I say nothing.
What could I possibly say to that?
My eyes flick to Parrish and the ember in my belly sparks with heat as we glare at each other.
“Parrish was wearing a hoodie,” I manage to choke out, just before I move to climb back into the limo after him.
“Oh, well, official Whitehall academy gear is always welcome.” Tess beams as she gestures for me to get into the car. Even though it means sitting next to my new stepbrother again, I oblige.
“Hope you’re ready,” Parrish tells me when it’s just me and him in the back of the limo. He doesn’t bother to look my way or even acknowledge the fact that my hands are shaking, just keeps scrolling on his damn phone with an inked thumb. “Because it only gets worse from here on out.”
And I hate that he could not have been anymore right about that.
The next day, everyone goes back to work and school like I don’t exist. Even Tess who’s decided to work from home has to sit down and answer some emails from her publisher. Meanwhile, I’m left to wander the cavernous halls of the ice palace by myself, my phone clutched in my hand, desperate for any connection to home.
But my grandparents still won’t respond to my messages. Maxine is busy with a research paper. Sally and Nevaeh are in class. And I’m just … floating. Social media is a nightmare for me right now because everyone knows what happened, and it’s all they want to talk about. So I just wander from room to room for a while, discovering that Kimber leaves her bedroom door locked which is just bizarre.
Parrish’s, on the other hand, is wide open.
I slip inside, but just for a moment, just to look around. I’m aware that I’m being a bit of a creeper here, snooping through other people’s rooms, but also … Parrish gave me a ‘fuckability rating’ so screw him.
Anyway, there’s a king-size bed, freshly made and decked out in all black linens. A few of the decorative pillows have designs on them that look like old-fashioned Sailor Jerry tattoos, and there’s even a desk with a sketchbook, colored pencils, and an iPad. The iPad is locked, but the sketchbook is filled with beautiful drawings, some of them in color and some of them in black and white.
Holy shit, did he draw these? I wonder, studying one with an anatomical heart pierced through with an arrow. The detail work on each piece is insane, and the style sort of reminds me of the tattoos I saw on Parrish’s wrists and hands. On the edge of the desk, there’s a portable tattoo kit, a box of disposable black gloves, and a shit-ton of ink. There’s even a fake hand which is creepy as fuck.
I reach out and poke it with a single finger, leaning down to admire the design inked into the silicone flesh.
“Either you’re a tattoo artist or a serial killer,” I murmur under my breath with a hushed laugh. “Probably both.” At least the setup explains how Parrish has so many tattoos at such a young age: he clearly did them himself. And for that, I have to give him at least a bit of grudging admiration.
Closing the book, I glance desperately at his nightstand drawer, wanting to snoop but deciding it’s better not to. Not only is there the privacy factor to consider—because, despite his rudeness, he does deserve some privacy—but I’m also pretty sure that I’ll puke if I open the drawer and find lube and crispy socks or something.
Eventually, I find my way downstairs to the pool.
“Seriously?” I murmur, stepping into a long, narrow room with an infinity pool. It’s warm in here, and the windows across from me are all steamed-up, hiding the view of the lake. I’m on the ground level of the house now, the back half of it buried into the hill behind it. “An entire pool and …” I open a wooden door and peek inside, finding a sauna with two benches and heated rocks with a bucket of water nearby. “A sauna. I’m really living a different life now, aren’t I?”
Since I’ve got nothing better to do for the time being, I head upstairs, the sound of Tess’ keyboard clacking echoing down the hall after me. For a moment, I pause in the hallway, one of my hands resting against the iron bars that act as a banister. Instead of the usual waist height though, these ones go all the way up to the ceiling. Like I said, it feels a bit like a jail cell.
I glance over my shoulder, wondering if Tess is writing about me. It’s weird as hell, to find out that your favorite author is actually your biological mother. Especially when you grew up thinking you already had one of those. Now, a dad I’ve never had. Other than my grandfather, I mean.
Saffron—the woman who, apparently, kidnapped me that day fourteen years ago—told my grandparents that I was the result of a random one-night stand, that she knew nothing about the guy she’d hooked up with, and that he was several states away and long gone. Later, on the rare occasion that Maxine and I ever saw her, she’d get angry and storm out if either of us ever asked questions about our fathers.
And then that stupid crime show happened, and my grandparents called the hotline number at the end of it. Tess showed up, and when my grandfather asked about my dad, she got totally cagey and said she didn’t remember him at all, that he was some old boyfriend. Her face, however, made it pretty clear that she was lying.
So now, not only did I have to leave everything about my life behind, but I have to live with someone who lies to me about the one question I might have ever really cared to know. That, and she favors her asshole stepson.
That much, is obvious.
With a sigh, I turn back around and head into my room, slipping into the new bathing suit Tess insisted I let her buy me yesterday. After our shitty breakfast at the club, she dragged us all to an upscale shopping center. The second Parrish was out of the car, he was gone, disappearing into a coffee shop down the way. Ben, Amelia, and Henry were dragged off by Paul, and I was left alone with Tess and Kimber.
I shiver and try not to think too hard about the afternoon. Kimber was a snotty brat, Tess managed to be both desperate and cold at the same time, and I spent the entire day wondering when it was going to be over.
Not a great start to my new life.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I head back down to the pool, drop the towel on a lounge chair, and then jump in with a monstrous splash. I do a few quick laps—okay, fine, I doggy paddle since I don’t know shit about like, actual swimming strokes—and then hop up on the side to relax, letting my legs dangle in the warm water.
I’m not in there five minutes before I feel someone’s hand at my back, pushing me in.
With a muffled scream, I fall into the pool. My feet hit the bottom six feet down before I’m bouncing back up and sputtering.
“What the fuck?” I shout, my voice echoing off the wall of windows as I swipe my hand over my face and find a boy crouching at the edge of the pool, staring at me. He’s laughing, too, which I most definitely do not appreciate.
Um.
He’s also one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my life. His mouth is a hot slash across the bottom of his face, the corner of his lip twisted up in a slight smirk. Amber eyes narrow on me, but that mouth, it never stops smiling. The way he’s crouched like that, like his body’s made of shadows or something, makes me wonder if he’s even human. You are not in a cheesy teen novel, Dakota. He is not a vampire—even if he looks like one.