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CHAPTER 4

The First Law of Attraction


THE FIRST WEEK OF SCHOOL ONLY ADDED TO THE strange events that had been occurring over the past few weeks. It started in Latin.


Horace Hall, where almost all of our classes were held, was the size of a small Victorian castle, with stone towers and large wooden doors hammered with iron. They were so heavy I could barely open them. Ivy climbed up the face of the building, meandering around the windows that looked out onto the green.


The doors opened into a foyer with red carpeting, stained wooden walls, and high ceilings supported by oak beams. The windows were framed with heavy blue drapes, their folds gathering on the floor. Behind them, heaters hissed. In the middle of the foyer was a wide staircase with polished banisters that led to the outer wings of the building. Our Latin class was somewhere inside. It was first period, and Eleanor was running late and had stopped by the dining hall to pick up breakfast before class, so I was left to find it by myself. A few minutes before the bell rang, I was still standing in the foyer, staring down at my schedule as students rushed past me.


Elementary Latin   M W F 8:00 am
EW, II, VII, Horace Hall


I was pretty sure that meant east wing, second floor, seventh room. Or maybe it meant east wing, second room, seventh floor. Or maybe EW were the initials of my professor. I tried to ask for help, but everyone pushed past me in a rush to get to class, a swirling haze of pressed shirts, cuff links, ties, and penny loafers. This place couldn’t be that hard to navigate; I just had to think. I had a gut feeling that it was on the seventh floor, so in a somewhat arbitrary decision, I made my way up the stairs to the east wing. I found the room just as the bell rang. Breathless, I pushed open the door and flung myself inside, a flustered, sweaty mess. The entire class turned in my direction, and I knew I’d made a mistake. It was a small group; everyone was sitting around a single wooden table, hunched over their books when I interrupted. They all looked older and somewhat unwelcoming, particularly a brooding boy with short auburn hair that was neatly combed and parted down the side. He was wearing a black suit, far fancier than anyone else in the class, and tortoiseshell glasses. Next to him was a girl who could have been his sister. I couldn’t decide who was more handsome. She was also wearing a man’s suit, though hers was tailored to her slender frame. Her short black hair was parted and slicked back, as if she were a wealthy financier from the 1920s.


The professor was a robust young man with sandy hair that reminded me of a golden retriever. He was lecturing in a language I didn’t understand. It was probably Latin, though I was sure this wasn’t the class I was supposed to be in. The professor stopped speaking and gave me a questioning look. I could feel my face turn red.


“Is this Elementary Latin?” I asked stupidly.


The person in the seat closest to me turned around, and to my surprise, it was Dante. He raised an eyebrow, a beautiful eyebrow, and stared at me with amusement. Seeing him again, I felt embarrassed and excited all at once. He was leaning over the back of his seat, his collared shirt pulled tightly around his broad shoulders. His wavy brown hair was pulled back with an elastic band, a few stray locks dangling just below his chin. I imagined myself running my fingers through it. We made eye contact, and I felt myself blushing.


“No,” the professor said, taking off his glasses. Behind him, the board was covered in notes written in Latin. The only words I recognized were Descartes and Romulus et Remus. A simple six-sided figure was drawn over and over again in different iterations and dimensions. Confused, I looked at it again. It couldn’t be anything other than the image that had been haunting me for the last two weeks: a coffin.


“I … I’m sorry,” I murmured, and began to back out the door, when Dante stood up and walked toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. I fumbled with my things, and he reached behind me, his hand grazing my skirt as he opened the door. And giving me a barely discernible smile, he breathed, “Second floor. Seventh room on the left.”


I was late for Latin. When I walked into the classroom, it was the same thing all over again, all heads in my direction, and silence—a dead, pitying silence. Eleanor’s eyes were wide and terrified for me. “What happened?” she mouthed, curling a ringlet of hair around her finger nervously. But I didn’t dare respond. The professor stopped lecturing.


“I... I’m sorry I’m late. I got lost.”


“I don’t want you to speak; I want you to sit,” she said, as if I should have known.


Trying to keep a low profile, I hugged my bag and made my way to the back of the room.


Our Latin professor was a fortress of a woman, wearing a wide, shapeless dress and a thick pair of glasses. Professor Edith Lumbar was written on the board in wobbly cursive.


Edith Lumbar. She was the woman my grandfather had told me to contact if I ever needed help. I closed my eyes and sighed, wishing I hadn’t already gotten on her bad side.


“To continue where we left off, while you are in my classroom, there will be a number of rules. First, there shall be no slouching.”


The sound of shuffling filled the room as people sat up straight.


“Practitioners of Latin must pay close attention to precision in all facets of life if they wish to master the subtle science of the language.”


She began pacing about the room. “Second, you are not to speak unless you are called upon.


“And third, and this is by far the most important of all the rules, you are never, under any circumstance, to speak the language of Latin.”


How could we learn a language that we were never allowed to speak? And what was the point of learning it in the first place? “Why?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.


Professor Lumbar turned around and looked at me with surprise. “Were you not listening when I mentioned rule number two?” she asked, though it clearly wasn’t a question. “What is your name?”


“Renée Winters,” I said.


She gazed at me for a moment and then repeated, “Renée. To be born again. An old name, derivative of the Latinate and French verb naître, to be born, and shared by the great thinker René Descartes. While you clearly possess his proclivity for argumentation, it’s evident from your rash behavior that you lack his patience and wisdom to follow a logical progression through to its end.”


I barely had time to process her diatribe before she continued.


“So, Renée, what is it that don’t you understand?” Her tone was polite yet rife with sarcasm. The room was so silent I could hear my stomach growling.


I swallowed. “I was just … I was wondering why we can’t speak a language that we’re trying to learn.”


“That’s an interesting question. Does anyone want to answer her?”


A boy in the front row raised his hand.


“Yes,” Professor Lumbar said. “What is your name?”


“Prem,” he said.


“Prem, what do you think?”


“Is it because Latin is a dead language?”


“Latin has been considered ‘dead’ for centuries. Yet it is quite alive. Historically, Latin has been a language of the elite. Only select people were able to read it, write it, and most important, speak it. In this class we will study the legends surrounding the people Latin chose to speak through. Since this is an elementary class, it is obvious that no one in this room has been blessed with a Latinate tongue. To attempt to speak it out loud would thus be an act of hubris.


“However, if you choose to exercise your minds, I can teach you how to communicate the unspeakable. How do you describe the briefest sensation? A smell you haven’t experienced since you were a child? The ecstasy of seeing an animal being born? The immeasurable grief we feel when faced with death? We can’t even begin to communicate these complex emotions to each other. But Latin can illuminate sensations you never realized you had.”


All eyes were glued to the professor. Suddenly, Latin became interesting. Even as a child I had felt isolated in my thoughts. I was sure that nobody knew the real me, the full me, even my parents. And now that they were dead, I was completely alone. How could I explain all the things I was feeling to another person? Maybe Latin was the answer.


Professor Lumbar picked up a piece of chalk and began to scrawl something on the board. Latinum: lingua mortuorum. I copied it in my notebook.


“Now, open your books to page twelve,” she said, and proceeded to make us copy out verb conjugations until the period was over. Once out of class, I flipped through my dictionary to try and decipher what she had written. After writing out the translation, I looked around suspiciously.


Latin: The Language of the Dead.


The rest of the day went by in a blur. We were herded from one classroom to the next like cattle, lugging our books up and down the rickety old stairs of Horace Hall with just a short break for lunch. It had been so long since I had been at a new school that I had forgotten how difficult it was to be the new girl. I had no friends, and everyone at Gottfried acted like they’d stepped out of a polo match in the British countryside with the Prince of Wales. And considering that Gottfried actually had a polo team, and one of the upperclassmen was distantly related to the Duchess of Kent, some of them probably had. Eleanor was clearly one of the most popular girls in our grade, and fluttered from group to group chatting about her summer. Because she was only in two of my classes and there was barely time to talk in between, we agreed to catch up at dinner.


Left to my thoughts, I wondered what my friends at home were doing. Annie would be in biology, sitting in the back row, passing notes to Lauren while Mr. Murnane lectured about the body. And where would Wes be? In U.S. History, or maybe English Lit. Daydreaming about Wes used to be something I looked forward to, but now it just made me sad. Was he still thinking about me, or had he already moved on? The thought of him with another girl was too unpleasant for me to bear, and I pushed it out of my head, resolving to focus on my classes. It was the only way I’d be able to get through the first day of school without losing my mind.


I was just about to head to Philosophy when I heard something drop. Behind me, a frail girl with stringy brown hair was kneeling on the ground, frantically trying to pick up the papers and pencils and books that had fallen from her bag.


Feeling her embarrassment, I set my bag down and approached her. She looked rumpled, with puffy eyes and a glazed-over gaze, as if she had just woken up.


“Do you want some help?”


She turned to me with gratitude and nodded. Her brown hair stood up in the back with static, and she had a run in her nylons that started at the heel and traveled all the way up to the hem of her skirt.


“I’m Renée,” I said.

I froze. “Wait,” I said, my heart beginning to race. “He died of a heart attack?”


“Yeah. It did seem kind of bizarre at first. A fifteen-year-old dying of something like that. But that’s what happened.”


Images of my parents flooded my mind. The car, the woods, their lifeless bodies. “Did they find anything else? Like anything out of the ordinary? On his body, maybe?”


She gave me a confused look. “I don’t think so....”


“They didn’t find anything out of the ordinary but a dead kid,” Rebecca added sarcastically, biting into a cherry tomato.


Eleanor rolled her eyes.


“So what does Dante have to do with it?” I interjected.


Eleanor gazed at me as if it were obvious. “Dante was the one who found him.” I stopped chewing.


“No one could understand how Dante discovered him. It was in such a remote location in the forest that the chances seemed nearly impossible.”


I could feel myself begin to sweat.


“Afterward, there were rumors that Dante had killed Benjamin. That’s how he knew where he was.”


“But why would Dante do that?” I said, trying to steady my voice.


“Well,” Eleanor said, taking a sip of water, “Benjamin was dating my old roommate, Cassandra Millet.”


“Wait,” I said. “I thought we weren’t allowed to date.” I paused. “Why aren’t we allowed to date?”


Eleanor gave me a perplexed look. “Well of course we’re not allowed to date. The school thinks it distracts from our academics. I guess that’s the way they did it back then—brother and sister schools. Same with the dress code. No short skirts or bare shoulders. But that doesn’t mean no one dates. You just have to be discreet about it. Anyway, Cassandra was adorable: creamy skin, these huge green eyes, flowing golden hair—a little Aphrodite walking around campus. Everyone loved her. Even Dante. They were best friends—both part of the same group. The Latin Club. People think Dante was in love with Cassandra and killed Benjamin to get to her.”


“That seems a little extreme....” I said.


Eleanor shrugged. “It’s just a rumor.”


“So are they together now or something?”


“Cassandra dropped out,” Rebecca said, shaking her head.


“Or transferred,” Eleanor added. “Either way, she left the school.”


“Maybe Cassandra killed Benjamin Gallow,” a girl named Bonnie offered. Eleanor shook the idea off. “Then they would have let the police deal with it. And I already said that the cause of death was a heart attack. How could a person have caused that?”


For the first time in a while, Nathaniel spoke up. “Maybe she tried to kiss him,” he said in a small voice. “That would be enough to give me a heart attack.”


Everyone at the table exchanged amused glances, and eventually the conversation drifted, leaving Benjamin and Cassandra’s mystery unsolved.


After dinner we retreated to our dorm, where the girls dispersed to their rooms. Eleanor lit a candle and changed into a pair of pink pajamas. I wanted to read, and already forgetting the rules, went to turn on the overhead light. But there was no switch. There really was no light after nine p.m.


“I still don’t see the point in all of these rules.”


Eleanor shrugged. “The professors would probably say that it had something to do with our safety.”


“But how do you do your homework without lights? How do you do anything?”


“Candles. Your eyes will adjust. Just do your work earlier. Besides, why would you want to do homework at night when you could be doing so many more interesting things?”


It was a nice idea, but I had a feeling that the headmistress would see to it that we wouldn’t be doing anything more interesting than homework. No wonder my grandfather liked this place so much. His ten o’clock curfew seemed reasonable in comparison.


“Here,” Eleanor said. “Use this.” She opened her underwear drawer and searched through it until she found a half-burned candle. “You know, I always thought Nathaniel was sort of queer, like he gave me the creeps or something. But tonight he was really nice. And normal, in an abnormal way.”


I nodded, but the boy I was thinking about wasn’t Nathaniel.


“So Dante was...friends...with Cassandra?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant as I ran a brush through my hair.


Eleanor looked up from her journal, her eyes wide with excitement, as if she had been hoping I’d ask. “They were both in the Latin Club. Well, that’s what we called it because they were all in advanced Latin. Anyway, it was Cassandra, two juniors named Gideon DuPont and Vivian Aletto, a sophomore named Yago Castilliar, and then Dante. They’re all really smart, and kind of elitist. They know everything about the classics, they’re fluent in Latin, and they were always in the library together, whispering in it so no one could understand them.”


Eleanor stood up to open the window, and then sat next to me on my bed. “Here, let me do that,” she said, and began braiding my hair.


“After Benjamin died and Cassandra dropped out, the group fell apart. Well, not the entire group; just Dante. He had a huge argument with Gideon, Vivian, and Yago on the green after curfew. I could hear the shouting from my room.”


I hugged my knees. “What were they saying?”


Eleanor let out a laugh. “Who knows? It was all in Latin. The professors didn’t get there till it was over. After that Dante basically removed himself from the school. He stopped talking to everyone and moved off campus. I think he’s the only student at Gottfried who’s allowed to live in Attica Falls.” “Maybe he knows something,” I said, glancing out the window to the trees beyond the school wall.


“Something about what?” Eleanor asked, tugging at my braid. “And hold still.”


“Benjamin’s death. It’s not normal, the way he died. And Dante found him.” I turned to face Eleanor. “Maybe Dante found something on Benjamin’s body and didn’t tell the school about it. Maybe that’s what the fight was about.”


Eleanor’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Find what on his body? What are you talking about?”


“Like maybe a coin or something. Or cloth.”


Eleanor gave me a strange look. “I mean, he was wearing clothes. And he probably had change in his pocket. Why does that matter? Benjamin died of natural causes. And who cares what they were fighting about? Their friend died, and Cassandra transferred. They were probably just upset.”


I sighed. “I guess.” Even though everything she said made sense, I didn’t believe it.


“But if Dante’s is hiding something, maybe you can get it out of him,” she said, wrapping an elastic around the bottom of my braid. “I think he likes you.”


“He said three words to me, then told me I was in his seat. That hardly counts as liking.”


“Okay, but you have to admit that he’s gorgeous. Aren’t you at least curious?”


I was, but not just because he was unreasonably good-looking. There was something about the way he’d looked at me that made me feel more alive than I’d felt since before my parents had died. Even though our interaction was brief, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Why did he talk to me but not to anyone else? It seemed too coincidental that he had found Benjamin dead in the forest from a heart attack, just like I had found my parents. Yes, there was no proof he knew anything. He could have left his friends for any number of reasons. But what if there was more to it?


I was about to respond when someone knocked on the other side of the wall above Eleanor’s bed. A mischievous smile spread across her face. She climbed onto her bed and knocked back three times, waited, and then knocked once more.


Tiptoeing next to the door, she pressed her ear against it to make sure no one was outside. “I’m going next door. Do you want to come?”


“What’s next door?”


“Just the girls,” she said, putting on her slippers. “Genevieve’s going to be there, and I want to hear all the dirt on the Board of Monitors.”


“Is there dirt? I thought they were model students or something.”


“Oh come on, everyone has some terrible secret buried away.” Raising an eyebrow, she teased, “Not just Dante.”


“Isn’t your brother on the Board of Monitors? Why don’t you just ask him?”


She shook her head. “That’s the only thing he won’t tell me about. Obviously he doesn’t understand reverse psychology. Keeping it a secret only makes me want to know more.”


The invitation was tempting, but I was still trying to process all the things she’d told me about Benjamin Gallow. “Maybe some other night. I’m exhausted.”


Eleanor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”


She pulled on a sweater and slipped into the hall, where Rebecca and Bonnie were huddled outside. “Sweet dreams, Renée,” she said, and closed the door.


Unsure of what to do with myself, I picked up our dorm phone and dialed Annie’s number. Her mom answered.


“Hel... Hello?” my voice cracked. Even though I had only been gone for two days, it felt like ages. I had taken for granted what it was like to talk to someone familiar, and all at once my emotions about losing my parents and being ripped away from my friends and my life in California came bubbling to the surface.


“Renée, is that you?” Margerie’s voice echoed from a world that I had almost forgotten.


I swallowed. “Yes,” I said in a small voice. “Is Annie there?”


“Oh honey, she’s out right now. Can I have her call you back?”


“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.


“Is everything all right?” she asked, after I had given her my dorm phone number. “Yeah, it’s great,” I forced out. “Everything here is great.”


There was a long silence on the other end, as if Margerie were weighing whether or not she believed me. “Okay. Well, call us if you need anything. And I’ll make sure to tell Annie you called.”


“Thanks,” I said, and hung up.


I thought of all the places Annie could have been—the marina, the coffee shop, Lauren’s house—all the places I used to go to, but would never see again. To take my mind off it, I rolled over and picked up the Gottfried Code of Discipline and opened to the table of contents. It had dozens of sections: Dress Code, Curfew, School Boundaries, Leisure Activities, Room and Board, and Attica Falls, among others. I flipped to the chapter on the history of Gottfried and began to read.



Gottfried Academy was originally founded as a children’s hospital. The patients were housed in two buildings, one for boys and one for girls. Between the buildings was the only known salt lake on the East Coast. The founder and head doctor, Bertrand Gottfried, used the antibiotic qualities of the salt water to ward off disease, and the lake became a bathing area for patients. The infirmary grounds were built around it, including a wall that concealed the grounds behind fifteen feet of stone, to protect the patients from the natural hazards of the White Mountains....




Although I was tired, something compelled me to continue reading. And that was how I ended my first day at Gottfried—thinking about rules and restrictions, about death and Benjamin Gallow and my parents, until I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I stared at the headmistress. It seemed a little morbid for a high school motto. In my old school, the principal didn’t even give a welcome speech, let alone hold some bizarre nighttime ritual.


“It’s Latin,” Nathaniel said, pretending to keep his eyes closed like everyone else. “She’s saying that even though our bodies will die, our achievements will live on forever.”


“Shhh,” hissed a voice from the section across from us. A prim and preppy girl glared at us, then shut her eyes.


“That’s Genevieve Tart,” he said quietly. “She’s a junior. And she hates me.”


“Why would she hate you?” I asked.


“My presence annoys her.”


“Did she tell you that?”


“No, I can just tell. She barely speaks to me. And she thinks my name is Neil.” “That’s ridiculous. How can you know she hates you if she doesn’t speak to you?” I asked in a strained whisper.


“Shhh!” Genevieve said again, this time to me.


Nathaniel stared at his feet. “See?”


Before I could respond, a boy from the farthest section of the benches stood up. He was tall and athletic, with a face strikingly like Eleanor’s. Her older brother, I realized.


He walked through the rows of his section with a military strut until he stopped behind a girl and tapped her on the shoulder. She was slender and rosy, with almond eyes and straight black hair.


Once tapped, she walked down the rows and tapped a short, bony boy, who made his way to the third-year benches and tapped a girl with freckles and red hair. She tapped a serious-looking boy who made his way to the back, directly toward me. He stopped at our row, and I closed my eyes and waited. But the tap never came. Instead, he touched the girl across from us. Genevieve Tart rose and gracefully made her way down the aisle.


The six students lined up in front of the podium, their heads bowed and eyes closed.


“The tapping of the new Board of Monitors,” Nathaniel explained. “Model students.” His voice betrayed a hint of bitterness. “They make sure everyone keeps the rules.”


“How are they chosen?”


“They’re picked by the faculty. It’s really difficult to get. There’s this test you have to pass, but no one knows what it is, and the Monitors won’t say. That’s probably why they were chosen. They’re suck-ups.”


Headmistress Von Laark stopped chanting and left the podium. She approached the first boy from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. “Brandon Bell,” she announced in a commanding voice.


She moved quickly down the line. “Ingrid Fromme.


“Schuyler Soverel.


“Laney Tannenbaum.


“Maxwell Platkin.


“Genevieve Tart.”


Only juniors and seniors could be tapped, Nathaniel explained. Brandon, Ingrid, and Schuyler were fourth years, and were on the board last year. The third years were Laney, Maxwell, and Genevieve. The headmistress pursed her lips, dark red and elegant. “Board of Monitors. Tonight I bind you to Gottfried Academy. From this moment on, the student body is your body. The student voice is your voice… .”


The moon rose large behind the trees. Headmistress Von Laark lifted her head and gazed around the lawn “And now,” she bellowed, “let us wake.”


One by one the Board of Monitors opened their eyes and raised their heads. All of the students followed suit. The night sky was clear. The reflection of the moon rippled in the lake, and a cool breeze fluttered above, rustling the leaves.


The headmistress removed a small knife from the podium and cut a deep slit into the bark of the tree. Thick red sap oozed out. She dipped her fingers into it and tapped each Monitor on the forehead, smearing a crimson streak just above their eyes.


Then she spoke in Latin, her voice booming across the green.


Nathaniel translated. “‘Blood from the oak tree, blood from our founders, resting in the roots beneath. May our minds be deciduous, constantly being reborn.’”


The headmistress stopped speaking and turned to the new Board of Monitors. They looked frightening, almost biblical, with the sap dripping down their foreheads. I had never heard of a tree that bled red sap.


“Gottfried Academy, I present to you the Board of Monitors. In celebration, I would like to invite you all to join us in the Megaron for the first-of-the-year feast.”


And with that, the headmistress walked past the board, and one by one they filed off the green and back toward the dorms. The professors followed. No one clapped. No one spoke. The wind blew overhead, making the campus feel vacant.


