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Brogan claps her hands together as if this is amusing in some way. “Oh, brotherly love at its best.”
“Don't call him that,” I snap at her. “Rome is not our brother. Neither are Wilder and Callan. Sayer, I’ll claim because he’s sweet.” I sneer at Rome, making sure he’s paying close attention as I say, “The rest of them are nothing to us.”
“Geez, El,” Brogan gripes. “I was kidding. Calm down.” With her water in hand, she flips her long dark blonde hair over her shoulder and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with Rome.
It’s no secret Rome and I don’t get along. Ever since we’ve moved into his house, he’s been a thorn in my side. He hasn’t even given me a chance; therefore, he doesn’t get one either. For some reason, his wrath is all aimed at me while Brogan and Lake get a different side of him. It’s like he can’t move past that moment when I shoved him in the pool thinking I’d never see him again.
There’s always a cocky remark to everything I do or say, and when I ask him what his problem with me is, he either ends the conversation or says I’m his problem. I can only assume he’s pissed I didn’t give him what he wanted at the party, or he’s upset about our parents getting married and us all moving into the home he’s lived in since he was born. I’m just not sure why I’m to blame for any of that. I don’t like this situation any more than he does.
When I look at him and see him standing there, watching me like he’s waiting for me to say something just so he can respond with cruelty, I plant my hands on my hips and stare back at him. “You can go now.”
“Actually.” He pushes himself up on the center island, making himself comfortable as he takes a seat. “This is my kitchen. You may go. After all, that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Running away.”
I shake my head in slow subtle motions while all the blood in my body rushes to my head. “I’m not going anywhere. So get used to it.”
“That’s a shame,” he grumbles under his breath. But I hear him. I hear every damn sound he makes.
Keep your eye on the future, Elodie. This is just a phase that will pass. This time next year, you’ll be pre-law at Stanford University and nowhere near this new family Mom has thrown us into.
Rome snatches an apple from the fruit basket beside him and digs his front teeth into it. Chewing, he watches me. “I must know,” he begins, pointing his bitten apple at me. “Do you make it a habit to go out wearing just a bra and underwear, Freckles?”
Rage rushes through me, ready to burst through my veins. Not at the nickname. It’s not original at all, and he’s not the first person to call me that due to the freckles on my nose. It’s his offensive words that piss me off.
I inhale deeply, roll my lips together, and plaster a fake smile on my face as I reach around him on the counter. The granite feels nice and cold against my chest after the intense workout Brogan and I just did at the gym. With my hand in the basket, I look up at him.
“I’m sorry, does my outfit offend you?” I pull out a banana and straighten my back, glowering at him as I peel back the skin. Sinking my teeth into it, I put emphasis on my mouth that his eyes are now watching.
“Not the least bit.” He jumps down in front of me and leans close, his breath a whisper in my ear. “If it’s a slutty look you were going for, I’d say you nailed it. Tell your nipples I said hello.”
He pushes the fruit into my mouth until I nearly choke, but I’m not showing him a sign of weakness. The entire banana fills my mouth until I bite it from the peel, chewing and swallowing while his eyes never leave my lips.
“You’ve got something,” he says, lifting a hand to my cheek, “right here.”
He swipes at my lips and we both still for a moment, frozen under each other's gaze. Then he tries to force his fingers into my mouth and I push him back. He laughs as he turns away, clearly having gotten the reaction he was hoping for.
I fight back the memories of another man doing the same thing to me without my consent. My hands tremble as Rome walks away, having no idea what he did.
“Ugh,” I growl, chucking the banana peel at his back as he walks out of the kitchen. “I hate you, Rome Cromwell!”
By the sound of his thudding feet on the stairs, I assume he’s already going back down with the guys, but I still hear him loud and clear as he shouts back, “Hate you more, Freckles.”
CHAPTER 3
ROME
“Hurry your ass up.” I pound my fist on the bathroom door, annoyed as fuck right now.
The fact that I’m now sharing a bathroom with Wilder is proof they shouldn’t be here. None of this was supposed to happen.
After Mom passed away, Dad swore he had no intention of ever getting married again. I suppose when he said it, he probably didn’t. I understand that he has to continue to live his life, but did it really have to be her? My new stepmother comes with baggage that doesn’t mesh with ours.
The two younger ones are decent. Brogan is a grade younger than Wilder and me—and Elodie. She seems pretty chill and down for a good time. She’s on the varsity cheer team and seems to fit in well with all the other uppity, bubbly cheerleaders. She’s the only one of the Astor girls with blonde hair, but they’ve all got the same matching green eyes.
Lake is a sophomore who prefers to hang out in the dark room my dad had set up for her in one of the storage closets in the basement. She’s got the darkest hair of the three—it's almost black—with a streak of purple in the front. She’s always got a camera in her hand and more times than not, she’s got artwork scribbled on her arms. She’s sort of weird, but I don’t give her too much shit.
Elodie, though—she’s insufferable. Being under this roof with her for the last week has been agonizing. It feels like the walls are slowly closing in and she’s the one pushing them, so I push back at her.
The second my dad introduced us to these girls, life as I knew it was over. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Elodie. Of all the people in this fucking world, why the hell did my dad have to marry her mom?
