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My grandmother clamped a hand over mine, stopping my nervous fidgeting.
“Yes. We knew.”
I jerked at her touch. Then her words sank in, and I turned to stare at her in shock as she clasped her hands placidly in her lap again.
If my grandparents knew my mom had died so long ago, why hadn’t they done anything then? I’d been living with a monster since I was seven years old, and not once had this woman even checked on me.
“So why didn’t anyone come and get me?”
Her thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We didn’t need to intervene before. You were taken care of. You had your father and a place to live. Why would you need us?”
I turned back to stare out the window as my fingers dug into my thighs. The slight pain grounded me, keeping me from lashing out at her the way I wanted to. How could she make it seem like I’d been fine?
I squeezed my eyes shut, a sudden twinge of pain shooting through my legs. Memories of my dad’s fists, his brutal words, and worst of all, his tearful promises to do better, flooded my mind.
They could have looked into it. They could have come to visit and seen how their grandchild was treated.
Instead, they’d done nothing. They’d left me alone with a man who’d verbally and physically torn me down until the day booze had finally killed him.
An acidic taste flooded my mouth as we lapsed into silence. Janet the social worker had meant well, but this was a nothing like the rosy picture she’d painted. Maybe I was better off with these people than in foster care, but the polished woman sitting on the seat next to me didn’t feel like family at all.
Janet was right about one thing though. This is a chance to make something better for myself. All I have to do is keep my head down, get a good education, and get the hell out of here.
“There’s Oak Park,” Jacqueline said another two hours into the drive, pointing out the window to our left. “You’ll be staying there while you attend.”
Unable to help my curiosity, I leaned across the seat to peer out her window. The campus was surrounded by a high brick wall, but I could see several large buildings rising beyond, their pristine white facades practically glowing against the bright blue sky. Red tiles covered the roofs—Spanish architecture, I thought it was called—and the grounds were perfectly manicured. The words Oak Park Preparatory Academy were spelled out above the thick, black gates.
It was beautiful and imposing, and I craned my neck to keep staring as the driver rolled past.
When we were several yards away, the heavy gates behind us swung open, and a dark red convertible pulled out onto the street, turning left to follow behind us.
My focus shifted from the school to the car, and my breath caught.
Holy fuck.
There were four guys in the convertible, and they looked about my age. Students at Oak Park, probably. But they had an aura about them that made them seem almost ageless, like they were immortal or something. The children of gods.
The driver had rich, dark brown hair that shone in the sun like melted chocolate, high cheekbones, and an angular jaw. The guy next to him was almost the exact opposite, with golden-blond hair and a tanned face that was split in a wide, easy smile. The two behind them were just as stunning, as if they might’ve walked off a movie set. The black-haired one had his hair cut short on the sides but longer on top, and even at a glance, I could feel an intensity coming off him that made me shiver. The one with lighter brown hair ran a hand through perfectly styled bronze hair, a lazy grin tilting his full, plush lips.
I stared at them, unable to tear my gaze away. There’d been over a thousand students at my high school in Idaho, and not a single one of them looked anything like these boys.
The guy behind the wheel flicked his gaze up, locking eyes with me for the briefest second. His eyebrows drew together just slightly, and he tilted his head to get a better look at me. Then he whipped the wheel to the right, veering around our large black car and cutting us off. The guy in the front passenger seat whooped and yelled as our driver slammed on the brakes, making both me and Jacqueline lurch forward. I gripped the door and stared after them as they peeled away.
My grandmother tsked in annoyance. “I’ll expect better behavior from you while you’re a student there.”
We drove in silence for another thirty minutes, and I did my best to keep from picking at the hole in my jeans as we drove through what I presumed was Roseland. We passed an area full of expensive looking boutiques and shops before entering a residential neighborhood. Most of the houses were set back from the road, hidden behind gates just like the school had been.
After a while, one of the gates on our right opened, and the driver pulled the car smoothly through.
The house was massive. It had to be at least three or four stories, with white stone walls and ornate detailing. The architectural style seemed old, but the building itself was pristine, as if it’d been built yesterday. The circular drive led up to an imposing front entrance, with stairs leading up to a door fronted by two marble columns.
We pulled to a stop, and the driver unloaded my bags before he took the car and disappeared down another section of the driveway, probably to some private garage.
“Welcome home, Talia.” Jacqueline stepped up beside me, taking my elbow and steering me toward the front door.
The place seemed to sprawl on and on, and I was dizzy by the time she’d finished only half the tour. A kitchen, two dining rooms, studies, bedrooms, bathrooms, entertainment rooms, a garden, a tea room. I was ready to throw up from the sheer size of it.
“Your room will be upstairs,” Jacqueline said. “You’ll have your own private bathroom, but I doubt you’ll need either of them very much. Oak Park will have excellent accommodations for you.”