Once they were gone, everyone stood up. I glanced back at the front row, but Dante wasn’t there. Only Eleanor, talking to a group of girls. The rest of the students had already begun to head to the Megaron, which apparently meant great hall in Greek, for the feast. Everyone except for Nathaniel, who was hanging around the benches, as if he were waiting for something.


“Are you going to the feast?” I said finally.


Looking slightly surprised, he straightened his posture.


“Yeah.” He fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. Suddenly he slapped a mosquito off his arm.


“Do you want to sit with me?” I asked. He was a bit weird, but seemed nice and sort of funny, and since he hadn’t left with friends, I was pretty sure he didn’t have anyone to sit with.


He perked up and pushed his glasses closer to his face. “Really? I mean, yeah, sure.”


We met up with Eleanor and her friends at a table in the Megaron. Eleanor’s friends were just like her: pretty, rich, and carefree. I wasn’t sure who was more surprised—the girls upon seeing Nathaniel trailing behind me, or Nathaniel upon realizing that he was sitting with some of the most popular girls in our year. Even though I tried to pay attention while everyone was catching up, I couldn’t help glancing around the dining hall, hoping to spot Dante beneath one of the iron chandeliers. But all I saw were the faces of strangers.


Then suddenly I heard his name. I turned back to the table, where all the girls and Nathaniel were staring at me, waiting for me to answer.


“Right, Renée?” Eleanor probed.


“What? Sorry. I was just looking at the, um, the Board of Monitors table.”


“I was just telling them that you got Dante Berlin to talk. I think he even laughed.”


I blushed. “Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t a serious conversation or anything. He was actually sort of rude.”


“Everything is serious with Dante. He never smiles or laughs,” said Greta, an athletic redhead.


“He didn’t seem that bad,” I said, taking a bite of pasta. “He did have a sense of humor...kind of.”


“He was different around you,” Eleanor said. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to anyone for as long as he did with you. Since last spring, that is.”


“What do you mean ‘last spring’? What happened?”


Rebecca, a lithe girl with short black hair, interjected. “No one really knows,” she said, leaning on her elbows. “Just that Benjamin Gallow died. He disappeared, and then a few days later they found him in the woods. Dead.”


Eleanor interrupted her. “You’re telling it completely wrong.” She waited until she had my full attention, and began. “So it was the middle of spring term, when one day Benjamin just didn’t show up for classes. Benjamin was the kind of guy who had no idea how hot he really was. He was a straight-A student, the best épée fencer on campus, and was friendly to everyone, even the cook staff. Basically everyone liked Benjamin, and Benjamin liked everyone. So when he didn’t show up for class, we all thought he was sick. Only he wasn’t in the dorm that night.


“The school searched everywhere. They questioned his friends, his roommate, his girlfriend, practically everyone who knew him, but nobody had any idea where he was. And then they finally found him.”


Eleanor gazed around the table dramatically, her eyes glistening with excitement.


“He was in the forest. It was a Monday; I remember because I was wearing my pink-and-blue headband, the one I always wear on Mondays. We were outside in Earth Science when we saw them carrying Benjamin’s body through the gates. Dead, of course. I remember they’d thrown his coat over him so none of us could see his face. All we could see was one of his arms swinging below him while Professor Bliss and Professor Starking carried him to the nurses’ wing. It was so pale it was almost blue.”


The table went uncomfortably silent, the din of silverware clinking against plates blurring into white noise around us as we all imagined Benjamin’s arm dragging lifelessly across the green.


“But the strangest part was that nobody could understand what caused his death,” Eleanor continued. “He wasn’t harmed in any way. No scratches or bruises or anything, so it was obvious that no one had attacked him or murdered him. And he didn’t have anything with him, so it wasn’t like he was trying to run away. When the nurses examined him, they said he died of a heart attack, and that there was no other possible cause of death.”

CHAPTER 3

The Awakening


HER NAME WAS CASSANDRA MILLET. THAT WAS all I was able to find out about Eleanor’s old roommate before we were interrupted by the chiming of church bells. Eleanor suddenly looked distraught. “Is it six o’clock already? We have to go!”


“Go where?”


“Fall Awakening, of course. Come on, we’re late.”


“Wait, but what’s Fall Awakening?”


Instead of answering, Eleanor grabbed a cardigan. I did the same, and she took me by the elbow and rushed me out the door.


We walked briskly through campus, past Verning Theater, a massive stone building with Greek columns lining the front; past Horace Hall, made of red brick, with tall darkened windows that gaped vacantly into the mountains. I could barely make out the engraving over its entrance: COGITO ERGO SUM. “That’s where our classes are,” Eleanor explained. Finally, we passed the Observatory, a stone tower in the middle of campus that doubled as an astronomy lookout and science laboratory. It was almost sunset when we reached the green. A low murmur of voices filled the air, and we walked toward them until we reached the clearing.


The trees grew thicker at the center of campus, enclosing the lawn in a semicircle of oaks and evergreens. Above them, the darkening sky was scratched open, bleeding bright streaks of red and orange. In the distance was the chapel, its bells still swaying.


“This,” Eleanor said, “is Fall Awakening.”


The students were divided into four sections, one for each year, she explained. Everyone was already seated on long wooden benches that lined the outskirts of the lawn in the shape of a U. The first row of each section was empty. Eleanor was already squeezing her way onto a bench in the sophomore section. I followed her, but when she saw me take a seat beside her, she shook her head.


“It’s supposed to be alphabetical,” she explained. “Which means you should be in the back with the rest of the W’s....”


We both turned to look at the back row. The only space left was on the far side, in between a scrawny blond boy with thick-rimmed glasses and a plump girl with frizzy brown hair who did not look very friendly.


“Oh … right. Okay.” I hesitated before standing up, studying the blond boy in the back, who seemed to be counting something that no one else could see. “Who is that?”


Eleanor ignored my question. “But since the guy who sits next to me isn’t here, I doubt anyone will notice if you stay,” she said just as I was about to leave. “You’re way better company. I’ve tried to make conversation, but he barely acknowledges me. Sometimes I think he doesn’t even notice that I’m sitting next to him. He’s like that with everyone. He even stopped hanging out with his friends, and now just does everything alone. He’s sort of like this social outcast, except that everyone is secretly obsessed with him.”


“Obsessed? What do you mean? I thought you said he didn’t talk to anyone.”


“He doesn’t. The thing is … he’s beautiful. He’s this rugged, devastatingly gorgeous guy who has inexplicably chosen a life of solitude. And he’s brilliant. Some Latin prodigy or something. Most people here can’t decide if they love him, hate him, or are scared of him. For most people it’s all three. Especially my brother. Brandon hates it when I talk about him, which is sort of weird because I don’t think they’ve spoken even once.” “Who is he?”


Eleanor lowered her voice, the name rolling off her tongue like a dark secret. “Dante Berlin.”


I laughed. “Dante? Like the Dante who wrote the Inferno? Did he pick that name just to help cultivate his ‘dark and mysterious’ persona?”


Eleanor shook her head in disapproval. “Just wait till you see him. You won’t be laughing then.”


I rolled my eyes. “I bet his real name is something boring like Eugene or Dwayne.”


I expected Eleanor to laugh or say something in return, but instead she gave me a concerned look. I ignored it.


“He sounds like a snob to me. I bet he’s one of those guys who know they’re good-looking. He probably hasn’t even read the Inferno. It’s easy to pretend you’re smart when you don’t talk to anyone.” Eleanor still didn’t respond. “Shh …” she muttered under her breath.


But before I could say “What?” I heard a cough behind me. Oh God, I thought to myself, and slowly turned around.


“Hi,” he said with a half grin that seemed to be mocking me.


And that’s how I met Dante Berlin.


So how do you describe someone who leaves you speechless?


He was beautiful. Not Monet beautiful or white sandy beach beautiful or even Grand Canyon beautiful. It was both more overwhelming and more delicate. Like gazing into the night sky and feeling incredibly small in comparison. Like holding a shell in your hand and wondering how nature was able to make something so complex yet so perfect: his eyes, dark and pensive; his messy brown hair tucked behind one ear; his arms, strong and lean beneath the cuffs of his collared shirt. I wanted to say something witty or charming, but all I could muster up was a timid “Hi.”


He studied me with what looked like a mix of disgust and curiosity.


“You must be Eugene,” I said.


“I am.” He smiled, then leaned in and added, “I hope I can trust you to keep my true identity a secret. A name like Eugene could do real damage to my mysterious persona.”


I blushed at the sound of my words coming from his lips. He didn’t seem anything like the person Eleanor had described.


“And you are—”


“Renée,” I interjected.


“I was going to say, ‘in my seat,’ but Renée will do.”


My face went red. “Oh, right. Sorry.”


“Renée like the philosopher René Descartes? How esoteric of you. No wonder you think you know everything. You probably picked that name just to cultivate your overly analytical persona.”


I glared at him. I knew he was just dishing back my own insults, but it still stung. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said curtly, and pushed past him before he could respond, waving a quick good-bye to Eleanor, who looked too stunned to move.


I turned and walked to the last row, using all of my self-control to resist looking back.


“Sorry,” I said as I squeezed through the row at the end of the alphabet, stepping over feet and pushing past knees. I stopped in front of the blond boy I’d seen from up front. He looked up at me through his glasses, then quickly averted his eyes, as if he had done something wrong.


“Is this W?” I asked.


It took a few seconds for him to realize I was speaking to him. Finally he nodded. “Welch, like the juice,” he said, referring to himself, “and Wurst,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper as he pointed to the girl to his left, “like the sausage.”


I let out a surprised laugh. “I’m Renée. Winters, like the season,” I said, and sat down next to him.


He was a shrimp of a person, and blond all the way down to his eyelashes. He had inordinately skinny arms and looked like he’d spent the majority of his life in his parents’ basement playing video games. Yet still, there was something strangely interesting about him. I tried to place it. Was it the fact that he hadn’t blinked since we’d started talking, or the way he leaned a little too close when he spoke? No, it was something more.


“I’m Nathaniel. I mean, that’s my first name.” He adjusted his glasses. His shaggy hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in days, and his skin was as pasty as waxed paper, save for a collection of blemishes on his chin and forehead.


I smiled. “Got it.”


“You’re new here, right?”


I nodded.


“Me too. Well, I was last year. I’m not new anymore.”


A hush fell over the crowd. From the back, a line of people filed onto the lawn.


“Those are the professors,” Nathaniel said.


They walked stiffly and all wore the same blue-and-gold scarf around their necks. The frayed ends dangled loosely above their waists as they took their seats in the front row.


At the center of the lawn was an ancient oak tree. Its gnarled trunk was so thick that it looked as if three trees had twisted themselves into one. Draped over its branches were two flags. They were deep blue, and bore a constellation of a bear and the Gottfried crest of arms in yellow stitching. A small podium stood between them.


And then out of the darkness emerged the tallest woman I had ever seen, striding through the trees like the wisp of a ghost.


“That’s the headmistress, Calysta Von Laark,” said Nathaniel.


She stood at least six feet tall, with wavy white hair that was pinned loosely to the back of her head. She had blue eyes, large hands, and a slender figure that was slightly masculine in its proportions.


She walked to the podium and waited. The wind slowed, and everything was still.


“Students, faculty, welcome to another illustrious year at Gottfried Academy.” Her voice was low and velvety as it echoed off the buildings surrounding the lawn.


“I hope that you all had an enlightening holiday and were able to use the time away from your studies to wade in the warm waters of everything that summer has to offer. To our new students, welcome. There is a complete list of school policies and procedures in the Gottfried Code of Discipline, which you received with your books and schedules. If you have any questions, I trust that our returning students will be able to aid you, as well as the dormitory parents, Mrs. Lynch and Professor Bliss.”


A man and woman from the front row stood up and waved.


“Here at the Academy, we believe that limitations challenge the mind. Gottfried has a series of regulations that we hope all of our students will abide by during their stay here. While this is slightly out of procedure, I would like to use this time to reiterate a few that are especially critical after the events that occurred last spring.” A murmur floated over the benches. What happened last spring? I wondered, leaning over to ask Nathaniel.


“Someone died,” he whispered. “A first year named Benjamin Gallow.”


“What?” I asked. “How?”


But we were interrupted by the headmistress’s booming voice, as she recounted the rules.


“First: boys are never permitted to be in the girls’ dormitory, and vice versa. Second: leaving the school grounds is strictly prohibited and punishable by expulsion. And third” —the headmistress paused to brush a cluster of white hair away from her eyes—“under no exception is anyone allowed to enter into a romantic relationship of any nature at this academy.”


What? I glanced around me, incredulous that they would even think of banning dating. But no one else seemed fazed. The sun was setting behind the library. Almost simultaneously the lights in every building on campus went out, leaving us to the purpling twilight.


“And, of course, let me emphasize that there shall be no use of artificial light after sunset, with the exception of candles. In this world, darkness is always looming on the horizon. At Gottfried, instead of avoiding the dark, we meet it head on. As headmistress, I urge you to do the same with your studies and with every obstacle you face in the future. Do not accept the confines of the world as you perceive it. Instead, look for what you cannot see. There are universes among us, within us. Our only way out of darkness is to learn how to see without light.”


The crowd was silent. Crickets chirped lazily from the grass around us.


“And now, in the time-honored tradition of the great thinkers who came before us, let us cast away everything we know and attempt to see the world as it really is.”


The headmistress closed her eyes and bowed her head. Everyone followed, and I did the same. Then she began to speak in a language that was far different from anything I’d heard before. It started as a low murmur, and gradually grew into a chant. I opened an eye and tried to catch a glimpse of Dante, but all I could see was the back of his neck. It was a beautiful neck, smooth and lean beneath the collar of his shirt.


But my thoughts were interrupted by a voice tickling my ear. “Bring us death,” said Nathaniel, barely audible.


I gasped. “What?”


“That’s what she’s saying: ‘Bring us death so we can study it. To capture the mind of a child is to gain immortality.’” His voice cracked, and he swallowed self-consciously. “‘So that when we die, our minds live forever.’

update has landed @skyblueking and d rest of d gang. Please read and leave a tot as a token.

As the path narrowed, I passed a large grassy area surrounded by trees, which I guessed was the green. Just past it was the lake, wide and still, expanding across the entire upper half of campus. The buildings reflected off the water, changing and distorting in its ripples. At the head of the lake stood a life-size statue of a bear on all fours, its face arched up toward the sky.


The girls’ dormitory was made of a soft gray stone. Even from the outside it looked clean, as if it were made entirely of bars of soap. Across the lake stood an almost identical building that was made of a slightly darker stone. It was shaded by a collection of oak trees and seemed gloomier. A few boys were walking toward it.


Inside the girls’ dormitory, the heat was on and everything had the calm coloring of warm milk. A wide stone staircase led upstairs, and I skimmed my fingers across the surface of the banister as I ascended.


My room was large and sunny with high ceilings and a fireplace. The walls were a welcoming yellow, and the sweet smell of yeast and baking bread filled the room, reminding me of home. On the far wall were two large windows overlooking the lake and the green. My suitcases rested beneath them. I bent down to begin unpacking when a cool gust of northern air blew in, followed by the sound of rustling paper.


On the desk was a large rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. RENÉE WINTERS, it said in bold letters. Resting on top of it was a manual with the Gottfried crest embossed on the cover. I opened it. Gottfried Academy Code of Discipline. It was 157 pages long. How could there possibly be that many rules? I set it aside and tore open the parcel.


Inside was a stack of books:



Latinvs, by Evangeline Rhine





Mythology and Rituals, by Gander McPherson





Lost Numbers, edited by J. L. Prouty & Linus Moss Soil, by Brenda Hardiman





Origins of Existence, by Paul F. Dabney





Metaphysical Meditations, by René Descartes





The Republic, by Plato




Beneath them was a series of other books by Nietzsche, Aristophanes, Aristotle, and other names that I couldn’t pronounce.


Confused, I pulled out the envelope from my pocket. Inside was a sheet of paper labeled: Second-Year Schedule: WINTERS.


Elementary Latin I


Ancient Civilization


Imaginary Arithmetic


Horticulture


Philosophy


The Arts


Crude Sciences


Horticulture? Imaginary Arithmetic? In California we studied normal things like English, Algebra, Biology, and languages that people actually spoke, like Spanish or French. What did Crude Sciences even mean?


I picked up Mythology and Rituals, which I assumed was my Ancient Civilizations textbook. Back in California, History had been my favorite subject. Out of my entire schedule, it was probably the only class I would really enjoy. But I guess I didn’t have a choice, which seemed to be a recurring theme in my life over the past few weeks.


The sound of footsteps broke my train of thought. They stopped in front of my door. Startled, I stood up and watched the knob turn and the door creak open.


A girl walked in, lugging two overstuffed duffel bags behind her. A mess of wavy blond hair was piled on top of her head, and her round cheeks were flushed from walking up the stairs. With a sigh, she let a bag drop from her shoulder. It fell to the ground with a thud.


“Who are you?” I asked, confused.


“Eleanor,” she said, fanning her face with her hand. “Eleanor Bell.”


She was carelessly pretty, with rosy skin and wisps of windblown hair framing her face in a way that made her look like she had just stepped off a private yacht in Nantucket.


“So why...what are you doing in my room?”


“What are you talking about?” she said, looking at me as if I were crazy. “I’m your roommate.”


“Oh.” I felt my face turn red. In my hurry to open the package, I hadn’t even noticed that there were two beds. I looked around the room more carefully and realized that it was true, there seemed to be two of everything: two desks, two chairs, two wardrobes, all divided by a fireplace. “They didn’t tell me I had a roommate.”


“They almost didn’t tell me either. My old roommate left Gottfried at the last minute, and I was set to have a huge single all to myself...until a few days ago.”


I shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry.”


She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’ll be fun. Besides, living by yourself can get lonely.” She looked at my legs and frowned. “You know you’re not in dress code.”


I glanced down at my shorts and then at her outfit. She was wearing an impossibly short wool skirt, a perfectly pressed white collared shirt, and black knee-highs. I imagined that her parents were the sort of people who owned horses and played tennis on the weekend after hosting large brunches on their waterfront estate. “And you are?”


Eleanor ignored my comment. “No denim or clothes with writing on them,” she recited. “Only skirts, collared shirts, and stockings. And if you want to wear pants, you have to wear a blazer.”


I rolled my eyes. What was the point in getting so dressed up for school? “Well, I think I look fine.”


Eleanor scoffed at me, sticking her button nose into the air. “You look fine for going to the beach. We’re at Gottfried Academy! One of the oldest and most competitive schools in the country. Do you know how many people would die to be in your position?”


I had never heard of Gottfried until my grandfather told me about it, and I definitely didn’t care how prestigious it was. I would have given anything to be back at my old school. “I guess it’s just hard moving away from my friends.” I unzipped one of the suitcases and then added, “I’m new here.”


“I know.” Eleanor hoisted one of her bags onto her bed. “That’s the first thing you need to understand about Gottfried—it’s small. Things have a way of being found out.” She untied her hair, letting thick blond locks fall around her shoulders. The smell of citrus and shampoo wafted through the room. “Which brings me to the second thing you need to know. The secrets that aren’t found out are buried well. And probably for a reason.”


I gave her a perfunctory nod, but thought she was being overly dramatic. I had been to high school; I knew how things worked, how people talked, how secrets were leaked.


Eleanor paused, and for a moment I thought she had finished and I could finally unpack in silence. But then she said, “For example, your name is Renée. You’re five foot four, you got straight A’s at Costa Rosa High, you’re a sophomore, like me, and you have an inclination for history and the social sciences. Your parents were teachers, but then they died and your grandfather sent you here. His name is”—she tried to remember—“Brownell Winters.”


Surprised, I looked up at her. “How did you—?”


“And now you’re here, probably thinking I’m some spoiled, self-centered trust-fund girl who’s obsessed with makeup and name brands and only got into Gottfried because my family has legacy here.”


“That is not true! That’s just... It’s not... I don’t think that about you.” The retort sounded cleverer in my head, but the worst part was that I probably would have thought all of those things if I’d had more time.


“It’s all right. Everyone thinks it. And maybe they’re not totally wrong. But I know that your family has legacy too. Which is why you got in. You didn’t even have to take that ridiculous admissions test. And even though you couldn’t have grown up rich—I mean, your parents were teachers—I know that you’re an only child. Which probably makes you more spoiled than me, because I have an older brother, and everyone knows that only children don’t know how to share.”


I gaped at her, torn between anger and confusion. How did she know all this? I wanted to ask if it was her family’s money that made her think she could talk to someone else that way, but all I managed to spit out was, “I know how to share.”


“I told you,” she said, reading my thoughts. “Things have a way of being found out here. My parents are divorced, so I don’t really see them. It happened a few years ago and was really messy. My mom got the house in Aspen, my dad got the house in Wyoming, and they’re still fighting over the rest.” She rolled her eyes. “Or their lawyers are. My parents can’t even stand being in the same state. So of course they couldn’t stop fighting about where we would live. Which is why my brother and I are here. That and the fact that practically our entire family has gone to Gottfried.” She smiled. “And now you know everything about me, in case you were wondering.” She looked into my open suitcase. “That’s a really cute skirt.”


I watched as she leaned over my personal belongings in all of her blond, rosy glory, completely unapologetic for who she was and where she came from.


“Thanks,” I said. “It was my mom’s.” “She had great taste. Do you mind if I take a peek?” And without waiting for an answer, she bent down and sifted through the rest of the clothes in my suitcase. “You know, I’ve always had this fantasy of growing up in a normal family. A small, cozy house. My parents cooking pancakes for breakfast and borrowing eggs from the neighbors. Riding the bus to school. Oh, and of course I’d have to have a summer job. It’s so romantic. I could work as a waitress and wear an apron and everything.”


I gave her a confused look. “It’s really not that romantic. The bus was crowded and there was always gum stuck to the seats. And I would have killed to not have a summer job. But then I would never have met the guy I was dating. He asked me out at the farmers’ market where I worked.”


She looked up at me in awe. “See! It is romantic! Tell me everything.”


I couldn’t help but laugh. I had never met anyone who fantasized about having a crappy summer job or living in a small house.


