hang on to it but it drifts away quickly.
Our hands part, a bit reluctantly, as his eyes gleam down at me. “You know, I hate that name with a passion, but hearing it on your lips . . . not so much.”
“I’m serious. It’s called a defense mechanism, and people do it so they won’t get hurt.”
He squints at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you read into things too much?”
“Maybe.” I look down at my hands, noticing they are nervously twisting the straps on my small clutch. I have my own tells. “I do like to analyze people.”
“And what did you figure out about me?” His eyes gaze into mine before he glances at himself in the mirror. It’s as if he’s afraid to look at me for too long, and I wonder why.
I infuse my voice with confidence I don’t actually have. “That you’re dangerous.”
“Me? Why?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “You don’t care who you hurt to avoid feeling anything, which probably means you’ve been hurt in the past. You have demons.”
He freezes, his gaze coming back to my face. “Looks like you got me pegged then.”
I hesitate. “We all have demons, right? In some form or another.”
He just stares at me. “What’s your demon, Rose?”
“I don’t belong here. It’s like I’m playing a game of pretend.” I glance around the grand house. “This isn’t the kind of home I’m used to. It’s the same when I’m at Claremont. I don’t fit in with those kids. I grew up in Tin Town, probably not what you would have expected.”
He watches me as I talk—or more like ramble—making me nervous.
“I never fit in either when I was at prep school.” He pauses. “You aren’t anything like I expected. When Robert mentioned a younger stepsister on the phone, I pictured a little girl in pigtails and a school uniform.”
“I do have a school uniform.”
A serious expression appears on his face. “You know, I never would have kissed you if I’d known your true age. I know better than that.”
I stiffen, feeling defensive. I recall the hell I grew up with, the foster homes, the times I had to fight to defend my virtue. “I may be seventeen, but I’m not a kid.”
Robert appears in the foyer, his eyes bouncing from me to Spider, his gaze searching.
“Everything okay out here?”
I nod as Spider clams up and brushes past us to head into the formal living room.
It’s a spacious affair with a beamed ceiling and a fireplace framed by whitewashed stone. The focal point of the room is the pair of charcoal drawings that hang on the wall behind the cream leather sectional.
Spider blinks as he walks around the coffee table and stands in front of the pictures. My interest piqued, I follow him while Robert moves to make himself a drink at the bar. I stand next to Spider, our shoulders not quite touching as we look at the art.
The one on the right is a Tudor-style home made of stone with intricate dormers and arched doors. The other one is a little boy lying spread-eagle on the grass as he stares up at the sky with a big grin on his face. It’s perfectly mischievous.
I study them both closely, taking in the childlike quality to the art. I think I see his name scrawled in the corner of one of the drawings. “Yours?”
He nods, indicating the drawing on the right. “Just the one of the house. The other was drawn by my sister Cate.”
A ghost of a smile flits across Spider’s mouth. “We both loved to draw, but she was always better about capturing people.”
His fingers are magic with a guitar, so it’s not surprising that he can draw as well. “They’re both very good.” I motion toward the little boy. “I bet you were a handful.”
“I had the attention span of a gnat.” A long sigh comes from him. “I was her favorite subject. She meant . . . a lot to me.” Darkness crosses his face, and I immediately want to make it go away.
“Is that where you grew up?” I tilt my head at the house.
He nods. “That was our family estate, my real home, and we had the run of it. Mum and Father were gone a lot, but with Cate around, there was always something to do.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen these. I-I didn’t even know he’d put them up.”
“Why did you leave London?” He alluded to it earlier on the plane with his fresh start comment, but I’m curious for more.
“Father . . . he wanted away from the memories.”
“What memories?”
His eyes turn to me, and you know the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul? I read his. Spider’s luminous amber eyes enrapture me, capturing me with their loneliness.
My breath hitches.
He opens his mouth to say something more but Robert’s voice comes from across the room, interrupting our conversation. “Rose, tell me about your classes this semester. How’s it going?” There’s a sharp quality in his voice, and I turn over my shoulder to watch him as he crosses the room toward us, his carefully creased slacks moving with each step.
I frown. He clearly cares about Anne, and I like him a lot, mostly because he softens Anne and makes her happy, giving me more space. But it’s clear he doesn’t want Spider to be around me. I noticed it earlier at the door when he watched us—and now he’s trying to interrupt our obviously private conversation.
As if Spider senses the tension in the air, he steps away from me and sits down on the couch.
He’ll learn that I don’t give up that easy. Something about him makes me want to dig for more. I want his story.
I’m saved from further talking as Anne waltzes into the room looking lovely in a pink flowy ankle-length maxi dress that artfully conceals her growing belly.
She runs her eyes over my red dress, pausing on the hemline, a small wrinkle forming on her forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that.”
It’s her way of saying I look awful.
Feeling self-conscious, I touch the bodice of the silk garment. “It’s something Oscar found for me at one of his consignment stores. It’s vintage, I think. I like it.” I fidget, feeling uncomfortable as her scowl grows. She runs her eyes over my hair and I’m glad I wore it down since it covers the tattoo.
