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Most of the people here have been groomed for polite company since childhood. Smile, keep quiet, laugh when appropriate, and generally be a good girl. Now, that’s not to say they don’t know how to enjoy themselves or have a good time. Lord knows Tamsin and I have been to our fair share of raves and good nights out, but they weren’t sanctioned by our parents.
“Not quite,” she finally admits. “My mother’s employer is paying for my tuition. It’s complicated.”
“Sounds it.”
“He’s an asshole, and why he’s bothering, I’m not sure.” She finishes the rest of her champagne in one go, clearly seeming to need it.
“So, you’re telling me you didn’t grow up with a butler and the talent to design your own stunning clothes?” I ask, attempting to keep the tone light as Wyatt slips in the doorway, winking our way before finding himself in conversation with someone else. “Me neither.”
She scoffs out a laugh. “I’m going to need more alcohol if you’re going to come out with crap like that. I know exactly who you are, Ivy Rose.”
“Yeah?”
I’m not going to stop her, whatever thoughts and ideals she has about me are probably nine miles from the truth, or at least short-sighted enough, based on our limited interactions. And whilst she’s talking, opening up, giving me a glimpse into how her mind works, I’m not going to say no.
“You were top of your class, you’re a psychologist in the making. Don’t think I’ve missed the way you analyse and strategize me,” she says, plucking another glass from the table, her cocktail dress moving fluidly around her.
It’s not a designer brand, but still, it fits her beautifully. The black satin crosses over her chest and wraps around her back, the skirt floating from that point in layers to the knee. It’s simple and classy, but not showy.
She fits in here better than she realises.
Money is just a number, it doesn’t give you elegance. That’s learnt, usually.
There’s a confidence, an openness that she doesn’t usually have as she finishes another glass, refilling it before joining me once again. She’d have stuck out in her jeans and jumpers here, but instead, she blends beautifully, a true chameleon in our midst. Oh, and there’s no phone in her hand.
“Why don’t you share a few things about yourself then?” I ask. “Even the playing field a little.”
She glides to the seat beside me, not noticing Leo come in or the way both he and Wyatt watch her with interest. She’s not an Angel, neither of them can pick her in that way, but still, underneath all the irritation and refusal to engage is a brilliant young woman doing her best to survive. I get the interest.
“Or not, that’s totally fine,” I say, conscious of her lack of reply.
Perhaps getting personal information from her when she’s had this much wine is unethical, but this is the most she’s opened up in the weeks and months we’ve been getting to know each other. How can I help her realise her dreams if she won’t even let me in enough to tell me what they are?
“Is there a bathroom somewhere?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Too much champagne.”
“In the hallway, second left,” I reply.
For some reason, she carefully manoeuvres her way around the room, never obviously part of a conversation but close enough to various ones to look like it. Personally, I’d have gotten up and walked through the room, who cares if someone notices and sees you leave?
I guess it’s more than just her history that’s guarded.
FOURTEEN
NICK
The beer warms in my hand, not only because I’m aware of our two-drink limit and how spotless this place is supposed to be, even after a party, but because I can still taste her on my tongue, and it’s fucking glorious.
Her grip on my arm, her moans, the whimper, fuck, that almost did me in on the spot and had me coming in my pants like a teenager. Not quite, but almost. It’s ridiculous how badly I want to fuck this party off and take her upstairs, ignore whatever fancy shit her friend wants for the poncy display of affection, and show her exactly how a man treats his woman.
I’m not here for the show, I’m here for her. I’m here for The Sect. I’m here to become more than my brother, more than my father, and more than anyone expects of the silly little boys who know nothing.
Jacob and I have always been cute and matching, even when we didn’t mean to. It’s an easy role to play into. Just turn up to the events we need to, smile and be charming, but nobody ever expects anything of us.
Andrew took over Barrett Enterprises like it was always meant to be. After disappearing for years on end, hiding away and sulking, he strode into the role with his new fiancée on his arm, our sister at his side, and our father behind him. But we were too young, too inexperienced, too… fuck knows what, but whatever it was, we weren’t enough to be taken seriously.
And I think, in the end, our mother was just glad to be rid of the burden of us. Not that she’s ever been the doting kind, and more recently she’s been nothing but a ghost of herself and has spent months wandering around the house in mourning.
But still, we were there, a reminder of a job uncompleted. Two boys that she hasn’t managed to get into a good job yet, that she didn’t get to marry off to a nice woman from a good family.Shit, can you imagine?So, when the opportunity arose to pack us up and send us off to Pendleton Prep, how could she say no?