“Let’s start over,” I said, and held out a hand. “My name is Renée.”


Eleanor smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” She held up a tan shirt with ruffles on the collar. “This is so vintage. Do you mind if I borrow it? It would look great with my new skirt.” I let out another laugh. “Sure. So how did you know all that stuff about me?”


“It wasn’t hard. My brother, Brandon, is on the Board of Monitors. He’s a senior, and practically the headmistress’s pet. When I found out I had a roommate, I asked him to look in your file and relay the details. He’s not supposed to, but he’d do anything for me.”


It didn’t sound that easy. Actually, it sounded like a lot of work for information that she could have just found out by asking me. I watched her go through the clothes in my suitcase, holding them up to her body.


“Eleanor, how come your old roommate didn’t come back this year?”


She gave me a mischievous smile, as if she had been waiting for me to ask. “Now that’s a question that’s not so easy to answer.”

Dustin ran over to me, surprisingly agile despite his age and the stuffy suit he was wearing. He summoned a garden worker as my grandfather approached and surveyed the scene. “Get rid of it, please,” he said to one of the gardeners, patting me on the back. “Just a dead bird. Nothing to be frightened of.”


“Right,” I said, standing up, embarrassed that I had caused such a fuss. This had happened to me before. Even as a child, I seemed to find my way to dead things.


“Let’s go inside.”


Dusk settled over the mansion. My grandfather and I dined at one end of an exceedingly long table, and he attempted to make small talk about the subjects I was interested in at school. I told him I wasn’t sure. I had always been good at history. Both of my parents had been high school history teachers; my father had specialized in ancient Greek civilizations, and my mother had taught on the Roman Empire. So when I did well in my history classes, they’d always encouraged me to read more on my own.


“But what are you interested in, regardless of what your parents wanted?” he pressed.


I hesitated. “I... I don’t know. I like books and reading. And I like Biology. Anatomy, dissection. It sounds kind of cool. But I’ve never really taken it, so who knows. I probably wouldn’t even like it.”


He gave me a troubled look. “Why do you say that?”


“Dad told me that science was a flawed field. Something about how it was just another form of prediction. It tries to explain the mysteries of life and death by using a very small vocabulary. That’s what he said, at least.”


My grandfather rubbed his chin. “I see. Well, perhaps you should give it a try, lest he was mistaken. At Gottfried.”


I nodded. Was my grandfather actually being supportive of something I wanted to do? Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.


That night after my grandfather went to bed, I turned on the bedside light and explored my mother’s room. It was like a museum, everything perfectly preserved, as if the sixteen-year-old version of my mother had just left for a date with my father, and would return any minute, sneaking in through the back door so my grandfather wouldn’t catch her. I ran my hands just above her perfumes, her porcelain figurines, her pens and pencils, not wanting to touch them, to change anything about them. She had stacks of books, mostly paperback fantasy novels and children’s tales, a pile of old notebooks scrawled with numbers and equations from math class, I assumed, and a binder full of notes from what seemed to be a literature class. In the margins, she had doodled my father’s name over and over again. I traced my fingers around the letters. Robert Redgrave. I liked the idea that they had once been my age, passing notes and daydreaming about each other in class. With a yawn, I clutched the notebook to my chest and crawled into my mother’s bed. Surrounded by her things, I finally felt safe, and fell into the first full night’s sleep I’d had in weeks.


In the morning we set out. Dustin drove us through the grassy knolls of Vermont, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and finally into western Maine. It was getting late in the afternoon, the sun beating a yellow orange on the horizon. In the distance an airplane left a trail of white steam heading toward the west, and I watched as it disappeared behind the mountains. We hadn’t seen civilization in hours.


Up ahead, the darkened mouth of a tunnel was carved into the earth. Dustin locked the car doors. The radio became scratchy until it turned completely static.


When we emerged through the other end, we were in the mountains. The alpine passage had been carved into the granite. Giant peaks jutted out of the ground, framing the horizon like jaws. As we climbed higher into the mountains, the temperature dropped. Snowmelt trickled down from the peaks, soaking the road, and Dustin slowed as we turned a bend.


And then out of nowhere, we passed a house. It was half dilapidated, made of a dark wood that was rotting at the base. I was sure it was abandoned until I spotted a figure moving inside, behind the curtains of a cracked kitchen window.


I pressed my face against the glass to get a better look as we drove by. It was followed by another house, only this one was smaller and better kept, resting tenuously on a bed of granite. Slowly, we began to pass more houses until we reached an intersection with a general store, a gas station, and a diner with a faded sign that read beatrice’s.


“What is this place?” I asked.


“Attica Falls,” said my grandfather.


A few cars were parked along the side of the road, and a man was pumping diesel into a rusty pickup truck at the gas station. A stray cat ran under a house porch. Otherwise, the town was empty. Dustin made a left at the intersection, then headed up a steep road that led us around the mountain. The town ended as suddenly as it began. I looked back to catch one last glimpse of it just as we hugged the bend. Attica Falls.


When I turned back around, we had come to a stop. Nestled into the forest were tall iron gates spiraling together like the branches of a tree. Hanging at the center was a brass plate engraved with gottfried academy. A crest of arms was inscribed below it, with the words vox sapientiae clamans ex inferno. A small man dressed in a guard’s uniform approached the driver’s side.


Dustin rolled down his window. “Mr. Brownell Winters,” he said solemnly.


Surprised, the guard stepped back and stood up straight. “Sir,” he said, giving our car a stiff nod and running to open the gates. As we drove past, he peered into the car curiously, but quickly looked away.


Inside the school grounds the terrain was much different than the rugged wilderness that surrounded it. The ground was flat and green, with sprawling quadrangles of grass and trees. The massive buildings that comprised the campus were made of dark brick that had been stained and faded by the elements until it had acquired a smoky hue.


Ivy climbed up the walls, giving me the feeling that the buildings had not been built at all, but had grown naturally out of the earth.


We pulled into a half-crescent driveway and parked at the foot of a staggeringly large stone building, with ARCHEBALD HALL engraved above the entrance. Dustin left the car running and took my suitcases out of the trunk.


“Oh, I can get that,” I said, but he refused. With a bow, he carried them into the hall, leaving only my backpack at my feet.


“This is where we part ways,” my grandfather said.


“You’re leaving?” Suddenly I felt very alone.


“Would you have me stay?” He studied me pensively. “Edith Lumbar. She’s a professor here and an old colleague of mine. Should you ever feel unsafe, go to her. She’s very capable.” I nodded, fidgeting with the bottom of my cardigan.


“And you have my phone number. Don’t be shy about calling.”


“Okay.”


“You remind me of your mother when she was your age. I should be happy if you turned out the same.”


In a gesture intended to comfort me, he gave me a stiff hug. And with only one place to go, I walked up the steps to Archebald Hall.


I found myself standing in a giant hallway with a high-vaulted ceiling and mahogany colored walls that reminded me of the interior of a church. I ambled down the hall until I reached an open doorway on my right. I peeked in.


“Come in,” said a friendly voice.


Startled, I stepped inside. A young woman wearing red lipstick and a secretary’s skirt suit was seated behind a desk, sorting through a stack of files. She was simultaneously plain and glamorous, like a 1950s movie star. I half expected her to look up from a typewriter and pull out a long cigarette. She smiled when she saw me approach.


“Hi,” I said. “I... I’m a new student.”


She nodded. “What is your name?”


“Renée Winters.”


She scanned the files with a long slender finger and handed me an envelope. I turned it over, not sure what to do. She seemed to know what I was thinking.


“Your schedule is inside.” She motioned toward the envelope. “Everything you’ll need is in your room, including your suitcases, which are being delivered as we speak. You’re in 12E, in the girls’ dormitory. Go straight out these doors and turn right. Follow the walkway past the green. When you get to the lake, you’ll see it on your left.”


I folded the envelope into my pocket. “Thanks.”


I walked down a cobblestone path through the campus, which was lined with oak and maple trees and small leafy shrubs. There were students everywhere. Girls in pleated skirts and oxfords, boys in collared shirts and ties loosened around the neck. I looked down at my cardigan and collared shirt, which I’d patched together from my mother’s closet, hoping my grandfather wouldn’t notice when I paired them with my cutoff shorts. It was the last time I could wear them, and to my relief he hadn’t said anything. But now I felt out of place. I picked up the pace, eager for the privacy of my own room.

Finally, the car slowed, turning up a long gravel driveway lined with lampposts. At the end was a Victorian mansion surrounded by acres and acres of perfectly groomed lawns. We parked in front of a marble fountain. Off to the right, two men in green uniforms were crouched beneath a rosebush with spades and garden clippers.


Dustin opened the car door for me. “Miss Winters,” he said with a nod.


I stepped outside, gazing at the mansion in awe. wintershire house was engraved over the entrance. “What is this?”


“Thank you, Dustin,” my grandfather said, hefting himself out of the car. “We’re making a short stop.”


The gardeners turned and stood up as my grandfather walked by.


“Is this your...your...” I paused, trying to think of the right word. “House?”


My grandfather smiled. “My home, yes. Transcendental, isn’t it?” Although I still couldn’t recall what the word meant, this time it seemed like an appropriate adjective. I had only seen houses this big on television, which I assumed had been filmed somewhere in the French countryside or the English moors. Never had I believed that they existed in America, or even more incredibly, that my grandfather owned one.


The front door opened into a large hall with checkered floors and heavy light fixtures. Thick drapes framed the windows, letting hazy light fill the room. Two staircases broke off on either side of the hall and led up to the east and west wings, demarcated by a compass rose engraved in the wall between them. Beneath it was a tall grandfather clock, its brass pendulum swinging languidly. How appropriate, I thought.


“Dustin will give you the grand tour while I attend to a few matters that need to be resolved before we leave.” “We’re not staying?”


My grandfather suppressed a smile. “Just for one night,” he said, and handed me over to Dustin.


I followed him as we meandered through the mansion, stopping in every room, each with a name and a theme.


“May I present to you the Gingham Library,” Dustin said as we entered an octagonal room with mahogany floors and shelves and shelves of leather-bound books. I touched a rolling ladder, which slid down the wall, just like in the movies.


We left and moved on to the Red Room, which was a velvet-lined sitting room, ostensibly for ladies. Dustin pushed open the door for me but waited outside. It had puffy ottomans and tiny side tables that were only large enough to hold a cup and saucer.


It was followed by the Parchment Room, a study equipped with an old computer that looked like it hadn’t been used in a decade. In front of it was a typewriter, a box of ink ribbons, a stack of cluttered papers, and a series of expensive-looking pens. We continued on through a maze of rooms, each more magnificent than the one before. I tried to keep them straight, but their names mingled together in my mind as Dustin announced them:


“The Game Parlor.”


“The Hearst Drawing Room.”


“The Hall of Marble and Glass.”


“Verlaine Oil Gallery.”


“Doldrums Wine Cellar.”


“The August Smoking Parlor.”


And finally, “The Second Living Room.”


It was a normal sort of living room, only fancier, with an oriental carpet and two fireplaces on each end. Victorian settees and divans sat in clusters around the room, along with a grand piano, a wall of bookshelves, and a chandelier made of antlers. Deer heads and portraits of distinguished-looking men hung on the walls.


“Wait,” I said, just as Dustin was closing the French doors. “Where’s the First Living Room?


He gave me a blank look. “There isn’t one.”


My grandfather met us in the foyer just as we’d finished with the first floor and the cellar. “Thank you, Dustin. I’ll take it from here,” and he led me upstairs.


On the second floor, the halls were plastered in linen wallpaper and adorned with portraits. Every so often we would pass a sleeping chamber, as my grandfather called them, mostly for guests, though I could hardly imagine him entertaining.


At the end of the east wing, we entered a small spiral staircase that led up into the easternmost spire. At the top was a short, windowed hallway with only one door at the end. My grandfather opened it for me, and I walked inside.


It was a bedroom: the kind you only read about in fairy tales. It had tall curved windows and a conical ceiling. The walls were painted lilac and decorated with antique mirrors and paintings of pastoral landscapes. In the middle of the room was a giant canopy bed covered in silly little pillows that I had to resist the urge to jump into. I traced my finger along the monogrammed sheets. L. C. W. My mother’s initials.


“This was her bedroom,” my grandfather said, watching me explore the vestiges of her childhood. The yellowed papers on her desk, the tins of makeup and hairpins on the dresser. A box of stationery peeking out from beneath the bed. An antiquated bookcase stacked with creased novels and faded dust jackets. I could never imagine my mother inhabiting this room, let alone owning that many tiny pillows. She had always been pragmatic, inclined to hiking boots and machine-washable clothing, big comfortable couches, and decorations that wouldn’t break if you dropped them. I had never seen her wear jewelry other than her wedding ring, and she rarely wore makeup. She had always encouraged me to do the same.


“If you’d like, you can stay in this room for the night. I thought it might be...comforting. Of course, I can have your things moved to one of the guest chambers if it doesn’t suit you.”


I spun around. “No, I want to stay here,” I said quickly. My suitcase, which was virtually empty due to my lack of packing, was sitting in the corner of the room.


“Good. Good.” My grandfather led me to a set of French doors in the corner of the room. “And this,” he said, turning the knobs, “was her closet.” I stepped inside, the smell of potpourri tickling my nose, and pulled the string dangling from the bulb.


In the light, the closet was transformed from an old storage room into an enchanted boudoir filled with rows and rows of jewelry and shoes and clothes. Beautiful clothes, in styles I had never seen before. The mere sight of them filled me with an unexplainable childish excitement, and I ventured deeper, running my fingers along the racks, the hangers clinking together behind me. The fabrics melted beneath my fingertips—silk, crushed velvet, suede, taffeta, cashmere, fine cottons. I had to remind myself that I didn’t like clothes like this. They were expensive, extravagant, snobby. My parents used to tell me I didn’t need material things to define who I was, but now I couldn’t help but want to put them on.


“These were your mother’s when she was your age. I think she was about your size. Anyway, they’re yours now.


Everything in this closet adheres to Gottfried’s dress code, so take whatever you think you’ll need.”


I glanced at the clothes, trying to imagine my mother at my age wearing the sweaters, the skirts, the dresses, the Mary Janes, the cloaks. I couldn’t. I fingered the sleeve of a sweater. It was so soft.


“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Lunch will be served at half past one.”


I nodded and watched my grandfather’s reflection in the mirror as he bowed out of the room.


I spent the next hour examining my mother’s clothes. She had boxes full of barrettes and rings and headbands; drawers packed with silk pajamas, scarves, earmuffs, and lamb’s-wool mittens. I thought they might smell of her, but instead they just smelled like lavender, which made it easier to forget that they were hers, that she was gone. The only trace of her I could find was a single brown hair clinging to a cowl-neck sweater. I pulled it out and examined it in the light. The hair was longer than I had ever seen her wear it. I imagined her in one of the plaid jumpers in front of me, her long hair held back with a ribbon. “What am I going to do?” I asked her, my voice cracking. I thought of my father next to her, his hair short and parted on the side. He wore a shirt and tie, just like he did in the pictures of when they first got married. “Dad,” I said into the empty closet, “what do I do now?” A row of extra hangers clinked together above me, mocking the silence. Suddenly I felt incredibly angry. It was unfair. Why did my parents have to die? Why did I have to find them? Now all of my memories of them were polluted by the image of them dead in the forest.


With a single movement, I knocked the hangers off the rack. They clattered to the ground, and I kept going, throwing her box of jewelry to the floor, her collection of headbands and barrettes, her scarves and mittens and hats, then sank into a sobbing heap, clutching my mother’s clothes to my chest. What would my dad say if he were here? I thought back to when I hadn’t made the lacrosse team last year. “Crying only makes your problems last longer,” he had said. “Why don’t you go practice? That way you’ll make it next year.” Wiping my tears on the bottom of one of my mother’s dresses, I picked myself up and stood in front of the mirror. I wanted to see something of her in me, but all I saw was my plain, thick hair, the bangs that always got in my eyes, my freckled face, and my gray eyes, now swollen and red. Was I like her?


I searched through my mother’s drawers until I found a pair of scissors. Standing in front of the mirror, I took a lock of hair in my hand. I closed my eyes and cut it off. I continued until half of it was gone, and my hair fell just below my shoulders. Finally feeling free, I shook my head, the wisps fluttering to the ground and collecting on the floor like spaghetti. Satisfied, I took a dress off a hanger and tried it on, examining my reflection. To my relief, it fit perfectly.


After packing three suitcases full of skirts, dresses, oxford shirts, cardigans, cable-knit tights, and plush winter coats, I felt adequately prepared for whatever weather the New England winter had in store for me.


“You cut your hair,” my grandfather said, aghast, when I walked downstairs for lunch.


I nodded. “I wanted a change.”


“It looks very nice,” he said.


“Thanks,” I said, with a slight smile.


After a lunch of tea sandwiches and cucumber salad, Dustin invited me to play a game of croquet. Manning a croquet mallet, I followed him to the back lawn. After only fifteen minutes he was already beating me by six swings. Frowning, I stepped up for my turn. I didn’t like to lose. After a moment of deep concentration, I swung. It was a swift hit and I rested the croquet mallet over my shoulder while I watched the ball roll all the way to the other side of the lawn, in the complete opposite direction of the ring I should have been aiming for. Dustin chuckled, but I scowled and ran over to my ball. It was resting at the edge of the woods, where a thicket of birch trees shaded the grass. Dustin called out to me, but I ignored him and bent down. Just as my fingers grazed the ball, I jumped back.


A pulp of feathers and dried blood was resting in front of it, the bones jutting out at unnatural angles. Unable to control myself, I screamed.

Annie was the first person I saw. She was there with some other girls from our class, and ran over when she spotted me. “Renée!” she said, giving me a hug. “You’re here! I was starting to worry.”


I gazed at all of the people on the turf. The girls from the lacrosse team were sitting on the grass, and a group of my friends from History class were standing around three coolers filled with beer. Behind them I recognized the guys from the soccer team, along with a few upperclassmen, nursing drinks and holding cigarettes, the red ash of the butts flitting through the darkness. “What is all this?”


“It’s your good-bye party, of course. You didn’t think I’d let you leave without seeing everyone, did you?”


A good-bye party. It seemed so simple, so foreign. In the face of my parents’ deaths, it was strange to think that things like parties were still taking place. I smiled and threw my arms around Annie again, speaking into her hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”


Behind her loomed a tall silhouette of someone I had barely allowed myself to think about. Wes. Annie gave me a coy look and turned to talk to some of our friends as he approached me.


“Surprise,” he said softly.


He looked like he had just stepped out of a surfing catalog, his frayed shorts and faded T-shirt blowing casually against his body in the breeze. Just the sight of him made me nervous. I swallowed and smoothed out my bangs, hoping I didn’t look like I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a week, even though that was the truth.


“You look great,” he said.


I blushed. “Thanks.”


“I was worried about you.”


“It was really”—I tried to find the right words—“busy. I didn’t mean to—”


“Don’t worry. You don’t have to explain.”


I let out a sigh of relief. Wes had an unbelievable way of making things easier.


“Take a walk with me?”


I nodded, and he slipped his hand in mine.


We wove through the crowd of people, saying hi to everyone as we passed. It was overwhelming to think that they had all come just to say good-bye to me. After walking across the field, we reached the bleachers and climbed up to the top row, the metal popping beneath our sneakers. Wes tried to talk about the summer, about soccer, about school, but I couldn’t think of anything to say back to him. So I told him about Gottfried instead.


“So it’s just a different school, right?” Wes said after an awkward silence. “We can still see each other.” “It’s in Maine.”


“Oh,” he said, and went quiet. “Well, you’ll be home for breaks. We’ll talk. And before we know it, it’ll be summer again.”


Voices floated up from below on the night breeze. Those people were part of a world I could never go back to again. I couldn’t talk to them about school and sports and classes anymore; that place was gone for me, buried with my parents. I wanted to tell Wes that I missed my parents so much my insides ached; that I felt so alone I couldn’t eat or sleep because I didn’t see the point in it anymore. I wanted to tell him about the way my parents had died and how scared I was that there was someone out there evil enough to have taken them away from me. I wanted him to say that I couldn’t leave, that he would save me from my grandfather and we could run away together.


Wes asked me if I was cold, and wrapped his sweatshirt around me. We sat in silence, listening to our friends laughing, wishing it wasn’t our last night together, both trying to convince ourselves that if we wanted it badly enough, we could will everything away. I was afraid to speak; afraid I would ruin the delicateness of the moment.


“I’ll miss you,” he said finally.


It wasn’t an answer to all of my questions, but it was enough. “I’ll miss you—” I started to say, but he placed a finger over my lips. His skin was warm, his upper lip beading with sweat. I gazed at him, curious, confused. He laced his fingers in mine, and before I could close my eyes, he leaned forward and kissed me. A cool, wet kiss that tasted of summer, of dew and freshly cut grass, of all the things that now seemed too simple to be real.


That was my last night in California.


We landed in Massachusetts, where Dustin was waiting for us. I squeezed into the backseat of my grandfather’s custom Aston Martin, and Dustin drove us through the New England countryside, snaking over hills and ravines, through vast areas with nothing but trees for miles.


“This is western Massachusetts,” my grandfather said. “The home of the Transcendental movement.”


Transcendental? It sounded vaguely familiar from English class. Emerson, maybe, or Thoreau? I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t want to know badly enough to ask him. Instead, I opened the window, letting the wind blow my bangs around my eyes.


We crossed a bridge into a wooded area, past rocky streams and the occasional log cabin. My legs stuck to the leather seats as I gazed out the window. The thickets of trees, which normally would have looked pretty, now only seemed dark and forbidding.

CHAPTER 2

Gottfried Academy


WHEN I TOLD ANNIE ABOUT GOTTFRIED Academy, she sounded more hysterical than I did. “But you can’t move! Who will be my best friend? Who will be your best friend? You can move in with me; we’ll be real sisters then, like we always wanted when we were little. You can move into the office.” It was exactly what I wanted her to say, but hearing it from her made me realize how unrealistic it was. Annie already had two younger brothers and a sister that her parents had to worry about, which was why they didn’t have any extra bedrooms or time. If my parents were alive, they would want me to be brave and independent. Running away or going to Annie’s house wouldn’t solve my problems. Where would I go when the only place I wanted to be was back in time? So after Annie’s monologue, I found myself in the unexpected position of reasoning with her. “But where will your dad work?”


