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Alessi steps up to two wide doors and slides them open, stepping into another vast space. “The spa room.” Lights flicker on, exposing an octagon-style hot tub that could fit at least twenty of us, a long bar on the other side, more plants growing over furnishings, and a large projector screen that hangs behind the tub.
“It’s—everything is very beautiful,” I say truthfully.
Frankie scoffs, and I turn to face her just in time to catch the end of an eye roll. “I’m sorry, but are we all going to ignore the fact that we literally have a Vitiosis in this house?”
“Ignore her,” Alessi chimes in, kicking off her heels and removing the pin in her hair that’s keeping her chiffon bun so tightly in place. She scrunches up the bottom of her gown, dipping her toes into the tub. “She’s the only one who acts like a rich, spoiled brat out of us, but who actually isn’t a rich, spoiled brat.” Alessi begins removing her gown, as does Ophelia. Ivy shuffles to the bench seat, which is built into the large windowpane opposite the spa, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.
I kick off my shoes. “He’s not as scary as you think…” I say, removing my clothes to dip into the tub, leaving on my bra and undies.
“Wrong,” Frankie says. “He is, just not to you.”
I ignore her, sinking into the scalding hot water that feels like silk wrapping its way around my body.
“Look, and I’m just saying, okay, we all know Brantley has a taste for older women.”
I freeze, despite the fact I’m neck-deep in hot bubbling water. I push my hair above my head and tie it up into a loose bun.
“So what’s the bet he and Veronica are fuck buddies? It’s not the first time he’s been here.”
“Shut up, Frankie! For fuck’s sake, do you ever know when to fucking stop?” Alessi takes a cigarette out of a packet and lights the end, exhaling while submerging farther into the water before resting her head against the edge.
Warm condensation floats around all of us. I can’t stop thinking about what she just said, and I know it’s true. I recognize the paintings on the ceiling from Brantley’s Instagram. The angel reaching for heaven.
I sigh. “I’m not here to cause trouble, Frankie. I was forced here by Brantley and my father.”
“What are you to Brantley, Saint, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ophelia. Sweet, beautiful Ophelia. Her chocolate skin glistens from the water, her bright green eyes pi
“Well, he raised me since I was two years old. My father dropped me off at his house to his father, but Brantley took it upon himself to, I guess, take ownership of me. I never had a life outside of the manor. He hired tutors, cooks, cleaners. He gave me pets—” I try to smile through the sadness that intoxicates my soul while thinking about Medusa and Kore. “He gave me the only life I know. Then, not long ago, I was introduced into The Elite Kings, and well, it’s sort of been chaos since then.”
Silence. “Ah, yes, the infamous Kings,” Ophelia mutters. “How could we ever forget them?” Said more in amusement than animosity. “So what about you two, have you ever?”
“She’s not his age preference.” Frankie snickers, pretending to look at her nails.
“Yes.” I fight her, and I get great satisfaction when her lashes flick and her eyes come up to me, wide. “But not anymore. It was a mistake.”
“He was a mistake?” Ophelia asks softly.
I shake my head, fighting the godforsaken tears that keep coming out. “No.” I bring my eyes to hers. “I was.”
It’s late. My muscles protest as I slide into a pair of silk pajama booty shorts and a cotton crop. After relaxing in the spa with the rest of the girls, and ducking and hiding from Frankie’s constant verbal jabs, I told them goodnight and made my way back to my bedroom. I couldn’t think straight. Words and theories were ru
Pulling my bedcovers down, I’m about to shut off my bedside lamp when my door opens.
I turn the light off anyway, drowning us in darkness because I don’t want to look at him right now. I can’t. Not now. Not if I don’t want to cry again, and not if I don’t want to picture him and Veronica all over each other. If his hair is messy, I’ll only picture her long fingers ru
“I know you’re angry with me.”
I lie down on the bed, squeezing my eyes closed while knowing he can’t see me.
The door clicks closed. “How’s your neck?”
I grit my teeth. Silent. Don’t say anything.
The mattress sinks beneath his weight. “Saint, this is the only way I can keep you safe for now.”
“Safe?” I snap. Dammit. I sit up quickly, shoving the covers off my body. I don’t know where he is or what he’s looking at right now. “How is me getting shot at keeping me safe?”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen…” Brantley growls, his tone so feral I almost don’t recognize it. “That for sure was not supposed to fucking happen. You were supposed to come here until—”
“—until what? Until you wanted to continue with your secret texts to me?”
Pause. He shifts. “What texts?”
I tear the final blanket off my body, my feet about to hit the ground when his hands are on my arms, shoving me back down onto the mattress as if he knew where I was all this time.
He shakes me. “What. Fucking. Texts?” I feel his breath on my lips now, warm and familiar.
I gulp. Stop it.
“In the car after the accident, you told me I didn’t text you back.”
“I wasn’t in the car.” Brantley squeezes my arm, shoving me back onto the mattress and disappearing. Light ignites his face as he tosses me my phone. “Show me the texts you’re talking about.”
I squeeze my phone in the palm of my hand. “You’re a real asshole, Brantley.”
He doesn’t answer. He seems different. Distant.
I unlock my phone, the photo of Bishop and me staring back at me on my wallpaper. “Bishop. Where is he?”
“He can’t come here. We’ve put your phone into the universe so no one can track it. You can use it from now on.”
“Brantley, what’s going on?”
He looks at me for the first time tonight and my heart drops into my stomach like a heavy boulder being thrown from a cliff. His jaw tight, eyes dark, and features pulled. He shakes his head. “Not right now. Show me the texts.”
I open up my messages, scrolling past Tillie, Madison—I pause, looking up at him.
“Oh that? Yeah, that is home where she belongs now.”
My lips stretch wide. “He read the letter?”
His mouth stays in a straight line. “Yeah. Then he flew straight to New Zealand and dragged her ass home. Like he should have done fucking months ago.”
“Are they okay?”
“Madship?” He turns back to me. “No, but she’s home and not going anywhere. Show me the texts.” I continue scrolling until I reach the end of my messages. My brows pull in.
“I saved it under a question mark. Did you go through my phone?”
“I didn’t go through it, because you fucking changed the passcode. Our hacker broke into it, but I didn’t read your messages.” He stares at me. “Should I have read them?”
I ignore him as I continue to scroll up and down in search of the messages from ?. Even when I open my contacts, there’s no number saved as the question mark.