I scrambled up from the sofa as Sally and Nevaeh exchanged looks, and raced up the stairs. In my mind, I begged the universe to make everything be okay. I’d thought for a second there that my grandma was having a heart attack or a stroke or something.
Instead, it was a surprise the likes of which none of us would soon forget.
When I open my eyes, I find every member of the Vanguard family staring at me like I’ve sprouted horns. Well, all of them except for Parrish. He’s got his earbuds in again, and is typing on his phone like this is a normal Tuesday, like my roots weren’t just ripped from the soft, fertile earth and left to die in the sun.
“Let’s … not talk about the interview just now,” Tess suggests, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge and offering it up to me along with a tin of Altoids. I take the items, trying to see them as positives—she’s just trying to help—versus the negatives that I really believe they are—don’t make a scene, here take these mints so no one will know your weakness.
Sipping the water and popping the mints helps, and I manage to make it to the club without further incident.
There are no reporters there as the building sits on a huge piece of private property, but there might as well be. Every person and their grandmother wants to talk to us, to touch my arm or my hand like they can somehow glean my personality from an unwanted caress. More than one of them laughs at my t-shirt, and an older man with salt and pepper hair calls it cute.
I’ve never hated my life more than I do in that exact moment.
After breakfast, when I’m sure things can’t possibly get any worse, Tess puts her arm around me and smiles.
“Did you enjoy the club?” she asks, and I nod, because what else can I do? To be honest, I hardly remember what it even looked like I was so disoriented. “Good. We come here a lot; it’s a great place to meet people.” She pauses for a moment in thought and then smiles again. “Although there is a dress code. Today, you were the guest of honor, but next time, you’ll want to really look the part.”
I say nothing.
What could I possibly say to that?
My eyes flick to Parrish and the ember in my belly sparks with heat as we glare at each other.
“Parrish was wearing a hoodie,” I manage to choke out, just before I move to climb back into the limo after him.
“Oh, well, official Whitehall academy gear is always welcome.” Tess beams as she gestures for me to get into the car. Even though it means sitting next to my new stepbrother again, I oblige.
“Hope you’re ready,” Parrish tells me when it’s just me and him in the back of the limo. He doesn’t bother to look my way or even acknowledge the fact that my hands are shaking, just keeps scrolling on his damn phone with an inked thumb. “Because it only gets worse from here on out.”
And I hate that he could not have been anymore right about that.
The next day, everyone goes back to work and school like I don’t exist. Even Tess who’s decided to work from home has to sit down and answer some emails from her publisher. Meanwhile, I’m left to wander the cavernous halls of the ice palace by myself, my phone clutched in my hand, desperate for any connection to home.
But my grandparents still won’t respond to my messages. Maxine is busy with a research paper. Sally and Nevaeh are in class. And I’m just … floating. Social media is a nightmare for me right now because everyone knows what happened, and it’s all they want to talk about. So I just wander from room to room for a while, discovering that Kimber leaves her bedroom door locked which is just bizarre.
Parrish’s, on the other hand, is wide open.
I slip inside, but just for a moment, just to look around. I’m aware that I’m being a bit of a creeper here, snooping through other people’s rooms, but also … Parrish gave me a ‘fuckability rating’ so screw him.
Anyway, there’s a king-size bed, freshly made and decked out in all black linens. A few of the decorative pillows have designs on them that look like old-fashioned Sailor Jerry tattoos, and there’s even a desk with a sketchbook, colored pencils, and an iPad. The iPad is locked, but the sketchbook is filled with beautiful drawings, some of them in color and some of them in black and white.
Holy shit, did he draw these? I wonder, studying one with an anatomical heart pierced through with an arrow. The detail work on each piece is insane, and the style sort of reminds me of the tattoos I saw on Parrish’s wrists and hands. On the edge of the desk, there’s a portable tattoo kit, a box of disposable black gloves, and a shit-ton of ink. There’s even a fake hand which is creepy as fuck.