“In the kitchen. Or the living room. We’ll find space.”


I sighed. “I couldn’t do that,” I said. “And your mom is already so busy....”


“But what about school? And all of your friends? And Wes?”


I winced at the thought of leaving them all behind, but tried to convince myself that there was a reason why my parents had made my grandfather, instead of Annie’s mother, my legal guardian. “Maybe Maine won’t be that bad. If my parents went there it couldn’t be too horrible. Besides, we’ll talk every day, and I’ll come back on holidays and in the summer.” After a teary conversation, Annie and I made plans to meet one last time, that night at Baker’s Field.


I spent my last day in California packing and wandering around the house trying to remember its every detail—the way it always smelled faintly of bread, the plush feeling of the carpet beneath my toes, the creaky fifth stair. Eventually I found my way to the office, where my father’s papers were still scattered across his desk. Not ready to look at them, I pushed the documents aside and turned on the computer. First, I searched “heart attack,” trying to figure out what could have possibly been the cause of my parents’ deaths. When more than a million results popped up, I refined my search to “heart attack” and “gauze in mouth.” That was more reasonable, but the results were all about wisdom teeth or complications with dental procedures. And after trying “heart attack, gauze,” and “coins, double heart attack, gauze in mouth,” which yielded nothing except the suggestion, “Did you mean cost of double heath bar, gooey in mouth?” I gave up. Frustrated, I typed in “Gottfried Academy.”


There was only one listing for Gottfried on the Internet. I clicked on it and was brought to an incredibly simple Web site with a blue-and-gold border, which I assumed were the school colors.


Gottfried Academy


Vox Sapientiae Clamans Ex Inferno


A Boarding School Dedicated to
Studies of an Existential Nature


Contact:


207 Attica Crossing, Mailbox 4


Attica Falls, Maine 04120


Beneath the inscription was a crest of arms and a very realistic pencil illustration of what I assumed was the school’s campus. It was stone and gothic, with cathedral-like buildings surrounded by a giant wall that looked almost medieval. If there had been a pigpen and a watering trough in the picture, they wouldn’t have looked out of place. Above the buildings, ominous dark clouds filled the sky. Out of curiosity I checked the weather forecast for Attica Falls, Maine. Sighing, I scanned the weekly prediction. Sixty degrees and cloudy. Every single day.


What was an existential boarding school anyway? Opening a new window, I looked up the word “existential,” which the Oxford English Dictionary defined as “of or pertaining to existence.” How helpful, I thought, and went back to the Gottfried Web site. I clicked on the crest of arms, and then on “Contact,” trying to go deeper into the site, but that was it. Frustrated, I closed the window. In addition to lacking pleasant weather, Gottfried also seemed to lack a proper Internet presence. Great, I thought to myself. There probably wouldn’t even be a wireless connection in the dorms.


Turning off the computer, I went into the hall. I had avoided my parents’ room all week. Every so often I would tiptoe up to the door and graze my hand across the knob, trying to imagine them inside, sleeping. Now, with nothing left to do, I opened it.


The room was perfectly preserved: the bed made, the dresser cluttered with books, the closet door ajar, a few pieces of my mother’s clothing still draped over the top. It was midafternoon and the branches of the trees brushed against the windows. That’s when I saw the answering machine, blinking on their night table. The mailbox was full. There were a few messages from Annie, the girls from school, the insurance company, and other people I didn’t know. I skipped ahead until I heard Wes’s voice: “Renée,” he said, “it’s Wes. I heard about, well, you know... I just wanted to see how you were doing, and to say that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I skipped ahead to the next. “It’s Wes again. You’re probably busy with family, but I wanted to say hi. So ...hi. Call me if you want to talk.” I sat down on the bed, clutching a pillow to my chest. “Wes again; calling to check in. Thought you might need a friend. That’s all, I guess.” Rewinding the tape, I slipped under the covers, breathing in the smell of my parents on the sheets, and listened to Wes’s voice until I fell asleep.


That night I snuck out. My bicycle was propped against the side of the house, where I’d left it two weeks ago. Quietly, I walked it to the end of the driveway. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. I jumped. “Hello?” I said, and then laughed at myself for being so easily frightened. After glancing back at my grandfather’s window, I rode down to Baker’s Field.


The football stadium was wide and flat, with the eerie stillness of a place trapped in time. The floodlights were off, letting the night sky spill onto the grass. It was empty, save for a dim glow off to the left, punctuated by laughter and the tap click hiss of beer cans being opened. Hopping off my bike, I walked toward the voices.

I thought I had misheard him. “The East Coast?”


“Gottfried is on the western edge of Maine.”


I almost fell out of my chair. I expected Gottfried to be an hour, maybe two, away from Costa Rosa, but moving to Maine was different. I had never been to the East Coast before. The phrase alone conjured up images of stern, expressionless people dressed completely in black; of dark and unfathomably long winters. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the degrees of unhappiness I would experience if I had to move there.


“I can’t go!” I screamed. “I won’t—”


But my grandfather cut me off. “Do you think your parents would want you to stay here, wallowing in self-pity as you’ve been doing for the past week?” He gave me a cold look and shook his head. “No, they would want you to move on with your life. Which is exactly what you’re going to do.”


The conversation was over, and I stormed out of the room. I went upstairs and sat by the window, tears blurring my vision as I watched the heat rise off the pavement in the morning sun. It was unreal how much my life had changed in just one week. Both of my parents were dead, and I had no idea what was going to happen next. But I wasn’t scared. I was alive, and as I picked up the phone to dial Annie’s number, I closed my eyes and made a promise to my parents that I would never take that for granted again.

All of a sudden I felt an incredible urge to feel something more: pain, happiness, it didn’t matter. In front of me the water was tenuously still, as if the night air were weighing down on it with immense pressure.


I didn’t have a bathing suit on, but it didn’t matter. The far side of the marina was always deserted at night. I tore off my clothes and jumped into the bay. My lungs constricted at the shock of the sudden cold, and the salt water stung my eyes.


When I surfaced, Annie was wading in, holding her hair above her head with one hand. I splashed her, and she let out a shriek. Diving underwater, I swam deeper. The boats around me bobbed idly in the water, their reflections stretching into the horizon. I looked to the shore. Annie was near the rocks, floating on her back and staring at the sky.


And then I saw something rise to the surface.


It was round and long, and had what looked like a train of tattered clothes hanging off of it, lolling in the ripples of the water. Its surface was a sickly white.


I screamed and swam back to shore, my arms thrashing wildly in the water.


“What happened?” Annie said frantically.


I pointed to the bay. “There’s someone floating out there.”


Annie stood up and looked. “The buoy?” she said finally.


“I thought”—I said between breaths—“I thought it was a person.”


Annie looked at me, worried. “It’s just a buoy covered in seaweed.”


Embarrassed, I blinked and forced myself to look at it. Leaning over, I let out a sigh of relief. She was right. “I’m sorry. I must be losing my mind.”


As if on cue, a light turned on and flashed into the water. “Who’s there?” someone called from a boat harbored in the bay.


“Oh my God,” I said, not wanting to be seen in my underwear. “Let’s get out of here.” And in the light of the moon we ran back to shore.


After Annie dropped me off, I snuck through the back door, hoping that my grandfather had gone to bed. I’d just barely made it through the kitchen when a figure loomed in the doorway.


I froze. “Crap,” I muttered.


“I see you’ve gone swimming,” my grandfather said sternly. Even at this hour he was still wearing an expensive tweed suit and dinner jacket.


“I was feeling a little stuffy.” My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. “Do you think this is funny?” he said loudly.


I jumped at the sudden sharpness in his voice.


“You could have gotten killed. Do you think my rules are arbitrary? That I enforce them just to punish you?”


“Killed. Like my parents? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if it meant I didn’t have to live like this anymore.”


He studied me. I clutched my sweatshirt against my chest and waited for him to say something. It was so quiet I could hear the water dripping from my hair onto the linoleum floor.


“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention. Go dry off and get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”


The next morning I woke up late and tiptoed downstairs. For the first time since he’d moved in, my grandfather had let me sleep through breakfast. It should have felt like a victory, but was so out of character that it made me suspicious. My grandfather was in the living room, sitting in my father’s reading chair, a newspaper resting in his lap. Dustin was clearing a cup and saucer from the side table. I entered the room cautiously, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.


“Renée,” he said, almost warmly, “come in.” He motioned to the sofa across from him.


He was outfitted in trousers and a dinner jacket, with one of the French-cuffed shirts that Dustin starched and ironed every night. His thinning white hair, which was normally impeccably groomed, was tousled on the side, from leaning his head on his hand, I guessed. He took a sip of water, and I braced myself for punishment.


“Please sit,” he said.


Dustin pulled out a chair for me and produced a napkin and place setting.


“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about your situation,” my grandfather continued.


I fidgeted with my shorts while he spoke, and studied his large, ruddy nose—a nose so massive that it seemed impossible for it to have ever existed on a younger person’s face.


“And I have decided to send you to school.”


I shook my head. “What? But I’m already in school.”


“This is a boarding school. And an elite one at that.”


I stood up in shock. My entire life was here: Annie, my friends, my teachers, the people I grew up with. They were all I had left. I was about to begin my sophomore year, and I had just made the varsity lacrosse team and gotten into AP History, which was normally closed off to sophomores. And of course there was Wes....


“But you can’t!” I cried, though I wasn’t so sure. How could he make me leave when my life was just beginning?


He clasped his hands over one knee. “It’s high time you got an actual education. A classical education. I’ve seen how schools these days operate, letting young people choose what they want and don’t want to study. It’s an ineffective method that has been disproven over and over again. Gottfried Academy has been around for centuries. I’m sure it will provide you with the same strong foundation that your mother had.”


I meant to interrupt him, but when he mentioned my mother, I went quiet. I didn’t know that she had gone to boarding school. She had told me stories about her childhood, about high school, and about how she met my dad, but she’d never told me that she went to boarding school, or that it was prestigious. My dad had to have gone there too, since they’d met in English class. Why would she omit those details?


“I’m not going,” I said defiantly. “You can’t make me.”


He sighed and shook his head. “On the contrary, I can. Your parents entrusted me with your safety, as stipulated in their wills. As your primary guardian, it’s my responsibility to do what I think is best for your future.”


“But they hated you. Even when they were alive they wouldn’t let you see me. So how can you possibly think you know what’s best for me? You don’t know anything about me.”


“That may be the case,” he said quietly, “yet the fact still remains that I am your grandfather, and you are a minor. I know more about you than you know about yourself. Now, sit down. Please.”


I cringed and sank into my seat. “Whether you like it or not, I am your legal guardian, and you’re going to Gottfried. Now, I’m going to speak plainly and clearly. You are not safe here, Renée.”


“What do you mean?”


“Your parents died. I don’t know why or how or by whom, but it certainly was not by natural causes.”


“But the police said—”


“The police believe that they both had some sort of heart attack. Do you think that’s true?”


“No.”


“Neither do I.”


“So … so what, then. You think someone murdered them? That someone chased them into the woods and killed them?”


My grandfather shook his head, his jowls quivering. “I don’t know, Renée. I only know that it wasn’t an accident. Which is why we have to leave.”My mind raced through all of my options. I could run away, stay with Annie and her parents. Or I could just leave and never come back, live in a train like the boxcar children so my grandfather couldn’t find me. I had to talk to Annie. Maybe she could help me convince her mom to adopt me.


My grandfather must have sensed my dissent. “We depart tomorrow morning. I will physically place you in the car if necessary.”


“Tomorrow? I can’t leave tomorrow. What about my friends?”


Suddenly I didn’t care if there was some killer out there who wanted to chop me to pieces. I was staying, and I was going to find out what happened to my parents. “I’ll never go,” I said defiantly. “Not with you or your stupid butler.”


Dustin coughed in the corner of the room, but I didn’t care. “We don’t have time for this,” my grandfather said. “The semester begins in a week. You should be grateful that Gottfried is letting you enroll this late. If it weren’t for my outstanding ties with the school, they probably wouldn’t have even considered you.”


“I don’t understand,” I said, angry tears stinging my eyes. “Why would I be safer in a different school? Why don’t we just go to the police?”


“The police were here; do you remember how helpful they were? Gottfried Academy is the safest place you could be right now. I’ve left a suitcase in the hallway outside your bedroom. Pack lightly. You won’t need much. The weather is different on the East Coast, and Gottfried enforces a strict dress code.” He eyed my shorts and tank top. “I daresay your current wardrobe will not do. We’ll find more appropriate attire when we land.”

“Better,” he said, and checked his watch. “It’s getting late, though. You should stay in tonight.”


Outside, the sun was setting over the houses that lined our street. “But it’s still light out,” I protested.


“I don’t feel comfortable with you going out at night by yourself. It’s not safe.”


“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with... Annie,” I said, improvising.


“I’d rather you not go,” he said firmly.


“Then I should probably go upstairs, where I can sit alone in my room for the rest of my life, because that would be the safest thing to do.” Picking up my plate, I stood.


Dustin moved to collect my setting, but my grandfather waved him away, and I felt slightly victorious as I turned my back to them and carried my dishes to the kitchen.


“Renée,” he called out to me, “may I ask you a question?”


I ignored him and turned on the faucet.


“How did you find your parents?”


It caught me off guard. The sponge slipped out of my hand and sank into the soapy water.


“I already told you.”


“Yes,” he said quietly, “you did. But I think there’s more.”


I didn’t respond.


“I know we haven’t talked about your parents; I wanted to let you mourn them in your own way, without my interference.”


The kitchen was cramped—a tiny room of appliances just off the dining room—and I could feel my grandfather’s eyes on me through the doorway.


“I haven’t been present in your life up until now, but I know how difficult it is to lose someone you love. Your mother, Lydia, was my daughter. Her death was no accident. We both know that. After all, you were the one who found them.” He paused. “Please, humor an old man.”


For the first time since he’d moved in, his words seemed reasonable. I turned and raised my eyes to his. “We were driving back from the beach when I told Annie to take Prairie Creek Drive instead of U.S. 101.”


“Why?”


“Because I thought it would be faster,” I said, not revealing the true reason, which was that I’d felt inexplicably pulled in that direction.


“What happened next?”


“I saw their car on the side of the road. We pulled over and I went into the woods. Annie waited for me.”


“And then what?”


Scenes of the redwood forest flashed through my mind. “I just kept running. I... I didn’t know where I was going;


I just knew I had to go deeper.”


“And then?”


“And then I saw the coins.”


The faucet was still running. I watched the water cascade over the dishes.


My grandfather’s voice broke the silence. “And then what happened?” he said gently.


I turned to him. “That’s it. I found them. They were dead. Do you want me to relive the entire night? You know what happened. You read the police report. I told them everything I know.”


I turned away and wiped my eyes over the sink.


“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know it’s difficult for you with your parents gone, and now with me here. It’s strange and unexpected that the fates should bring us together again after all this time. But think. Does it not seem odd to you that you happened to stumble across your father’s car on the side of the road, and that you were then able to locate the bodies of your parents, which were a mile north of their car? The redwood forest covers more than three hundred square miles, yet you were able to find them within half an hour.”


“Maybe it was a...a coincidence.” That was what the police had called it.


He raised a white, bushy eyebrow. “Was it?”


“What are you implying?”


“I’m not implying anything,” he assured me. “I’m just trying to understand.”


“I don’t know how I found them. I just did. I didn’t even think about it; I just started running.”


My grandfather looked like he was about to say something, but instead he leaned back in his chair and rested his chin on his fist. “You need new shoes. The ones you have on now are far too juvenile for a girl your age. We’ll get you a pair next week.”


Baffled, I looked down at my Converse sneakers. His remark shouldn’t have made me angry, but it did. Here he was with his questions and rules and ten o’clock curfew, making me get rid of my favorite sneakers, forcing me to relive the one moment in my life I wanted to forget, and generally ruining my already ruined life.


“I don’t want new shoes,” I screamed. “I want my parents back.” I ran upstairs, slammed the door to my room, and slid to the floor in an angry heap. Without thinking, I called Annie. She answered on the third ring.


“I have to get out of here,” I told her. “Can you pick me up?”


“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”


We drove to the marina. I’d barely seen Annie since the day we’d gone to the beach. When I hadn’t come out of the woods that night, she’d called the police, then went in to find me. After they discovered me with the bodies of my parents, and brought me home, she hadn’t asked about what I’d seen or how I’d felt. I was relieved that she didn’t know what to say, because I didn’t either. How could I explain to her that I had died that day in the forest too, that nothing had meaning anymore? The things I used to love—lacrosse, the beach, books, history, movies—they all seemed pointless now.


And then there were the people—the neighbors, the girls from the lacrosse team, the relatives, people from town —constantly stopping by the house, telling me about how they’d known my parents and how much they would miss them. For the first time in my life I was actually glad that my parents hadn’t let me have a cell phone, because it was one less thing to answer. The police came. They had questions. Did I know why my parents were in the forest that day? Had they behaved unusually in the days prior? Did they have any enemies?


“No,” I answered. “No.”


But the hardest part was making sense of it all. The cause of each of their deaths was a heart attack, which could have been reasonable had it not been for the circumstances. It was too much of a coincidence that they’d both suffered from a heart attack at the exact same time. Yet the medical report confirmed that everything else inside their bodies was intact and healthy, and that there were no signs of violence, struggle, or anything out of the ordinary, with one exception: autopsies revealed that soil and ribbons of white fabric were found in the mouth of each of my parents. Was there anything strange about the fabric? “No. Just ordinary gauze you might find in any hospital,” the police told me. But no one knew why it was there. The police deemed that the heart failure had been brought on by a “hiking accident,” but to me it was anything but resolved. “How could it be an accident?” I’d shouted at the police officers, the doctors, the nurses. “Do you actually expect me to believe that they both died of a heart attack at the same exact moment? That’s impossible. They were healthy. They were supposed to be at work. They had gauze in their mouths! How is that natural?” They gave me sympathetic looks and told me I was going through a rough time and that they understood. They were going to keep the case open. But I knew there wasn’t enough evidence to base a case on. Was it murder? I wasn’t sure. Why would anyone want to kill my parents? And why the forest, the coins, the cloth? If someone had killed my parents, it was intentional, and that meant they were still out there. But then there was the way my mother had looked unexplainably older than she had the day before. How could that be? Maybe they were hiking and had heart attacks. Maybe it was suicide. Maybe I was losing my mind.


When Annie and I got to the marina, we took off our shoes and walked down to the rocky beach, beside the dock on the far side of the bay. The pier and the boats, which were so colorful by day, were now shadowed in shades of blue.


“Thanks for picking me up,” I said, dipping my toes in the water.


“Any time.” She sat down on the rocks. “So I ran into Wes the other day.”


I looked up at her expectantly.


“He asked about you. He wanted to know how you were doing...with everything, you know. He said he’s been calling but you haven’t called him back.”


“He called me?” I was surprised. I hadn’t thought about him at all in the past week, and it never crossed my mind that he could have been thinking about me. Since the night in the woods, it seemed like the phone had been constantly ringing—friends, neighbors, the police, insurance companies. Eventually I just stopped answering, letting my grandfather deal with it.


“He said he left messages on your answering machine. He was worried. He just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”


“It feels like years since I saw him,” I said almost to myself, and smiled. For the first time since my parents died, I felt the inkling of something other than numbness. Thinking about Wes—about the stubble on his chin, his smooth, muscular arms, his curly brown hair, and the way he had run his hand down the back of my neck when he kissed me—it was almost as if nothing had happened and I could return to the life I’d had before. I hadn’t felt anything since that night in the woods; I hadn’t allowed myself to. Instead I’d spent the last week in a trance—my body wandering around the house as if it were alive, when inside my mind was with the dead.

I raised my eyes to the shadowy thicket that surrounded me. It was still except for the wind rustling the branches above. Relieved, I took a step forward, when my foot hit something soft and large.


The muscles in my stomach tightened as I lowered my flashlight to the ground. And then I saw it. A hand, as pale as porcelain, its delicate fingers curled into the soil. I followed it to a wrist, an arm, a neck, a face streaked with dirt and shrouded with strands of long chestnut hair.


I gasped and looked away. The pungent smell of rotting leaves wafted through the air. Reluctantly, I looked back at the body.


“Mom,” I whispered, barely audible.


She was lying on her back, her arms limp by her side. Her eyes were closed, and I might have thought she was sleeping if her skin hadn’t been so pale. Her thin athletic legs, which I had inherited, were now cold and stiff, though they still retained the same girlish shape that she was so proud of.


I leaned over and placed my fingers below her jaw. Her skin was freezing. I don’t know why, but I checked her pulse even though I knew she was already dead. Lifeless, she looked older than usual, as if she had aged ten years. Her cheeks were unusually sunken in, and her glasses were nowhere to be seen. Without them, the skin under her eyes looked raw and exposed, drooping down in circles like the rings of a tree.


My father was a few feet away, coins scattered around his body. The flashlight slipped from my fingers and landed softly in the dirt, rolling until its beam shone on my father’s legs. As I stared at his boots, slumped unnaturally to either side, I felt my breath leave me. I wanted to look away, to run back to the road and call for help, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave because I knew that these were the last moments I would ever have with my parents.


“Why?” I choked out. When I was growing up, my parents had always seemed to have an answer to even my hardest questions. But now, for the first time, they were silent. I wiped my eyes and touched my mother’s lips. They were parted just enough for me to see a thin shred of cloth peeking out. Gently, I pulled it from between her lips and held it in front of the light. It was tattered around the edges and had the soft consistency of gauze. I turned it over in my hand and looked down at my mother. There were no signs of violence, no bruises or scratches on her body, no blood. But the gauze, the coins—this was the work of a person. The mere thought of it made my heart race. I turned and stared into the darkness, wondering if I was alone.