“I don’t,” she says.
Robert tosses an arm around Anne. “She looks beautiful, dear. Don’t give her a hard time.”
Anne’s lips tighten and I’m not surprised. I expected her disapproval and wore it anyway. I rarely rebel against her, but lately with the whole NYU thing, I feel antsy.
She exhales. “The next time you come, dress more modestly. That dress is too short and gives off the wrong impression.” She smiles brightly at me like she usually does after a criticism. I call it her “cut and hug” routine. She turns to Robert, not waiting for my reply. “Now, how about a soda?”
“Bloody hell, they’re rather scary,” Spider whispers from behind me as Robert and Anne walk over to the bar so he can make her a ginger ale.
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning to face him.
He palms his spider tattoo. “I mean, Father’s acting weird, and Anne is . . . rather strict.” He brushes his gaze over me, lingering on the bodice of my dress, and I get tingles. “Don’t listen to her. I love the dress.” He grins. “After all, you did wear it for me, right?”
I shake my head at him. He goes from deep to cocky in the space of a few minutes. I can’t keep up with him.
“Anne’s big on appearances. She doesn’t want me turning into my mama, and her way of making sure that doesn’t happen is to tell me every single move to make.” I sigh.
“Don’t let her squash your spirit.” He searches my face. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here—as a stepbrother, of course.”
I picture us talking . . . then kissing . . . then doing more. I imagine his hands on my body, slipping under my dress . . .
Shit. Where did that come from? I suck in a breath. Forget those thoughts, Rose.
I nod. “Right.”
After dinner, Spider excuses himself to go upstairs to his room. He mentioned he’s staying at the penthouse but he’s yet to head that way.
He barely said much during our five-course meal, his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. I don’t like it that he’s different around Robert and Anne. I want my snarky Englishman from the plane.
Twenty minutes later, he dashes down the stairs dressed in black gym shorts and an athletic shirt.
“Running?” I ask stupidly as he makes his way to the front door.
“Yeah. I need to get out of this place for a bit.” With his hand on the doorknob, he glances back at me. “You wanna come?”
I send him a wry look. “My heels weren’t made for running. I was thinking we might get Robert and Anne and play some games. Scrabble?”
“Scrabble? My father?” His face is surprised, and I can see that he’s probably never played many games with Robert. Again, I wonder what’s between them, and part of me, the part that’s like Granny, wants to analyze their relationship and maybe help mend it. “It might be fun to get to know each other better.”
He shakes his head and backs away. “I don’t even know what fucking universe this is. I gotta go.”
The door opens and he’s gone, his tall form slipping out into the night.
I stand at the open door and watch him disappear as he jogs away.
We play a round of Scrabble, and by ten, Robert retires to give Anne and me some time alone.
As usual, our conversation is formal and very matter-of-fact. She’s not a warm and fuzzy person.
“So, how was NYU?” Her voice has an undertone of concern.
“They have a great psychology department, and one of the professors I talked to is from Dallas. It would be like a little bit of home.” I hold my breath. “I’d like to go to NYU.”
She shakes her head. “I want you to stay close by. The baby will be here soon—don’t you want to be here? I might need the help on the weekends.”
She won’t need my help. I’ve already overheard her and Robert discussing hiring a nanny. “I could come home for the holidays.”
She sends me a look—you know the one, like I should have known the answer before I even asked. “It pains me to even hear you talk that way.” She pats my leg. “Let’s put a pin in the NYU thing for a while, okay? See how things go next year?”
She’s patronizing me, and I stiffen. “I can always pay for it myself,” I say. “I’m working three nights a week at Jo’s.” Jo’s is a local diner where I’ve waited tables since last August. I like working because it makes me feel like I have a purpose. Anne didn’t approve of my decision to work, but I’d insisted. She would have preferred for me to work at the country club or at one of the boutiques in town, but that wasn’t me.
She frowns and rubs her belly. “That’s ridiculous. You won’t make NYU tuition money at the diner. Plus, you’re too late to even apply for this year.”
I exhale. Obviously, Robert and Anne have the money to send me to NYU—Winston is just as pricey—she just doesn’t want me to go because she likes having me around to control. And because she’s done so much for me already, I hate to ask her for anything she doesn’t want to give me. Maybe the new baby will change her.
But still . . .
This NYU thing . . .
I can’t let it go forever . . . but I can let it go for right now.
Anne’s voice pulls me back. She’s rising up from the couch, and I presume she’s headed to bed. She walks over to me, her eyes searching. “Also, I noticed that you stared at Spider a lot during dinner. I want you to be polite to him, but he has a history of drug use, and, of course, he’s into his music. You know what kind of lifestyle those types have.”
I sigh, annoyed with her. Again. Sometimes it feels like Anne is the child and I’m the adult. “Spider’s okay. I like him.”
She arches her brows. “Just don’t like him too much.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I don’t tell her that it’s too late.