The woods seemed to be caving in on me, the tops of the trees circling and bending together. Images of my parents dying clouded my mind, and I felt dizzy and disoriented. Holding the cloth in my fist, I rested my head on my mother’s chest and closed my eyes, listening to the creaking of the trees and hoping that when I opened them it would be morning and the woods would be empty and filled with sunlight, and everything would be clear. Around me the cool night air blew through the branches, and the shards of white cloth fluttered on the ground, like moths clinging blindly to a screen.


The day they buried my parents, I felt the first chilly breath from my past. I was lying on the floor of our living room, staring at the insects collecting on the edges of the windowpanes, when the doorbell rang. Annie’s mom, Margerie, who was staying with me through the funeral, answered the door.


“Mr. Winters, I’m so glad you came,” she said in a hushed voice. I listened. The quiet murmur of voices, the sound of shoes scraping against the mat, and then a deep cough.


Footsteps.


“Renée,” Margerie said gently.


I didn’t move. Two feet stopped in front of me. I stared at the large brown shoes, the tassels, the creases embedded just before the toe.


“Renée, your grandfather is here.”


I sat up. My hair was matted to the back of my head.


“Hello, Renée,” my grandfather bellowed in a deep voice. He extended a large leathery hand to help me up. He had a professorial essence, with white hair, inordinately long earlobes, and a fleshy, oversized face that seemed stretched with gravity. The sweet aroma of pipe tobacco emanated from his clothes.


Ignoring his hand, I lay back down. Brownie Winters, my mother’s father. It seemed odd that we shared the same last name, even though I hadn’t seen him since I was seven. He had gotten into a loud argument with my parents, and then he was gone, the screen door slamming behind him. I hadn’t heard from him since. Not even a card on birthdays.


“You missed the ceremony,” I said coldly, staring at the folds of his neck.


He sighed. He had my mother’s eyes, watery blue and somehow sad. “I didn’t find out what had happened until this morning. I hope you can forgive my absence.”


I said nothing. My mother used to tell me stories about the rigid rules he’d set while she was growing up in Massachusetts, about how he was only concerned with money and appearances and the family name, which was why he demanded that I have her name instead of my father’s. My mother’s childhood seemed so different from mine, growing up on a dreary estate in the woods. She’d always said it was lonely, that she had spent more time with her housekeeper than with her parents, which was probably why she and my father had moved to California. Our house was the kind where you could touch things, my mother used to say. It was modest but lived in, with stucco walls covered with photographs, and big glass windows that let in the morning light. The grass was never mowed on time, and the pool out back was littered with leaves and beetles that always got stuck in my hair; but on a hot summer day it all seemed perfect. I stared at my grandfather’s shoes. They looked uncomfortable.


“I’m going to be staying with you for a while,” he said, putting on his spectacles. “For a long while, I think. Your parents willed me as your legal guardian, which I’ll admit came as a surprise, given the outcome of our last encounter. A pleasant surprise, of course, though I never would have wished it to happen under such tragic circumstances. I’ve always regretted not being a part of your life.” He paused, and then spoke again, his voice gentler. “It sometimes helps to dwell on the good memories. They remind you that happiness does exist, though it may not seem that way now.” When I didn’t respond, he shifted his weight. “Well then, I suppose I’ll look forward to seeing you at dinner, which will be served promptly at seven thirty.”


I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry. Even though he was my legal guardian, and almost the only family I had left, I didn’t care if he stayed with me or if I never saw him again, and I definitely wasn’t planning on eating dinner. I had lost my appetite completely since the night in the forest. I was alone, utterly alone, and I had no idea where my life would take me, or how I would live now that my parents were dead. People filed in and out of the house, but to me they passed in a haze, resembling shadowy figures more than actual humans.


My grandfather hovered above me, but I remained silent and waited until I heard him pat the pockets of his pants and retreat to the kitchen. Overhead, the ceiling fan churned the air until it grazed my neck in thick, hot breaths.


The next week went by in a blur. I spent most of my time wandering around the house, trying to keep cool and avoid my grandfather, who seemed to always want to talk about my future, even though I was still stuck in the past. He was a professor—a retired professor now—ever since my grandmother passed away when I was a baby. Now that he was here, I was practically confined to the house. Almost overnight my life became a regimented routine. “Rules help us live our lives when we lose the will to do it on our own,” he said. He’d brought his estate manager with him, a bald, saggy man named Dustin, who cooked, cleaned, and chauffeured my grandfather around. Meals were served three times a day: breakfast at seven, lunch at one, and dinner at seven thirty. Sleeping through breakfast was prohibited, and I had to finish everything on my plate before I could leave the table. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem, but the food Dustin served wasn’t the easiest to stomach: foie gras, escargot, beluga caviar, black pudding (which wasn’t actually pudding), sweetbreads (which weren’t sweet or made of bread), and spiny lettuce that looked more like a reptile than a vegetable.


My grandfather corrected my table manners at dinner, eyeing my ripped jeans and tank tops with distaste. My posture was terrible, he said, and I held my fork like a barbarian.


Tonight was no different. I scowled at him, wanting to fight back, but I had quickly learned to pick my battles and I didn’t have time for an argument. I glanced at the clock. It was eight. I had to get out of the house. Everything—the plates, the silverware, the roll of paper towels hanging over the sink, the jar of coins sitting on the mantel—reminded me of my parents, of the way they died. But if I wanted to leave, I had to do it soon, because for the first time in my life I actually had a curfew. Ten o’clock.


“I’m going out tonight,” I mumbled.


Dustin stood in the corner of the room in an antiquated suit, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the ceiling, pretending not to listen. I stared at him uncomfortably.


My grandfather put his fork down. “Please, try to enunciate.”


I repeated myself, this time louder and more annoyed.

CHAPTER 1

The Encounter in the Woods


MY PARENTS DIED ON A HOT AUGUST evening. It was my sixteenth birthday, and my best friend, Annie, and I had snuck out to Santa Rosa for the day to celebrate. We took her car and spent the afternoon at Buzzard’s Point Beach, tanning, flipping through magazines, and walking along the jetty. Around five o’clock, just as the tide began to come in, we packed up our towels and headed home so we’d be back before our parents returned from work.


Annie was driving, her long sandy hair fluttering out the open window as we sped down Prairie Creek Drive. It was a scenic road that started at the coast and wound inland, meandering through the redwood forest. Annie didn’t want to drive through the national park; the route was narrow and dark and gave her the creeps, but for some reason I felt that it was the right road to take. After ten minutes of convincing her that it was the fastest way back to Costa Rosa, she complied.


“So when are you seeing Wes again?” Annie asked me, adjusting her sunglasses.


Wes was a senior, tall and smart with perfect teeth, the captain of the soccer team, and the only guy in our high school worth dating. Unfortunately, all the other girls felt the same way. They followed him around in groups, giggling and trying to get his attention. I would never be caught dead doing that, partially because I thought it was pathetic, but mainly because I didn’t have time. I had lacrosse practice, homework, and a part-time job. And although I was decently popular, I had never been the outgoing type. I liked to pick my friends, opting for quality over quantity, and since I spent most of my time outside working or reading instead of socializing, I always assumed that Wes didn’t even know my name. So when he asked me out, I was speechless. “Saturday, supposedly. But he said he would call me this week and it’s already Thursday.... Maybe he changed his mind.”


Annie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he’ll call.”


I hoped she was right. I worked at a farmers’ market on the weekends, manning a fruit stand. Wes had stopped by two weeks ago and asked me to help him pick out apples for his mom. He was completely lost when it came to fruit; there are so many different kinds of apples, he told me, running his hands nervously through his hair. Afterward, he asked me to the movies, and I was so surprised that I dropped the bag of apples, letting them roll about our feet. Ever since our date I hadn’t been able to think straight about anything except for the buttery kiss he had given me in the darkness of the theater, his lips melting into mine with the taste of popcorn and salt.I shook off the thought and shrugged. “I don’t even know if he likes me that much,” I said. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.


“Well, I think you guys are perfect for each other,” Annie said, leaning back in her seat.


I smiled. “Thanks, An,” I said, and turned up the radio.


We’d both had a crush on Wes for ages, but Annie would never let it come between us. She was the beautiful one, modest and graceful with a gentle personality that was easy to love. I, on the other hand, was impulsive and skinny, and wished that I could be more like a character in a novel, so I would finally stop blurting out the wrong things at the wrong time. My brown hair was wavy and had a life of its own, with sideswept bangs that had seemed like a good decision at the time, but never stayed in their proper place once I left the hairdresser. I preferred outdoors to indoors; running to walking. As a result, my knees were always covered with Band-Aids, and my cheeks were sun-kissed and sprinkled with freckles.


The road grew narrow, making sharp and unexpected twists and turns as we drove north into the redwood forest.


My wet hair dangled around my shoulders, and I ran my hands through it while it dried in the warm California breeze. Ancient trees lined the curb, and the sky began to turn an ominous shade of red. That summer, the weather had been strange and unpredictable, and after a day of blue skies, clouds were beginning to hover on the horizon.


Annie slowed down as we rounded a bend. The car smelled of sunscreen and aloe vera, and I was prodding my cheeks, inspecting my sunburn in the visor mirror, when I spotted the car. It was a rusty white Jeep with a roof rack, parked on the shoulder of the road, by a cluster of trees.


I sat up in my seat. “Pull over,” I said.


“What?”


“Pull over!” I repeated.


Annie pulled in next to the Jeep just as the remains of the California sun folded into the clouds. “Is that your dad’s car?” she asked, taking the keys out of the ignition.


“Yeah,” I said, confused, and opened the door.


“Why would it be here?” Annie asked, slamming the door.


I had no idea. He was supposed to be at work. He and my mother were both high school teachers in Costa Rosa, almost an hour away from here. Cupping my hands, I peered into the Jeep. It was empty, with objects strewn across the seats, as if my father had left in a hurry. The giant trunks of the redwoods stood a mere ten feet away, creating a boundary between the road and the forest beyond, which was quickly being swallowed by darkness. I reached into Annie’s car for my jacket and pulled it on.


“What are you doing?” Annie asked apprehensively.


“He’s got to be in there,” I said, and made for the edge of the forest.


“What?”


I stopped. “Maybe he went...hiking. They do that kind of stuff sometimes on weekends.” I tried to say it with conviction, but I didn’t believe it. “I’m just going to check it out.”


“Wait,” Annie cried after me. “Renée! It’s getting dark. Maybe we should just wait for him at home.”


Without responding, I walked back to Annie’s car and leaned through the passenger window. I fished around in the glove compartment until I found the flashlight that her parents kept for emergencies.


“Don’t worry; I’ll be back in few minutes. Stay here.” And without saying another word, I turned and ran into the woods.


The redwood forest was cool and damp. My wet bathing suit soaked through my clothes as I darted between the trees, my sneakers sinking softly into the earth while the ferns and underbrush whipped my shins.


“Dad?” I shouted into the darkness, but my voice was overpowered by the wind rustling through the branches. “Dad, are you here?”


The beam of my flashlight bounced wildly about the trees as I ran, illuminating pockets of the forest in brief and sudden flashes. The giant redwoods loomed darkly around me, the tops of their trunks extending far above the fog, which had just begun to settle on the ground.


It felt like I had been running for miles when I stopped to catch my breath. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a glint of light reflecting off the ground. I slowed to a walk and edged toward it. My hand trembled as I guided the flashlight in its direction. It was a coin. I prodded it with the tip of my sneaker and walked forward cautiously. A long thin sheet of white cloth was embedded in the dirt next to it, and I followed it into the darkness.


As I stepped deeper into the forest, the air seemed to drop in temperature. I shuddered, pulling my jacket around me tightly, and scanned the ground with my flashlight. It was scattered with coins and pieces of white cloth. Curious, I bent over to get a closer look, when somewhere in the distance, the leaves began to shift. Then movement; the soft thump of footsteps against earth.

updated @Judette

Paul curses and swears as they lower their voices, continuing the conversation in hushed whispers. Kade's jaw clenches as he shakes his head, suddenly looking livid and disgusted.


"He'd never do that!" Kade yells, pointing back toward his grandfather's room. "My grandfather only ever loved one woman. He hasn't even dated anyone since my grandmother died, let alone got married. This is bullshit."


What?


"It's true, Kade," Leonard says wearily. "I was there six months ago when they went to the courthouse. So was Harry. We both served as witnesses. Thomas didn't want you to know. I'm sorry. And he had me nullify his will, which now leaves everything to Henrietta. I know this is hard, but it's true.


"With him in an induced coma, he's unable to handle his estate. Essentially, since she's deeded everything, she has almost the same rights as someone with power of attorney. The vineyard is hers, the winery is hers, and the farm is hers."


This doesn't make sense. Thomas told me he had just had his will-


"That's bullshit, because my father just had his will redone not long ago. My lawyers handled it because I felt it was too important to leave in your hands," Paul barks. "Kade is the only one who is supposed to get anything. She has no rights, and she'd better stay the hell off my father's property."


A flash of surprise crosses Leonard's face, and my eyes narrow. Holy fucking shit... This... I can't believe it. This is a con.


"Do you have the will?"


"No. My father kept it, but I'm sure my lawyers can send you a copy real damn soon." Paul walks away, and Leonard turns to text someone. I watch, pretending as though I'm only mildly amused, while Kade follows his father. Leonard's phone buzzes, and whatever he sees forces him to relax. That's not good. A relaxed con has an ace in their pocket. A skilled hacker could easily access and delete those files.


"Let's go, Henrietta. Now's not a good time to visit. I'll bring you back later."


She dabs her fake tears on a tissue and nods while following behind him. One of two things is going on. Either she faked the marriage, and an authenticator will quickly dismiss the certificate, which will make whatever will they have suspicious. Or she actually conned Thomas Colton into marrying her.


Considering their confidence level, she tricked him into marrying her. And as his lawyer, Leonard, could have easily manipulated the old will. They're pros. Paul won't get the new will. Not through his lawyers. There's only one way he'll ever see it. There's only one way Kade will have his vineyard - the one his grandfather wants him to have.


I walk away, giving everyone some privacy. It's crazy to think I was looked down upon for my roots, but yet a con has been right under their noses this whole time.


I almost leap into my car and speed out of the parking lot. I already told Dane Sterling I'd be late. I hadn't been expecting to talk to the damn owner when I called in to work, but he was nice enough. Now I'll have to call him and tell him I won't be there for at least two or three days, if all goes according to plan. I'm not so sure how nice he'll be after that.


I bring my car to an abrupt halt, and I hop out before the engine even has time to register I've cut it off. Dad jumps a little when I barge through the door, and I scour the space for Brody, making sure he's nowhere around.


"Raya?" he asks worriedly. "What's wrong?"


I spot Brody through the back window. He's perched up on the palm tree while he smokes. That's plenty far enough away.


I turn back toward my father, feeling serious, ready, and a little pissed. "I need your help."


"Of course. What's going on?"


I take a deep breath to utter the words I never thought I would.


"We need to set up a con."

Chapter 17


Conned


  



"Raya, you need to grab the steaks for me, please," Dad yells as I jog down the stairs.


"Yeah," I mumble, wiping my eyes.


I really wish I could stop seeing Kade at school. The icy glares he gives me are painful. I do well to act unaffected on campus, but the second I'm home, I fall apart.


You'd think after two weeks, I'd be dealing better. But not so much. If anything, it keeps getting worse.


"I've got to be at work in an hour," I mutter as I grab the steaks from the fridge and carry them outside.


Brody is talking on his phone in the yard, and he lifts his eyes to meet mine once I'm outside. I still haven't forgiven him for his judgmental comment. I hate them all. The only ones who believe I'm good are the cons. And people think they're the villains.


"Here," I mutter, handing Dad the large container full of raw meat.


He frowns when he takes in my wet cheeks and tear-stained eyes. I've lost my ability to care if everyone sees me as a mess when I'm not at school. I just refuse to give Kade the satisfaction of seeing me broken.


"Is he hassling you? Are his friends giving you problems?" Dad asks, letting his jaw work into a clenching motion.


"No. We don't speak. His friends are probably too scared to mess with a conman's daughter. They don't know you weren't violent."


"That would change if they mess with you."


The anger lacing his tone makes me believe him. I need to defuse the situation before he does something stupid. He's a good man, but he lives in the gray area where normal morals and what he thinks is right don't mesh well.


"I'm fine. I promise. You guys have fun. I need to get to work."


Dad grumbles under his breath, but he begrudgingly lets me go without further inquiry.


It's odd having my own vehicle, but my dad insisted he buy me a car. I would have settled for a used piece of crap, but he wanted me to have a flashy new ritzy car. We met in the middle, and I got an Escape.


He's trying too hard to make up for time lost, and I'm trying too hard to assure him he doesn't have to. We'll eventually get comfortable with each other.


Ember's number comes through on my phone, and I connect the call with a touch of the steering wheel, chuckling a little. "Are you dancing at Silk tonight?" I ask, bypassing a hello. She always gets nervous when she dances. Silk is Burlesque meets stripper pole. I simply wait tables. Ember has the confidence for the stage.


"Um... No. Raya, Kade's grandfather was admitted to the hospital early this morning. He's in an induced coma right now. It's possible he won't make it much longer."


I swallow hard. I've been dreading this because I don't know what to do. I hate Kade right now, but I love the bastard, too. His family was good to me, and though they might hate me now, I don't feel right about not going and offering my condolences.


"Thanks, Em. For calling me."


"No problem. Are you going out there?"


I stop at the red light that forces me to think about which way to go. Taking a right will lead me to Silk. Taking a left will lead me to the hospital. A literal crossroads. Shit.


"I'll talk to you later," I mutter while turning left.


  



Paul Colton is the first person I recognize, and I tense up as I watch him pace back and forth, looking devastated and broken. He's always so poised and pulled together. Seeing him like this... makes me all the more worried about seeing Kade.


I won't be able to touch him, console him, or even try to talk to him. I have no idea what I was thinking by coming here. This was stupid. I can't do anything but make the situation worse.


I turn around and slam into a hard chest. Strong hands steady me, and I look up to see Tag with a weary expression replacing his normally chipper one.


"Raya. I'm surprised but happy you're here. Kade could use someone," he says softly.


My heart breaks more. He will need someone, but he won't let it be me.


"I shouldn't have come," I say in a hoarse rasp, clearing my throat directly after.


He sighs out heavily. "We know you weren't conning him. No one here is going to say otherwise. Kade needs someone."


Tears threaten to drip out. Does Kade think I wasn't conning him now? Has he changed his mind?


"Raya," Paul's relieved voice says from close behind me, and I swallow down the emotion as I turn to face his disheveled appearance.


"Mr. Colton. I'm sorry. I just came to tell you I'll do anything you need me to. I... You can call me if you need me." How I manage to not break down and bawl, I don't know. But this can't be about me right now.


"There is something you can do. Go see Kade. He's not so well," he says wearily.


His eyes are sunken in, his hair is a mess, and his suit looks to be three-days-worn. I've never seen him look so... lost. He always looks so in control.


"Yeah. Of course," I mutter softly, patting his arm as I walk around him.


I head down the hall, and I hear the familiar voices guiding me to the room as Wren, Melanie, and several others gather around a fragile old man who looked so sprightly not too long ago.


As I grow closer, I see Kade in the corner with his head in his hands, and I start to ache. It's almost painful to see him so broken. My shattered heart breaks even more when I see a familiar body walking toward him. Courtney Hughes.


She puts her hand on his shoulder just as Wren notices me. "Raya," he says, making Kade's head snap up.


He looks just as tragic as Mr. Colton, and my lip tries to tremble. I start to walk toward him, deciding to explain all my past bullshit later. I want to be here for him right now, comfort him. But when I see the way Courtney looks at me, I remember who I am. I remember who he is.


He wants a big business - a reputable business without any worries that something will soil its good name. The name his grandfather is leaving behind is clean, perfect, and full of respect. Mine... I'm still a conman's daughter. Nothing has changed. After staring at each other, both of us uncertain about what to do, I turn to leave, but Kade jumps up, letting the chair scrape across the floor.


"Raya, wait," he says breathlessly.


"I-"


Before I can finish, I'm interrupted by yelling from down the hall. Kade brushes by me, letting his hand trail down my arm as he passes to go investigate the scene. That one touch has damn near made me say to hell with my resolve, but the argument brings me back.


"You can't be serious," Paul yells, pointing his finger in the face of Leonard Mars, Thomas Colton's lawyer.


I only met him once that day at the vineyard, but I remember him. Though I can honestly say I have no idea who the woman with him is.


She's tall with dark blond hair, and appears to be in her mid to late fifties. She looks elegant, with her wavy hair swept perfectly to the sides, but there's a familiar air about her... She's trying to look elegant. I know that rags-to-riches stance. Someone wants so badly to feel prominent, so they fake it. I've known many girls around here try to achieve that goal but to no avail. That means this woman is new to money.


"I'm sorry, Paul. I really am," Leonard says, seeming exhausted.

"Fucking unbelievable. Just deny it, Raya. Damn it. That's all I'm asking," he barks behind my back, but I ignore it. I don't want to hear any more cruelty spewing from the lips that loved me last night.


Hurt? I wish. I'm not hurt; I'm destroyed. I never conned him into loving me. I conned myself into believing he'd be different.

Chapter 16


Broken


  



"I'm sorry," Kade says as he kisses my cheek, rousing me from my sleep. "Come to bed with me."


I lazily open my eyes to see him hovering over me in my bedroom. What time is it?


I glance over and groan when I see the clock says three.


"Just go to bed. We'll talk in the morning," I mumble, huffing as I turn back over.


"Tell me I can take you to my bed, and I'll shut up."


"There's nothing wrong with my bed. I want to sleep in here. We'll talk in the morning. When there's light out."


The bed dips as he crawls in beside me and wraps his arms around my waist to pull my back to his front. Soft lips start trailing down my neck, to my shoulder, then back up. I can feel the heat of his skin and the firm touch of his chest grazing my few pieces of shown skin. Of course he's shirtless. He wouldn't dare make this easy on me.


"I said I'm sorry," he murmurs again while nuzzling my neck with his smooth face.


I huff out as I turn over to face him, unsure if I'm even mad or not. I'm hurt.


"I didn't ask for the wine. In fact, I damn near begged him to keep it. He was insistent. I don't know why you're pissed at me. I told you to keep the frigging bottle. I don't want it."


I turn back over, and his arms tighten around me as his leg comes over to wrap me up.


"I know, Raya. That's why I'm apologizing. I was a jerk. It... it just caught me off guard. You should definitely keep it. It's obvious Granddad noticed how special you are, too. He has... cancer, and when he gave that to you, I wasn't mad at you... It just made me realize he knows he doesn't have a lot of time left. It just... it really struck a nerve, because I'm not ready to lose him."


The emotion in his voice is raw and heartbreaking. I've never heard him like this. That's all it takes to make me roll back over and throw my arms around him. I can feel the tears in his eyes, which makes it hard for me not to cry.


He tightens his hold on me, and his cheek rubs against mine affectionately. I want so badly to stupidly tell him I love him again, but I bite it back and just hold him. His grandfather seemed fine. He didn't look to be hurting or dying. He seemed fresh and happy.


"Come to bed with me. I hate sleeping upstairs," he murmurs while kissing my cheek.


"Okay."


I go willingly this time as he pulls me up. His fingers thread through mine as he guides me down the stairs. As soon as we reach his room, he turns me face him and starts backing me up as his lips come down on mine.


I don't know what he needs right now, but I'm willing to give him anything he wants. Slowly, I slide my arms up his chest and clasp them around his neck just as the backs of my knees reach the bed.


Perfect trails of kisses are forged around my neck as we both drop to the soft mattress. He's been gentle, he's been rough, but this... this is so much more. It's as though I'm the only person in the world right now, and he's worshipping me with every touch, every kiss, and every breath.


My breathing hitches when he pulls my shirt over my head and presses tender kisses down the curve of my neck. With very soft, unhurried motions, we UnCloth each other until we're bare and comfortably entwined.


He pulls me to be on top of him, and I lower my mouth to his. It doesn't matter if he doesn't tell me he loves me; right now I can feel it.


His hands gently tangle in my hair as he kisses me harder, letting me feel a need he's not usually vulnerable enough to show. I don't bother digging for a foil packet and ruining this real moment with superficial barriers.


I've been on birth-control since my first boyfriend, and I know Kade doesn't sleep around. It's probably not smart, but I love him. I want to have all of him, and I want him to have all of me.


I slide down on him, letting him feel the skin on skin, and he moans in a way that sets me on fire as he fills me. He doesn't stop me or question what I've just done, because he trusts me as much as I trust him.


Then I start moving my hips, rocking against him as he runs his hands up and down my hips, pulling me to him with each falling motion so that our bases rub against each other.


He sits up as I control the motions, and he kisses me as we slowly and deeply claim each other with our connected bodies. I'm on another level right now. It's so... honest, so real.


"I love you," I whisper, not meaning to, but not able to hold back.


He pulls me closer, making it hard to rise and fall against him, as his tongue slips into my mouth. Sweat forms on both of us, my hair dampens, and his body melds more to mine as everything intensifies.


When his breaths grow rasp, I feel the build trying to unfurl deep within me. I push down harder, move a little quicker, and use his shoulders to offer me leverage as I work hard to carry us both over that edge.


It's not merely mind-blowing when I finally find my release, it's earth-shattering. His name flows through my lips like a worshipping prayer, and my name falls out of him just the same. And we just sit there, holding each other, lips entwined, tongues in play... hearts in love.


  



I've had butterflies in my stomach all day long. After Kade woke me up last night and made love to me like I never thought possible, I haven't been able to stop smiling. Now he wants to take me somewhere special. This could be it. This could be the night he tells me he loves me.


He's been different ever since he woke me up at three. He barely let me get to class this morning, and he has sent me at least a dozen texts telling me he misses me.


My goofy grin only grows. I start to text him when my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down to see Brody's name on the screen, but I put it back. I don't want to talk to him right now. I want to go fall into Kade's arms and enjoy the night I pray changes everything.


My stomach flip flops as I grow closer, but then it crashes to the ground when I see the black Audi car in the driveway of Kade's house. License plate: HUPRIDE. My phone buzzes again, and I scramble to answer it.


"Brody, that car is-"


"It's Uncle Joey, Kiddo. I was calling to tell you I have a name for the tag you gave me. Courtney Hughes. You know her? 'Cause she's been asking a lot of questions about you back in Springton."


I swallow hard as I lower the phone from my ear, and my world tries to disintegrate in front of my eyes. No. I was supposed to get to tell him. Not her.


I tremble as I make my way to the door. I can only imagine what will happen, but I have to hope he loves me enough to overlook my roots. He's not going to judge me like the rest of them. He can't.


With a shaky breath, I finally push through the door, dreading what's waiting on the other side. Hushed voices reach me from the living room, and the lump in my throat doubles in size.


When I round the corner, I see Kade sitting on the couch beside Courtney. She looks up to meet my eyes, seeming cold and angry. Kade's head is down as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees while he stares at the floor. His hands are clasped together, his body is stiff, and I can tell my hopefulness is going to be doused with reality. He's going to be like everyone else.


"You need to go. Now," Courtney says, a bitterness to her tone I'm accustomed to.


Who the hell does she think she is?


"I'll let Kade tell me what to do," I mutter calmly, digging deep to find those extra-thick layers of skin I put away.


Kade doesn't move, but his low voice comes out cold. "Go, Courtney. I need to speak to Raya alone."


I swallow hard, almost choking on that knot now. Courtney shakes her head. "No. Kade, she's a con. She can easily manipulate you into making another mistake."


My heart drops to the ground and shatters. Another mistake?


"Just go, Courtney!" he growls, making her jump.


She stands and brushes the wrinkles out of her fitted blue dress. Several files and photos are scattered across the glass coffee table. I don't have to ask what they are. If she's been digging for information in my home town, everyone was more than likely happy to oblige. If he chooses to believe those hypocritical fools who turned on my father while locking all their dirty secrets up in a closet, then he doesn't love me like I thought.


I glare at her as she walks by, and she holds my gaze with just as much passionate hatred. Right now, I wish my father had been violent. Then I'd know how to beat the hell out of her.


She finally breaks the eye contact as she walks out, leaving her messy trail behind for me to clean up. I can tell by the frigid temperature in the air, it's over. I won't let him judge me wrongly. If everyone wants someone to hate... so be it. I'm sick of defending myself.


"So you're a con?" he asks, slicing my heart out. "That's what all this was? You show up, find a way to weasel yourself into my house, and then what? Make me fall for you? Take everything I have?"


The tears that brim his eyes match the ones I'm holding back. Not again. I won't be that girl that crumbles and breaks again. I knew this day would come. I hoped for the best, but I prepared for the worst.


"My father is a con. I'm just his daughter. But I think you've already made up your mind about me. There's nothing I can or will say to try to change your mind. I've seen that look before."


"Deny it, Raya. Can you at least do that?" he hisses. "Can you say that you didn't play me? That you didn't work me over real damn well? And my father? And my grandfather? I should have fucking known he wouldn't have handed that bottle over for just any reason. You poured on the charm and he fell for it just like I did. Like we all did."


If you cut my heart out with a dull spoon, it wouldn't hurt this much. Still, I hold onto my tears, refusing to let him see me break.


"Yeah," I murmur coldly. "I talked those frat boys into bulldozing my house just so I could move in here. I cunningly whispered in your father's ear to plant the idea in his head. I conned him into buying me clothes and bringing me to Aspen. Is that what you want? I told your grandfather I love you just so he'd give me a bottle of wine he treasured. Happy? I told you I love you because I wanted to steal everything you have and disappear into the wind. There. Now you can feel good about doing this."


I turn on my heel, disgusted and broken. I've told myself before I'd never be loved by someone like him. Why I let myself fall is beyond me.

We start fully on Tuesday by his Grace. Shalom ❣️❤️❤️❤️❤️

PROLOGUE


i DIDN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DEATH UNTIL I began studying philosophy. That was how I learned the truth about Descartes, about the ancient Greek and Roman civilizations, about my past. My mother used to tell me that matter was neither created nor destroyed, only transferred. She was filled with old theories that she would make me recite back to her, as if she were trying to tell me something about the world but couldn’t find the right words. I never gave them much thought until she and my father were killed, but by then it was too late to ask what it had all meant. It wasn’t until I enrolled at Gottfried Academy that I began to make sense of who I was and what I was fated to become. But first, let me tell you about the peculiar circumstances surrounding the death of my parents. Because it was their deaths that set off the strange chain of events that led me to where I am now. And because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my first year at Gottfried, it’s that sometimes you have to look back in order to understand the things that lie ahead.

New story alert my people Adeshina12, Greatlinda, Anna2012, Samebony1, Prisomic, Lonesome501, Froze6, Tridroid.

Introduction
On the morning of her sixteen birthday, Renée Winters was still an ordinary girl. She spent her Summers at the beach, had the perfect best friend, and had just started dating the cutest guy at school. No one she'd ever known had dies. But all changes when she finds her parents dead in the Redwood forest, in what appears to be a strange double murder.
After the funeral Renee's wealthy grandfather sends her to Gottfried Academy, a remote and mysterious boarding school in Maine, where she finds herself studying subjects like Philosophy, Latin, and the Crude Sciences. It's there that she meets Dante Berlin, a handsome and elusive boy whom she feel inexplicably drawn. As they grow closer, unexplainable things begin to happen, but Renée can't keep from falling in love. It's only when she discovers a dark tragedy in Gottfried's past that she begins to wonder if the Academy is everything it seems.
Little does she know, Dante is the one hiding a dangerous secret, one that has him fearing for her life.
The story is both a compelling romance and thoughts provoking read, bringing shocking new meaning to life, death, love and the nature of the soul.

Updated @Kenvee6 and Nuel45

A proud grin spreads over his face as his lip trembles, and unshed tears glisten in his eyes as he studies me intently.


"I'll be damned. You're in love with him. That's perfect."


How did he know?


I wipe my eyes, laugh, and sniffle all at once, while keeping the wine tucked close to me.


"I'd rather you didn't go announcing that to him," I mumble, making him laugh again as his eyes continue to water. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear someone loves my boy. This is all going to be his one day. In fact, I originally had Paul deeded parts of the property, but Kade has proven himself, so I had a new will drafted just yesterday. I plan on keeping it a secret and surprising Kade with it in a few months."


I start to say something else, but the ancient relic of a phone on the wall rings loudly, drawing his attention. I glance around at the other bottles in the room, amazed at all the hard work that has to be done to produce wine.


A picture catches my attention next. It piques my curiosity because of the fact it's a fraction of a centimeter off the wall. It's hiding a secret. I know hidden secrets.


With his back turned, he doesn't see me when I tilt the picture out to take a look behind it. The Annex Goliath safe. Unbelievable. I know that safe because Annex is my father's old cohort in crime. He turned over a new leaf and started designing unbreakable safes. I find humor in the fact a con is keeping Kade's grandfather's secret treasures safe.


I let the picture fall back into place, and I turn to face Thomas just as he hangs up the phone. He smiles at me, but it's weak. I'm not sure what just happened during that call, but it has dampened his spirits.


"Come on. Let's go find Kade. I'm sure he's already sold half my stock by now. The boy needs a life, and you're the right woman for the job."


I chuckle lightly and follow him.


"So is this where all the wine is fermented?" I ask, hoping to bring back his real smile.


"No, dear," he chuckles out. "This is just where I make my favorites. There are two other buildings on the property designed just for fermenting. Several men work the fields, and my manager oversees the production."


As we top the stairs, a guy with salt-and-pepper hair walks across the room while holding a clipboard. He looks to be mid-forties, and his goatee matches his time-dusted hair.


"Well, speak of the devil," Thomas says with a grin.


The man looks up and smiles at both of us, letting the clipboard drop to his side as he clutches it with one hand. "Thomas, you have a guest."


"This is Raya. She's dating Kade."


"It's about time that boy made time for something other than this place."


Thomas chuckles. "You're one to talk."


"I'm old," he jokes. "I'm supposed to be wrapped up in work."


Thomas turns to me and holds a hand out to gesture to the guy. "This is Harry Talbot, my manager. He keeps the place running like a well-oiled machine."


I shake his hand just as Kade walks in with a balding man who is half Kade's height. Well, maybe not half, but he's short... very short. Especially compared to Kade.


"And that's Leonard Mars, my lawyer who keeps all the licenses, contracts, and legal things running just as smoothly as Harry keeps the farm."


"Vineyard," Kade interjects, smiling.


"It's a farm with a vineyard on it," Thomas says, swatting at him.


Kade walks over to me and pulls me in his arms before delivering a chaste kiss on my lips. I keep the bottle of Merlot tucked against me, and he looks down to see what I'm holding.


"I gave the girl a gift. I told her I might not ever get this chance again," Thomas says with a salacious grin. Kade smiles until he sees what I'm holding, and then his eyes widen in shock. I really want to give this back.


"The '93 Merlot? Have you lost your mind?" he gasps.


Yep. I need to put this back. This feels so wrong.


"My mind is one of the few things I haven't lost yet," Thomas teases, never letting his smile waver.


Kade swallows hard as he wraps an arm around me. "We're about to head out. We've got class tomorrow, but call me if you need anything," he says to his grandfather.


I have a feeling we'll be discussing this damn wine bottle the second we get in the car.


"Just worry about getting good grades and taking her out on special dates. There aren't too many like her. I can already tell."


He gives me a wink, and I blush when Kade looks back at me. He seems... confused?


Thomas walks over and gives me an unexpected hug, that I carefully return without losing a grip on the wine.


"Take care of him," he whispers, offering me a small wink when he pulls back.


I smile and nod. Then Kade steps in to say his farewells as I make my way to the door. I go ahead and pop the trunk to his car, trying to think of the best way to secure the wine.


"I've got it," Kade says, suddenly right beside me with a pile of bubble wrap and a straw-filled crate.


He wraps it up like a priceless gem, and then he secures it in the small crate before covering it in the straw and sealing the lid with several latches.


"I can't believe he gave you the '93 Merlot. What did you say to him?" I can't tell if he's angry or dumbfounded.


"I didn't tell him anything. I don't want the wine though. You should keep it. After all, it would mean more to you than to me."


"I've already got one. This one and mine are the only two left."


He bites back whatever he wants to say. I really don't want the frigging wine at this point. I never did. I knew it was too precious to give to me.


"Please keep it."


"If he wants you to have it, then you should keep it. It's his wine to do with as he pleases."


I sigh as he closes the trunk and heads to the driver's side. He's not even going to open my door the way he normally does. He invited me into his world to show me a glimpse, and I somehow dove in without permission. I didn't mean to.


This day started out with promise, but it has ended in complete failure. The story of my life. This trip, unlike the ride out here, goes on forever in silence. I'll be sleeping in my room tonight. I know I'm not the perfect girl, but I did nothing wrong. I'll be damned if I let him punish me for receiving a gift from a persistent old man.

CHAPTER 15
Too Soon


  



"There you are," Kade says with an adorable grin as I walk into the house, still worried about the Audi that tailed me.


I spent the entire bus ride staring out the window, tense with trepidation and dread. It had to have been a tail. There's no other reason it would have been at the bus station and the prison. I looked for an app, but you have to pay for the information, and I don't have a debit or credit card. I'll have to wait on Uncle Joey.


I wrap my arms around him and he hugs me to him. I didn't realize how badly I needed to be held until right now. It feels so good.


"You okay?" he asks when he feels my tense body pressed against his.


"I am now," I mutter softly, inhaling his scent like it's home.He starts trailing kisses down my cheek until he reaches my lips, and then the fire sets in when his tongue presses through my parted lips. My fingers twist and tangle in his soft dark hair as he slides his hands under my rear and lifts me up.


Just like that, my bad day has been shattered, and a cloud of euphoria comes to settle in place of the dark cloud that had loomed.


"I love you," I blurt out, instantly wishing that had stayed inside my mouth.


Shit. Shit. Shit. No. No. No.


He stills against me, and the kiss that had been heated is broken. Very slowly, he lets me slide down from his body. I've just ruined this. I didn't mean to say it. It's too soon. Hell, even I know it's too soon, but I do. I can't help but love him. I quite possibly fell in love with him before we started dating.


I start to back away when he jerks me to him and crushes his lips against mine, claiming me and banishing all the angst that had settled on my chest like a heavy weight. I feel the wall at my back before he lifts me back up.


I don't hesitate to wrap my legs around his waist. Suddenly, I wish I had worn a dress. This would be so much better if I was in a dress.


I grip his shoulders to keep my weight better divided, but he treats me as though I'm weightless when he carries me out of the living room and into the bedroom. I can't catch my breath. It's all happening so fast.


The kiss is almost too hungry, too devouring. It's as though Kade's switch has flipped. I wish I knew how to make him be this way all the time. Damn this is good.


My clothes come off in swift motions, and words are lost amongst the heavy breaths and excited moans. It's all I can do not to unravel before we even start. Aggressive Kade is hot. Very hot.


"I want you to stay here," he murmurs softly, kissing and nipping at my neck as he slips out of his jeans.


I tug his shirt over his head, almost forgetting he finally said something... Even though it wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. In fact, it's confusing.


When his devilish tongue slides into my mouth, and the sound of a foil packet tearing resonates in my ears, I forget we were talking at all. I become greedier with the kiss, taking all he'll give, and giving all he'll take.


He sinks in until he's completely buried inside me, and then he starts moving, finding an incredibly merciless rhythm. He slams into me so hard a grunt springs free from my lips, and that forces a low growl to emerge from him.


I don't know what is going on, but I frigging love it.


With each perfectly executed thrust, he pushes me closer to that peak I'm begging to fall over.


A ragged moan and his name tear through my lips in unison, and the violent, mind-blowing release I feel sets him off, making him grunt loudly as his eyes roll back in his head.


He collapses to me and almost crushes me with his solid weight. I chuckle when he lets out an exaggerated exhausted breath, and then I run my fingers through his hair, relishing his hard breaths on my chest.


I keep waiting for him to acknowledge what I said, because I'm sure as hell not saying it again until he tells me he feels the same. I'm so stupid for letting my emotions run free. I rushed this. What was I thinking?


"I mean it, Raya," he breathlessly releases. He means what?


"Hmm?"


I'm almost scared to move my lips after my accidental slip. I don't trust my mouth to say the right things.


"I want you to stay here. I don't want you leaving at the beginning of the semester."


That's a long way away. So he's not freaked out by my confession... I guess.


I smile, though it's weighted. We're apparently not going to address what I said. It's fine. He needs more time. That's completely understandable. So why do I feel a little hurt?


"I won't leave," I say without thinking. That's not a promise I should be making.


"Good. Now how the hell am I supposed to drive to the vineyard after that?"


I giggle when the conversation lightens, and he smiles while lifting his head to kiss me. Those blue eyes will haunt me forever if this doesn't work. I really do love him. I can wait on him to feel the same.


  



With the top down, I was forced to wind my hair up on my head to keep it from beating me to death on the way here. I love Kade's convertibles, but they wreak havoc on a girl who doesn't have short hair.


"So... this is it," he says as we pull in.


His grin is ridiculously huge. He's excited... very excited. I don't know if I've ever seen him so giddy about anything.


"Colton Wines?" I ask when I read the sign. "This is your family's?"


He nods, letting his grin grow bigger. "My grandfather's. My dad's dad."


I look around at the enormous vineyard that stretches on farther than I can see. My mouth falls open. This is where Paul Colton came from? And they thought he was poor? Shit. They must think I live in the gutter.


"So not what I was expecting, considering the way everyone has depicted father's upbringing."


He laughs as we idly make our way down the hellacious long drive.


"It wasn't like this when Dad lived here. My grandfather owned the land, but he hadn't planted on all of it. He didn't have the manpower he needed back then, and he didn't have the funds to make his dreams come true.


"Granddad sold wine that should have been worshipped, but he was a small businessman with few clients, so the prices were extremely low. This land is so fertile that it's ridiculous, and he found the gem others overlooked. But he couldn't capitalize. Mom and Dad changed that.


"When Dad met Mom, he brought her a bottle of wine, not really thinking about it being something so fabulous it would change Colton Farms - the name at the time - forever. Granddad made more money off tomatoes and cabbage than he did on wine before that day.


"Mom was amazed, and she accused Dad of spending too much money on wine when she knew he couldn't afford it. She didn't want him trying to impress her. When he explained it was from his dad's farm, she was shocked. She came out, brought her parents, and then from there... Colton Wines became a brand in every rich household.


"Most people don't associate it with Dad because he's the fashion capitalist. Dad loves this place, but he loves the challenge the world of fashion presents more. He has to stay on his toes to keep one step ahead, and he loves it. The vineyard is a lot of work, but it's not really a competitive edge sort of thing... at least not with my granddad's wine. "It's the best. There's no competing. If you don't have his wine at a function, people snub you. They've gotten spoiled. More pride and heart goes into the bottles than people will ever know. That's what makes it so good."


I've never seen him so excited to talk about anything. He's like a child on Christmas right now. Then it dawns on me. How did I miss this?


"This is the business you'll be taking over?" I ask, not really meaning for it to be a question.


"Yep. People assume I'll be taking over Burndell Industries, but I could care less about all that boring shit. This... this is me. It's my home. When I came out here as a kid, I couldn't get enough of the farm. Granddad taught me about the grapes, the lands, and the farming portion of the business. The older I got, the more I came out here. I'm here once a week usually. It's been a little longer since I came out here... since I haven't been able to tear myself away from you since you moved in."


His smile makes my heart flutter, and he pulls my hand to his lips to kiss it just before we stop in front of a beautiful chalet sort of home. There are windows lining every wall, and each bit of rich cedar only adds to the appeal. It's so perfect.


"Wow," I murmur as he steps out of the car.


He takes quick strides to my side to open the door for me, and then he helps me out while I gape at the beauty surrounding me.


With it being the off season, the grapes aren't in bloom, but everything is still... amazing. I can only imagine what it'll look like when the grapes are dripping over the large fences built for their clingy vines.


The wrap-around porch has hand-carved rocking chairs that look so inviting. This is so peaceful. I can picture Kade here. So much about him makes sense now. He loves this place. I don't know that I've ever seen him love anything.


"There's my boy," a raspy voice announces, drawing my attention.


Kade grins as he leaves my side to head over to the older man who doesn't seem to have a problem getting around. I've seen Kade with his mother - stiff hugs, soft smiles, and polite gestures. I've seen him with his father - no physical contact, stale conversation, and the same polite gestures. With his grandfather, he greets him with a real, genuine hug, a warm, incredible smile, and a carefree abandon that makes me tingle.


It's like he's a different person here. I already loved him. I don't know if I can be around him here for very long. I may very well ask him to marry me. He's so happy right now - so real and unguarded. His grandfather claps his back as the embrace ends, and he lets his eyes find me before letting out a low whistle. "How the hell did you convince a pretty girl like that to ride out here with you?" he teases, making Kade laugh as he jogs back toward me.


He laces our fingers together as he starts tugging me toward the man who is grinning at our connection.


"Granddad, this is Raya Capperton. Raya, this is my grandfather, Thomas Colton."


"That's the best you can do?" Thomas pokes. "You're supposed to introduce her as who she is to you as well. That's how it works. Friend? Girlfriend? Fiancée? Wife?"


I laugh as Kade rolls his eyes. "You'd know it if I got married. This is my... girlfriend?" he says, sounding more like it's a question.


"Are you asking or telling?" Thomas prods, making Kade laugh nervously and squirm uncomfortably.


"I suppose... telling?" he asks again.


I'm not used to seeing Kade so nervous. Is it me or his grandfather that's making him act so awkward?


"I swear, boy. If you have a girl that looks like her, you say 'girlfriend.' You don't stumble around like an idiot who's waiting on her to clarify. Be a man."


I burst out laughing when Kade turns red and shakes his head.


"Be a man," I tease, poking at him while I have the chance.


"Don't encourage him," he groans, making both me and Thomas laugh louder.


He leans over and kisses me lightly on the lips, making my smile grow. He's different with me in front of his grandfather than he is with me in front of his parents. He doesn't ignore me by any means, but during our stay in Aspen, he only acted this affectionate when they weren't around.


I didn't expect him to maul me in front of his parents, but I thought it'd be different. He's not the same in front of them. He's a different person most of the time. He keeps some fences up, as though he has to separate different parts of his life. I'm glad he's not that way when it's just the two of us.


"Come on in. Show her around."


We walk into the enormous building that is loaded with wine bottles, beautiful fruits and vegetables, and numerous jarred goodies. It's like a colorful explosion of tasty treats. I'm almost salivating.


Wine glasses hang in various places, adding elegance and function - considering the wine-tastings. A cedar staircase leads to a loft that has a view to overlook the vineyard. It's breathtaking, all of it. It's spacious, and despite the built-in wine racks, it's not cluttered. The counter at the front reminds me of an old malt shop; not a fancy wine place. Each room holds a new selection of wines. Glamorous signs hang to explain the different tastes, awards won, and foods the wines best complement.


Even a rookie like me could walk in and find the right wine. I'm amazed at the range in prices. Some sell for a hundred dollars, and some sell for ten thousand. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans to keep from accidentally breaking something I can't afford.


"You good?" Kade asks, running his fingers through my hair.


"Paranoid," I murmur as I back away from a Merlot that screams expensive.


He chuckles lightly. "If you break something, I'll try to talk to the owner about giving you a pass. We're pretty close." I shake my head while letting a small laugh free. My hands aren't coming out of my pockets.


"The Merlot is my favorite. They said Napa was the best for the grapes, but there are plenty of clay spots here that are perfect for growing the Merlot grapes."


He's so cute when he's excited.


I knew he was a wine connoisseur, but I didn't realize why until now.


"Cabernet?" I muse, offering him a chance to tutor me more.


"Ah, red wine. Yes. The Cabernet actually dethroned burgundy in the mid-1960s. By the late 1980s, Cabernet was the generic term used for red wine."


From there, he lectures me on all the origins of the wines. Each time he speaks about a new grape or different fermenting process, his eyes light up. This really is his niche. It makes me want to study up on every wine just so I can be a part of his passion.


"I need to go check on a large order we're supposed to ship out tomorrow. Care to hang out for a minute?"


I smile and nod as he kisses my cheek before rushing off to play Mr. Important.


"He's a go-getter, that one," Thomas says from behind me, startling me a bit.


"I've never seen him so happy."


He smiles as he moves around the room with his hands behind his back. "That's funny, because his parents told me the same thing - after seeing him spend a week with you in Aspen a few weeks ago."


The crazy flutter returns to my heart.


"Come on, blushing girl. Let's show you the good stuff."


I grin bashfully as I follow him to a large stairwell that leads underground. We're going to a basement?


"The wine cellar and all the good stuff is this way."


He smiles up at me once before returning his view to the stairs. My mouth tries to drop open. It's massive down here, and it doesn't look anything like a basement.


Tuscany thrives in this underground paradise. It almost looks like the pictures I've seen of Italy with all the stucco surfaces, warm cobblestone-inspired floors, and the art that hangs proudly helps the feel as well. Then the barrels catch my eyes.


There are at least thirty barrels on one wall, and then there are at least thirty in the middle, creating aisles to walk down. Large stainless-steel containers descend from the ceiling with numerous dials and instruments on them.


"What are the barrels for?" I ask, curious.


"Fermenting the wine. It takes several weeks to do it in the oak barrels, but it's well worth the wait. The taste is so much purer. These big bastards speed it up, but it kills the best flavor," he says, pointing toward the stainless-steel containers. "This was Margaret's project. She wanted mass production for the lower-cost wines. The high-dollar stuff comes from the barrels. I don't know. I never did this for the money. I did it for the love of my land and the love of the plants. But I enjoy the fact more people get to enjoy the stuff."


"I was expecting you to be a poor man, and then we got here... I was surprised."


He chuckles. "I've been many things in my life, Raya, but never poor. I may not have had a whole lot of money, but I had a woman most men would cut their heart out for, a son no man could be prouder of, a grandson I couldn't have imagined would be so amazing, and a life most would envy. I've always been a rich man, Raya. Always."


I must be hormonal or something, because tears well up in my eyes. That was beautiful.


"When this place started going crazy with business, I decided to set up a trust fund for Kade. I knew his other grandparents and his parents were perfectly capable of such, but I only needed a little money to survive on. I didn't care for the excess of it. I also wanted Kade to start out life easier, hoping he wouldn't have to work so hard like I did; like his father did. But that boy is going to outwork us both, I believe. He never slows down. I think the profits have tripled in just a couple years' time because he has marketed the place so much. You'd think he was already in charge."


The twinkle of pride in his eyes is unmistakable. I can't stop grinning, because I love how amazed and heartfelt he speaks about Kade.


"Here, look at this." He motions to a selection of wine on a special rack. Each bottle is tagged differently than the others.


My grin almost splits my face when I see what it says.


"Kade's Pride," I read aloud, careful not to touch the bottle. "Kade's Touch. Kade's Luck." There are so many, and I smile as I read some silently.


"That's the year he was born. Those were the best the grapes ever produced. To this day, those have been the best wines I've ever tasted. All of them. White, red, dry, sweet... Everything turned out amazing that year. It was like I was doubly blessed with a grandson and a thriving vineyard."


He picks up a Merlot and holds it out to me - the one that said "Kade's Pride."


"This one is the best out of all of them. It's special because it's one of the two I have left. I... I want you to have it. Save it for a special occasion."


My eyes widen in disbelief, and I take a step back, refusing to touch the bottle that holds more sentiment than the ridiculous price. "I can't. I couldn't possibly. Thank you so much for even offering, but I can't."


His grin grows as he pushes it toward me again.


"I've waited on the day when Kade would drive up with a girl in his car, holding her hand, and sharing this with her. Until today, that's never happened. You're special to him, and that makes you special to me. Take this. Put it up somewhere until you find the perfect day to pour it."


He's lost his mind.


"Please don't make me, Mr. Colton. I'd feel terrible."


"Terrible?" he laughs. "Girl, you don't understand. I may not ever get this chance again. Kade took his sweet time bringing a girl around here. I could be ninety before it happens again. I'd rather this thing be in the hands of someone now so I can quit worrying about what happens to it."


I laugh a little, and for no real good reason, a small tear falls from my eye as I stare down at the bottle in his hands. I slowly reach up to take it, careful to be gentle, and then I cradle it to my chest as though it's an infant.

CHAPTER 14
Tailed


  



"When you win every hand, someone can figure out you're cheating," Dad gripes, sulking while leaning back as I toss down my perfect twenty-one.


"Of course they do, but they can't prove it. That's the part that matters," I joke, reminding him of the speech he used to give me when I'd accuse him of cheating.


He grins and shakes his head as I deal out the next set.


"Next time, I'll deal."


"Nah," I mutter, grinning. "You're a recovering addict. It's best if you don't."


He laughs as he glances at his cards. "Hit me."


I toss him a card, and he holds up a hand to let me know he's staying. I check my cards and grin at the two tens and an ace. He never learns.


"So you're still with him?" he asks as I reveal my perfect set once more.


He rolls his eyes and groans as he tosses his cards back at me.


"Yes. We've been together for three weeks now. He's taking me to some vineyard that's about an hour away today. I'm supposed to meet him at three."


Dad glances at the clock on the wall and then back to me. "Does he treat you good?"


Better than good. In the past three weeks, I've damn near fallen in love. I keep telling myself it can't happen this soon. It's hard to listen to my inner voice of reason when Kade goes out of his way to make each day with him seem like a fantasy.


"Yeah. Real good," I murmur with a sheepish grin.


"Glad to hear it," he says with his own salacious grin as he leans back. "They say I'll be getting out earlier than planned, since Brody has been pulling some strings for me. I'm assuming you won't be coming to live with me?"


I frown a little. I've gotten used to waking up in Kade's bed with his arms around me. I realize it's stupid to start living with a guy when you first start dating, but we were already living together, and we found out it was impossible to sleep in separate rooms when we knew the other was so close by. Now, it'd feel like we were moving in reverse if I moved out. Wouldn't it? So confusing.


"I haven't really thought about it as much as I probably should. But we'll see. I need to get going," I murmur while standing up.


"Are... Am I... Will I get to meet him?" Dad asks as he stays in his chair, doing his best to keep the angst out of his tone.


My heart almost breaks. "Of course you will. I just have to find the right time to... explain you. You're my father. I love you. You'll definitely meet the guy I've been living with."


His bright smile returns and he stands while the guards come to escort him back. "Soon, Raya. I promise I'll do my best to make up for all the time we lost."


I smile and wave while walking out, letting the guard escort me in the opposite direction. My life is starting to come together, and I just got a job offer from Silk, the club that was for members only. It recently opened to the public full time, and now I'll be waiting tables for extra cash, making myself a little more self-sufficient. It's another new start, and I'll be there as soon as next Monday.


Since I was a little girl who stood crying on the sidewalk as men in black suits wrestled my father to the ground, I haven't had peace. He was bloody and beaten when they cuffed him, and he never deserved a bit of that. He never fought them, yet they acted as though he'd resisted arrest. I was forced to watch it, and I think it hurt him more than me to know I witnessed it.


He'd never physically harmed anyone, and though he was a con, I always considered him a Robin Hood sort of thief because he never took more than someone could afford. He didn't rob from the rich and give to the poor, so I don't consider it noble, but I don't consider it unforgivable either. Maybe I'm warped for feeling that way.


I know what he did was wrong; I'm not an idiot. But I also know the impossible feat it is to be perfect. I don't feel guilty for loving my father in spite his faults, just as I no longer feel guilty for being the daughter of Ray Drivel.


Now that peace I lacked is filling me, making me whole. Maybe it's because I'm about to have my father back, maybe it's because Kade and I are so lost in each other, or maybe it's a little bit of both. I'm almost certain Kade is the main reason. I feel... accepted, wanted, needed, and desired. It feels good.


When I walk out of the prison and into the blinding light, I see the rear-end of a Audi pulling out. That's... odd. I saw that same Audi at the bus station. I remember it because it has the same darkly tinted windows my eyes couldn't penetrate. And the license plate is the same: HUPRIDE. I don't know what it means, but it stands out enough to remember.


I pull out my phone and dial the number I never wanted to have to use. When your father is helping put dangerous conmen in prison, there's always the fear of retaliation.


"Brody Sparks," he says into the phone, seeming distracted. "Hey, Brody, it's Raya."


"Well, I'll be damned. I've been hoping you'd call to say you're moving in with your old man. I could use all the help I can get to keep him out of trouble."


I'd smile, but it's hard to focus on anything right now. I really can't drag trouble into Kade's life.


"Um... can you do me a favor?"


"Yeah, sure. What's up?"


"Will you look up a tag for me? I think I was followed here, possibly. With Dad helping you out... I just want to be safe."


"Shit. There shouldn't be any link from your father to the cases he works, but I'll check it out."


I spell out the tag for him and watch as the black Audi disappears into the heavy traffic just down the road.


"I'll look into it, but, Raya, I have to ask... Have you done anything that might have... I don't know, drawn unwanted attention?"


Imagine that; the daughter of a con being accused of doing something unsavory to piss someone off.


"Call me if you can help; otherwise, I'll deal with it myself. You're not the only one with resources to finding out tag numbers."


I hang up before he can say anything. I shouldn't get so pissed when people assume the worst, but there comes a time when it just gets old. What happens when I tell Kade?


Trying not to dwell on the endless possibilities, which all seem bleak, I head out to the taxi that is waiting to take me to the bus station. Brody could take days or weeks to get back to me. I know someone else; someone who won't care to bend the rules and help me out.


Though I'm not overly fond of the gray area I usually avoid, Kade is more important to me. I can't take any risks.


I dial the number that my father would kill me for using this way. He answers on the third ring.


"Joey here," his gruff voice says, making me smile.


He always sounds like he's ready to kill someone. I suppose I'm twisted to find comfort in a voice like that.


"Hey, Uncle Joey. It's Raya."


"Raya? Well I'll be damned, girl. What're you doing?"


I tell the cab driver where to go, and then I lean back in my seat. "Just got finished visiting Dad. I think I had a tail. You care to check into the tag for me?"


"Damn straight I will. What was it?"


I spell it out for him, feeling more confident in getting answers than I did before.


"I think I actually have an app for this," he says, relieving me. That's awesome. So it's not illegal. "It might be tomorrow though. I'm in the middle of hac-"


"Don't tell me," I chuckle out, and he snickers as well.


"Sorry. I don't usually slip up like that over the phone. I've missed you, kiddo."


"I've missed you. How's Sindell?"


"She's the same. In and out of trouble. Since she turned twenty-one, I've aged ten years. I wish she'd take a note from you."


I sigh out, thinking about my wild cousin, Sindell, who had a rougher life than I did, since she knew all the scams her dad was and is still pulling. At least my father sheltered me the best he could, and I had my mom to guide me better. Sin makes me look like an amateur with card tricks and pool cues. It was always fun to watch her work a room and leave with stacks of cash, but I couldn't ever do it myself.


"Thanks for doing this, Uncle Joey. I suppose I'll be seeing you soon... when Dad gets out?"


"You better believe it. As long as that dick Fed doesn't come hang out with us. I don't need him looking into my business."


I chuckle. Definitely don't need Brody around Uncle Joey. I'm surprised he's stayed out of jail. He doesn't have a tenth of Dad's IQ, but Dad always pulled bigger jobs, drawing in more skilled FBI agents.


My father and Uncle Joey were raised differently than most people. My grandfather is still a con to this day, and he's good at it. I don't condone it, but I still love them. It's all they know. I'm just thankful I was able to break the cycle.


The question is... can Kade accept it the way I have? Because I can't change where I come from. No one can.

Am good @Kenvee6 and all is well @Nuel45.

It's like someone snapped whatever thread was holding him back, and that feral gleam glistens as he abandons any sanity. A grunt slips through my lips when our bodies collide almost brutally, but it feels so perfect.


I hold on as though I'm terrified he'll stop at any minute and destroy this feeling of completion I have. Each violent thrust hits a spot deep within me I didn't even know existed. My stomach muscles tighten as something powerful builds, making me clench my legs against his waist.


The sounds leaving me sound so foreign and unfamiliar as they spill free with an unkempt passion. That build inside me erupts, washing over me with hot and cold tingles that numb me and inflame me with a heady rush. His kiss becomes bruising as he gives up any effort of being gentle, and I unravel, hearing his name fall through my lips in a rambled mumble.


It's almost blurry around me, and everything seems like a haze has settled when he thrusts in hard one last time and stills at the deepest point within me, holding himself there as his head falls to his chest and a harsh breath falls out.


He drops down, slipping out of me, and he pulls me to be on his chest. My limbs feel heavy, and my exhausted heart begs to slow down, but it can't stop racing. I'm worried I might not ever be able to move again.


"I've wanted to do that for so, so long," he says through a panted breath, making me grin.


"You should have said something sooner," I mumble, barely able to make my words not sound slurred.


Drunk. I almost feel drunk right now. How is that possible?


He laughs and then kisses my forehead as he holds me closer to him, making me feel so wanted.


"Don't ever say you're not good enough for me again, because I've never, ever once thought that. If anything, it's the other way around. I've been trying my damnedest to figure out a way to cross this... threshold."


I smile as I kiss his chest, letting my fingers trail over the ink on his skin. It's amazing to feel him pressed against me, breathing heavily after having made me glow.


"The threshold has definitely been crossed - possibly ripped up and thrown away."


He chuckles while shaking his head. We hear the door opening and closing to the front and he stills beside me, grinning as his parents talk loudly.


"If he gets back with Courtney, I'll kick his ass myself," Margaret growls, and Kade's lips find mine as he blocks out any concern that girl's name might have given me.


"He wants Raya. Stop being so dramatic. Kade's a smart boy. He'll figure it out. We need to meet Melanie."


"Fine," Margaret mumbles. "I just need my purse. You may want to call Raya and make sure she's okay."


I look up to Kade. "They don't know we're here?" I whisper.


"My rental car has been here all day, and neither of us bothered to turn on the lights," he whispers back, kissing my neck in small intervals.


"How did you get here from the bar?"


He leans up and gently strokes my hair with the tips of his fingers. "I walked. Well, I ran actually. Tag wanted me to cool down, so he refused to give me a ride."


"Why was Tag with you?"


"He met up with us at the bar. He was supposed to swing by and pick you up, but you were already gone. I tried calling a dozen times before we got to the bar." He sighs out hard, letting his eyes fall from mine. "I'm sorry I lost it. I just saw you with Lyle... and I saw red. It was... stupid, but I've been falling for you for so long... it just.. I couldn't-"


I kiss him to shut him up before I start to cry. I've been desperate to find a way to tell him how I felt, and all along he felt the same way. He smiles as he kisses me harder, and in that moment the rest of the world is shut out as he coils around my body.


  



Hurried footsteps wake me as someone yells for Kade. I gasp and jerk the cover over my head and my bare body just as the door swings open.


"What the hell?" Kade asks sleepily, sitting up in the bed.


His bare lower half is very distracting right now. How can I listen in when all that is right there - so close to me? My scandalous eyes wander over his morning firmness, and like a lusty fool, I lick my lips, hoping he hurries this conversation along.


"Sorry," Tag grumbles. What's he doing here? "Your mother called and said Raya never came back last night. She's pissed at you, and your parents both went out looking for her. Her bags are in her room. For some ungodly reason, your mom thought she might have crashed with me at my place. I told her I knew you had it bad for her, and I'd never cross that line. She didn't believe me."


Tag almost sounds like he's pouting, and I stifle a giggle. The cover slowly falls back, revealing my crimson face, and I look up to see Kade smiling down at me.


"As you can see, Raya is perfectly safe," Kade says with a daring tone while lying back, barely keeping his center covered.


Tag bursts out laughing as I clutch the cover to my chest, keeping everything hidden and safely tucked out of sight.


"Fucking finally," Tag snickers, shaking his head.


"That's what I said," Kade mumbles, glancing down at me with a small grin.


I roll my eyes. This isn't the wakeup call I wanted. Not at all.


Tag picks up his phone and dials a number as Kade pulls me to him and kisses my cheek, my nose, and then my lips, making me feel like all of this wasn't just a one-night deal.


"Good morning," he murmurs softly with his dazzling grin. "Still good?"


Still good? Good doesn't even have a place in my vocabulary right now. I feel perfect.


"Definitely," I mutter, refraining from getting too crazy on him.


"Yeah," Tag says loudly, drawing my attention toward him as he talks on his phone. "She's safe... No, she was here all night... Where did I find her?" Tag turns to us and my eyes grow wide. Surely he wouldn't. "Kade's bed."


"Oh no," I groan, covering my head again which prompts a laugh from Kade.


"Tell my mother I'd never let Raya wander the streets all night. I wouldn't have been here if she had been missing."


He almost sounds a little irritated, which is sweet, oddly enough. I start kissing his side under the sheet, and his hand drifts down to start caressing my back.


"You can get lost now," Kade says to Tag when my lips start to stray and drift toward the piece of his body that wants my attention.


"I bet," Tag teases, but his voice disappears as the door to the bedroom shuts.


Kade pulls the cover back just as my mouth closes over his erection, and his breath heaves out from his lungs. Now that he's mine... this is going to be fun.

CHAPTER 13
Close Enough


  



Paul and Margaret were thankfully still gone when I got back. My shit is packed and ready to go as soon as the sun comes out. There's no way I could have walked all the way to the bus station tonight - in the cold, with no real certainty of which direction to head.


I wouldn't chance riding with another stranger. A cab. Hell yes. I can call a cab. Why didn't I think of that earlier?


My vision is so blurred by my tears that it's hard to see the screen on my phone. I pull up my web browser, but my hands are trembling so hard it's almost impossible to type.


The door to the front slams loudly, rattling as though it might shatter, and I jump in the bed. Angry footsteps make their way toward my door, and I instantly regret not locking it.


I turn away to keep him from seeing my tears when the door swings open.


"Please go away," I strain out. "I get it. You don't want me fucking with your business and all-"


"Did you go out with him tonight because you like him?" Kade asks, interrupting me, sounding just as furious as he did earlier.


What the hell does that have to do with anything?


"Kade, please... leave me alone."


"Answer the damn question, Raya. Do. You. Like. Him?"


"Yes. I liked him. He was nice, and sweet, and he didn't judge me for being less than the rest of you," I snark, hiccupping out a sob that defeats my attempt to sound unfazed by the hatred in his tone.


"So, you want to, what? Date Lyle? Bleep Lyle? What were you planning to accomplish with a guy you knew five fucking seconds before you ran off with him?"


I whip around, tired of hiding my tears, and I consider slapping him across the face as I stand up.


"It wasn't a date, and I wasn't planning to Bleep him, you asshole! He didn't want me sitting around like the outsider I felt like when you ran off to be with your ex-girlfriend. I didn't want to be here when the two of you came back reunited and happily in lust. I get it. I really do. I'm not good enough for you. I figured that out pretty quickly, but I was stupid enough to dare to dream. I couldn't see it though. I couldn't watch my hopes be crushed. So I went with Lyle to avoid the sting. Is that what you want to hear?"


I turn away once I finish yelling. My tears pour out harder, but I give up on wiping them away. It's an impossible feat to rid myself of wet cheeks right now.


"Close enough," he says dangerously close to me before spinning me around and crushing his lips against mine.


My head spins with confusion, but my body reacts on its own accord. My hands fist in his hair, tugging him as though I want him even closer, when I should be pushing him away. Damn. What the hell just happened?


He rips me up from the ground, and my legs clasp around his waist as he carries me out of my bedroom. I don't know where we're going, nor do I care when his tongue ring becomes a toy in my mouth.


I moan against the devouring kiss, and his grip on me tightens as we cross the threshold to another room. He grabs my ass and tugs me closer to his center before dropping me on the bed and staying between my legs. So many weeks of pent-up frustration pours out into that kiss, and I put everything I have in it. His hands start moving over my body, feeling me through the thin fabric of the leggings.


"Damn," he whispers.


"What's wrong?" I ask, half afraid the spell is broken.


"I have to get you out of these," he mutters before tugging my leggings down.


I start to say something when he reaches up and rips my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground as though he wants my clothes far away from me.


He mumbles something about perfection and it being about damn time, though I can't really be sure what.


I feel exposed, lying here for his eyes to see me in a lacy bra and a thin pair of panties I'm glad are sexy.


"Raya, if you don't want this, tell me now," he murmurs softly as he leans down to press a kiss against my abdomen, making me squirm when his lips trail down slowly, grazing the skin just under my navel.


He looks up expectantly, waiting for me to answer, but no words can form. Instead of gurgling out some unintelligible, possibly ridiculous response, I arch my hips to press myself closer to him, making his chin graze the top of my sex.


Mmm. I'm going to die if he stops now.


He starts to kiss me through the thin layer of silky material, and I shudder beneath him, making him smile as his lips press against the now damp panties. My eyes roll back in my head as I arch my hips involuntarily, unable to tell my body what to do anymore.


A low groan comes from his throat as he starts pulling the underwear down, and with a quick dismissal, I'm bare before him nothing but my bra offers me modesty, but I don't care.


A pathetic cry mixed with a whimper spills through my lips when his hot tongue finds me in a way I never thought possible.


"Keep doing that, and I won't be good for anything," he murmurs against my most sensitive spot, making me moan and whimper in unison.


I grab at his hair, not caring if I leave him bald when the bar of his tongue ring pushes me into a small haze of ecstasy. Oh damn. That's... oh shit.


No real thought can form as he pushes me closer and closer. Each flick of his glorious tongue makes me try to buck, but he keeps my hips firmly pinned beneath him as he owns me with his mouth.


The heat of his breath mixed with the bar in his tongue does things to me I never thought possible. A girly cry comes out in a muffled screech as my body damn near tries to convulse. Ecstasy claims me as I shatter in his arms, and I almost forget where I am.


Everything on me becomes sensitive after that, and each small kiss he trails up me almost makes me shiver. I feel his smile, though I refuse to look down for fear this is all just a dream.


I feel my bra coming off, but I keep panting with my eyes closed, worried the illusion will disappear in the light.


"Raya?" he says through a chuckle as his lips brush my right nipple.


Mmm.


"Raya, you with me?" he asks again, flicking his tongue and that glorious bar against that sensitive area and making me start up with the reflexive noises again.


He trails his kisses up to my neck, and I wrap my arms around him to pull him to me, afraid to let go. "We can stop if you're not ready," he murmurs just before pressing his lips against mine.


No.


I finally find the courage to open my eyes and stare into his soft, sexy, pools of blue. This is real. It's not a dream or illusion. Right now, I'm in bed with Kade Colton, he's in my arms, and he just made me come apart with his incredible mouth.


"I don't want to stop," I whisper, and his grin comes back as the kiss deepens.


I'm sick of his body being clothed. I want him out of his clothes and on top of me, owning me the way his mouth just did.


I tug at his shirt, and he helps me by pulling it over his head completely. The slow kiss becomes greedier when the fire between our wanton needs grows to be almost tangible. That wicked tongue explores my mouth just as thoroughly as it explored my most intimate area. I fumble with his belt and button, but he helps me as he draws my bottom lip between his teeth.


"Christ," he breathes, when my hand slips down the front of his jeans and down his boxers to feel him for the first time.


Damn, it's just as frigging perfect as I expected. My legs tremble as desire pools between my thighs. I want him. All of him. I know for a fact I've never wanted anyone this badly.


"Take me," I whisper pleadingly, forcing a strangled moan to bubble free from him.


He rustles about to get his pants all the way off, and then he leans over the side of the bed. I hear the telltale of a foil packet being dug out of his jeans, and a dirty vixen's smile comes to my lips.


There's one thing I need to do before he taints his perfection with the taste of latex.


I push him onto his back, and he thuds to the bed. A small laugh escapes him as I move to be on top of him and ignore the pack in his hand.


"Hell yes," he murmurs as my lips press against his. "Much better."


"What?" I murmur, trying not to grin or squeal.


"You're finally acting like you want to do this."


I lean back and study all the hard lines of his chest and stomach. The secret tattoos on his body make my fantasies come to life. I've wanted to have him like this for a long time - longer than I care to admit.


"I really want to do this," I murmur while grinning and sliding down to kiss one portion of the tattoos.


He sucks in a sharp breath as my hand slides against his firmness. Any reservations I've had in the past get swept under the rug. Kade Colton wants me. That's enough. We can figure out the rest when we have to.


"Raya," he murmurs while tensing just as I brush my lips against the head of his erection.


"Mm?"


"Bleep," he moans, not answering when I push him deep into my mouth, taking him in with a full stroke.


His head flops back as his hands tangle in my hair, and I pull him in deeper on my next stroke. Air hisses between his teeth when I drag out my strokes, and suddenly I'm being ripped up and tossed on my back.


I giggle when he rolls his eyes. "You're trying to torture me," he murmurs, letting his own grin fall free.


His head drops down as the condom slides on, and then he nudges my legs farther apart as he settles in between them. He doesn't bother asking me if I'm sure again. I think I've made it perfectly clear by now how much I want him. His tip teases my entrance, and I arch my hips, doing all I can to force him in while I cling to his back. He stares into my eyes, showing complete desire and no hesitation, a gaze that frees me from anything that could sour this moment. With one quick, sublime thrust, he's inside me, melding his body to mine, and a content sigh rattles from his mouth.


"Finally," he says in a prayer-like tone. "Damn, you feel so good."


His lips brush mine as he keeps himself buried deep within me, and then finally, he starts moving, making those ridiculous sounds bubble free from me again. It was never like this before... oh damn. Never.


He lifts himself to be just barely not touching me as he finds a quicker, more forceful rhythm. I lift my hips and tilt them just right, a move that makes him push deeper, and a sexy, deep moan rumbles from his throat to ignite a fire deep within me.

"I can head back with you, Raya. We can grab some food from here and hang out."


Now I just look pathetic, as evident by all the looks everyone is giving me.


"I swear I'm fine. Just go ski and have some fun."


He breathes out heavily, looking torn. "Come on, Kade," Courtney urges, wrapping her hand around his forearm and tugging.


Her perfectly manicured nails press into him just barely, and I cringe. She's the kind of girl he dated. I'm not that girl. I was stupid to think there was anything he'd find special about me.


"You want me to hang back and chill with you?" Tag asks, keeping his voice low.


"No. I think you've got some admirers to tend to," I murmur with a forced smile, motioning toward the two girls he was talking to earlier. They're watching me with a scrutinizing eye. I'm tired of making enemies, so I step out of Tag's hold. "Fine. I'll see you when I get back," Kade says, seeming a little annoyed. Great. I'm being Debbie Downer. I'm messing up no matter what I do.


"Actually, stay out, have fun. I don't need a babysitter. You don't owe me anything. Last I checked, we're roommates. No big deal," I say with a smile, but bile rises to my throat.


His eyes flare with a touch of anger, but I turn away. I realize I might have been a bitch for referring to us as roommates instead of friends, but Bleep. I'm human. This sucks.


I head back to the bar after inhaling my martini. I'm paying for my next damn drink.


Kade walks over to the door and grabs his discarded ski stuff that is hanging up on the hooks. He glances over his shoulder at me, but I could care less about seeing the pity in his eyes. I'm no one's charity case. never should have been.


"So, are you two... friends or enemies?" a smooth voice asks from my side.


I turn to see Courtney's brother grinning at me. He's sexy but not really wetting my appetite. He's not a substitute for Kade by any means.


"Me and Kade?" I ask, playing coy.


He smirks and nods as he looks over toward his sister and my... roommate.


"Yes. You and Kade."


"Just friends. He thinks I'm helpless, but I'm not. I can manage a night by myself. You guys have a good time. I think I'm going to chill here instead of going back to the house."


"Here?" he asks, seeming all the more amused. "Why not just come with us? I could help you."


I chuckle and shake my head. "Had you seen me earlier, you'd rescind that offer. I truly am the worst skier ever. I think skiing needs to stay a rich sport, and girls like me need to stay away."


His eyebrow cocks up as a deeper grin forms.


"Not from money? I could have sworn you were the richest girl here. After all, you risked freezing just to stay fashionably dressed."


He appraises me, shamelessly running his eyes over me.


"I'm inside a lodge, not outside in a cave. It's not like I was risking frostbite. Right now, I just want to get a few drinks, maybe enjoy a game of pool, and then I'll head back. It was nice meeting you, Lyle."


His grin never falters. "Ah. I'm being dismissed. I see. Well, Raya, it was lovely meeting you. I plan to see you again... real soon."


Kade doesn't say anything as he ducks out of the lodge. I ignore that. It hurts, but I knew this day would come. I kept expecting to find some random girl in the house, or see him walking out to head off on a date, but it never happened. I should have known this rich setting would take him back to his roots. He's been slumming it for too long.


Lyle turns around and offers me a warm smile before leaving with the rest of them. Tag seems preoccupied with the blonds at the table, and Wren and Erica seem excited to get back out on the slopes. I felt like I fit in when we got here. Now I couldn't feel more like an outsider.


  



Mr. and Mrs. Colton left shortly after I got back. I didn't bother telling Margaret how wrong she had been about Kade and me. Instead, I settled onto the couch and made it my bitch for a solo movie night.


Just as the sun starts to set, there's a knock at the door. Crap. Someone is here to visit the Colton family, and I'm the only one in the house.


The windows are stretched across the front, offering nothing but ridiculously perfect views, so when I round the corner, I see the mystery guest.


Lyle.


He's smiling and leaning against the railing of the porch as I near the door. When I open it, I offer him my best, cordial grin.


"Lyle. Are you here to see Margaret and Paul?"


"Nope. I'm here to take you out. Come on. There's a bar just down the road that I think you'll like better than the stuffy lodge. It has the best nightlife."


I tilt my head. "You want to take me to a bar?" I ask incredulously.


"I'd love to take you to the bar. Now grab your coat and boots."


I sigh, but I'd rather go out than sit here looking like a pathetic loser when Kade gets back with Courtney. Maybe he'll stay at her place instead of making me endure whatever they decide to do for the night.


"Okay," I murmur while slipping back into my boots and jacket. I shiver against the cold when I walk out, but I refuse to look like a marshmallow. Especially now that I've seen how incredible Courtney looks despite the fluffy layers.


After I lock up, Lyle puts his hand on the small of my back as he leads me down the stairs. We make idle conversation about the different aspects of Aspen. He does well to not mention Kade or Courtney to me. Smart guy.


He holds the door open for me to climb into his Audi SUV. It takes him a few seconds before he joins me.


"So, Kade said some guys at his party bulldozed your house, and then you came to live with him?" he asks while backing into the turn-around spot.


Not so smart after all.


"Um... yeah. It's a little weird, but I'll actually be moving out sooner than I thought."


Now that I know my father's money is clean, I'll use it to rent a place until he gets out. Then I'll go live with him. Kade will soon be a memory or a friend he keeps at arm's length, just like his mother said.


"He seems to think you'll be staying for a while. Have you talked to him about moving out, or is this a spontaneous thing?"


Lyle is apparently a chatty and nosy little thing.


"Um... I think Kade will be fine with it. To be honest, he'll probably enjoy not having a poor girl around to cramp his style," I joke, forcing a small laugh.


"That's twice you've mentioned not being from money. We spent an hour on the slopes before I left, and never once did Wren, Erica, or Kade mention your financial circumstances. Does it bother you? Being around people with money?"


So much for lightening the conversation.


"Not really," I lie, shrugging. At least I'm a brilliant liar. He seems to accept that as we turn into a lively bar.


Thank goodness.


I regret coming already.


"They have darts, pool tables, plenty of beer, and dancing," he says with a grin.


I smile as I join him and he leads me into the bar which isn't quite as rowdy as I had hoped. I don't feel as out of place in here as I did at the lodge though.


"You want a beer?"


A beer. Hell yes. I can drink one in here without anyone thinking any less of me. Girls at the lodge all seem to walk around with any drink but a beer.


"I'll get my own."


"Not a chance. I invited you out, so I have to buy you a drink."


I huff. Rich people and their money. He thinks because I'm poor I need a handout. I'm sick of needing handouts. As soon as I get back to Sterling Shore, I'm getting a job. I don't care where.


"No. I'll get my own. I'd prefer not to take anything else from anyone ever again."


He frowns but reluctantly agrees with barely a nod. "Fine. I tell you what. I'll buy this round, and if you can beat me in a game of pool, I'll let you buy the next round. Sound like a deal?"


I smirk. He has no clue what he just proposed. "I don't gamble over pool because I can't lose. I mean that very sincerely." His smile spreads, and it's impossible not to find it amusing. He's so wrong about whatever he's thinking right now. I'm sure I look harmless, but I'm the daughter of a man who taught me all the best hustles. Not because he wanted to lead me into a life of crime, but because it was the only way he knew how to bond. That should have tipped me and my mother off, but you don't see the bad when you love the good.


"I'm serious," I say with a grin when he stares at me with an expression that promises he doesn't believe me.


"You're either excellent at bluffing, or you really think you're that good. I warn you, Raya, I happen to be pretty damn good myself. I hold the title amongst my frat."


Shooting pool with a bunch of drunks is a little different than playing against the pros my father hustled on a regular basis just for fun. I was trained by the best, and have it down to an exact science. It's math on a table. The perfect tap changes the game.


"Fine. I'll tell you what. We'll play. Just remember I warned you and this is not a hustle."


He laughs as he follows me, handing me a mug of chilled beer as we make our way over to the first empty table available.


"You realize you'll be playing to buy drinks, not get them bought. How would that be a hustle regardless?"


"I just want to make it clear. I don't hustle. I'm good, I'll win, and you'll pout. I'm trying to be completely upfront about my abilities."


He tilts his head as a gleam of curiosity comes over his eyes.


"I don't pout when I lose. I am, however, a little distressed that I don't get to enjoy the pleasure of teaching you to shoot."


I just smile as I grab the first cue that doesn't look too worn. These aren't the best choices, but they'll do. I've certainly used worse.


He racks the balls, and I chalk the end of my cue stick as he finishes forming the perfect triangle.


"Eight-ball?" he asks, making my grin only grow.


"Perfect. You can go first."


He laughs while walking over to join me. "I was raised that ladies go first. It's not an anti-feminist thing; just a gentlemanly thing. After you."


He sweeps his hand in an ushering motion, and I shrug.


"I just thought you might want a chance to shoot."


His laugh comes out again as he shakes his head. "You're killing me. I'm really glad you came out with me."


He didn't give me much of a choice. Winning a game of pool sounds like more fun than watching Courtney and Kade rekindle their lost romance.


I keep telling myself it's for the best, but it still hurts. She's from his world, he obviously missed her, considering the hug he was wrapped up in.


I shake free from the distracting thoughts as I line up the cue ball and set up my break. With one perfectly executed thrust, I strike the ball precisely. I watch as it clanks against the others and they roll out with an excellent spread, knocking two solids into the top two pockets.


"I'll take solids," I say with a smile and a wink.


He leans back, seeming amused as he watches me move on to my shot. The cue ball lightly kisses the solid three, and it rolls in, thudding against the padded bottom of the pocket.


After a few walks around the table and several tricky, but well calculated shots, I end up with a ton of stripes in my way for the eight ball shot.


"This has to be the most fun I've ever had watching pool," he murmurs, seeming to swoon over me a little.


I've seen stars in the eyes of many people who watched in amazement as my dad decimated a table or two. His specialty is poker. Mine is twenty-one. Pool is always fun, too, though.


"Eight ball, corner pocket," I murmur, tapping the pocket of my choice with the end of my cue stick for good measure.


"That's going to be a tricky shot," he says, eyeing the predicament and mess of scattered stripes littering the route I'll have to take.


"Those are my favorite."


I don't look back, but I feel his grin. As I take a breath, I gauge the bank in which my shot will have to bounce off. A gentle graze of the cue ball against the eight ball will be all it needs to slip into the pocket, but I'll have to do it without scratching. That's not going to be easy.


With a final stroke, I propel the cue ball to the exact place I mean to on the bank of the table. It bounces back and rolls straight between the small divide in stripes, never veering off course, and it taps the eight ball perfectly to force it to roll in. The white cue ball slowly drifts to a stop centimeters before it joins the eight ball in the pocket. Winner, winner.


"That has to be the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. I'd fall to your feet and worship you right now if I knew you wouldn't get embarrassed."


I sigh smugly while laying down the cue stick and pretending to dust my hands. "I prefer to be worshipped from afar."


His laughter rumbles free as he shakes his head and goes to line up the balls again. I start to call the waitress over to order a new beer, but I'm met by deep blue eyes from a far off table. My heart almost stops beating. Kade is here, and damn... he looks pissed.


Courtney's arm is draped around the back of his chair as she talks animatedly to Erica. Wren is talking to Tag, and Kade's death-glare is locked on me. Tag and Wren follow his gaze to me and Lyle. What did I do wrong? Is he pissed that I'm here with his girlfriend's brother? It's not like I'm making waves for his future business plans.


Tag's smile falls when he sees the murderous gleam in Kade's eyes. He stands when Kade does, and puts his hand on his chest, as though he's holding him back.


Lyle's hand slides around my waist as he asks the waitress for two more beers.


"You okay?" he asks, moving to be in front of me and blocking my view from Kade. When his hands move to settle on my hips, I suddenly feel like maybe I have done something wrong. Kade probably thinks this is a date, and he doesn't like drama that could interfere with his master plan.


"Are you... Are you or your parents in business with Kade's grandfather?"


"Henry Burndell? Yeah... My mother's company is a huge supplier to them. Why?" he drawls out, seeming confused by what he assumes is a random question.


Damn. No wonder he's looking at me like that. I'm messing up all his plans right now in his eyes. He's all business. And if he got involved with Courtney, knowing she would one day have some pull in her mother's business, then he must really like her.


"I probably should have said something to Kade before-"


I'm stopped short when Lyle is ripped away and shoved against the wall. Kade turns his glare on me, and I feel like crawling under the pool table.


"What the Bleep!" Lyle blares. "What the hell is your problem?"


Kade ignores him and keeps his eyes on me.


"Kade!" Tag growls, trying to keep himself between Lyle and Kade. Shit. I've really pissed him off. Worse than I realized.


"What are you doing here with him?" he hisses, venom seeping from his tone as he steps toward me. "What happened to being tired and crashing?"


I've never seen him this mad. Not even in the courtroom that day.


"I... I thought... I'm sorry. I'll go," I mutter, holding back the tears wanting to fall.


"No. Hell no," Lyle interjects. "If you're not dating her, then you have no right-"


"Stay the hell out of it," Kade barks, cutting Lyle off.


"You don't tell me what to do, you arrogant son of a bitch!" Lyle snarls.


Wren comes to join Tag, and they both make sure to keep them separated. What have I done?


"Kade, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to piss you off. I just wanted to have some fun," I lie. I certainly can't tell him I couldn't bear to see him with Courtney.


She and Erica are silent as they look on, expressionless. This is utterly humiliating.


"You shouldn't be out with him. You should have stayed in the damn house like you said you were going to, or you should have come out with-"


"I said I'm sorry!" I blare, making anyone who wasn't already looking turn to observe our little show. "I'm leaving now. I'll take the bus back to Sterling Shore and I'll be out of the house before you return. I'm sorry." I don't look in his eyes to see any more fury as I rush out of the bar, wiping away the tears that have started pouring. He hates me. All this time I thought we were friends, but I'm the trailer-park girl he took pity on. Now I'm the embarrassing thorn he wishes to be rid of.


It's not far to the house from here, and the streets are quiet. At least they're not covered in snow. I'd never make it if they were. A car pulls up to offer me a ride, and though it's incredibly stupid, I accept it because I'm freezing my ass off. I hate Aspen. I hate Kade. I hate myself.