Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1) Page 9

  “Why do you ask?”

  I clear my throat, uncomfortable now but not sure why.

  “No real reason, I guess.” I shrug one shoulder dismissively. “I’m sort of making friends, so I was just wondering if you knew his family.” My attempt at mild disinterest might not be playing out as well as I’d hoped, so I tell myself to just keep breathing calmly.

  “Who are your new friends?” she asks, deftly avoiding my initial question.

  “Well, you know Sunday already. Then there’s Roxy Rose and Aylie Claire. The girls have all been great. The guys in the group are Heller Jackson, Payne Emerson, and Raff Essex.” I pause. She snorts.

  “And?”

  “And Poe Halliday,” I add reluctantly.

  “I forget how much you don’t know about your family and this town.” She whispers, almost to herself. Not wanting her to stop talking, I sit quietly and wait for her to continue. After a minute or so of thought, she sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the side of her lounge chair and turning to face me.

  “The founding families are all represented here now. Easton, Rose, Claire, Emerson, Essex, Jackson, Halliday, and now Bradleigh,” she says softly, almost reverently. My brow draws down in confusion.

  “Founding families?” I question. “What do you mean by founding exactly? And why do you say and now Bradleigh? You’ve been here the whole time.” I can feel my chest getting tighter.

  “They are the first families, the families who built this town and everything in it. For a long time, there hasn’t been a Bradleigh Heir in Folkestone or at Woodington. Your mother was gone. She was the Heir, and now that title falls to you when you turn eighteen next month.” Cecily smiles sadly, almost in apology. “There is another family who has tried very hard to fill that void over the years, but most of the other founders won’t have anything to do with them. They consider them interlopers and see them for the vicious, status-seeking, malevolent individuals they are.” She pauses. “Now that you’re here, the circle is complete again for the first time in almost twenty years.”

  I’m not entirely sure how I feel about being a member of a founding family.

  What the hell does that entail? Does it come with a crown or a tiara or something?

  I laugh at the thought of me walking around like a pageant girl, doing the queen’s wave, and wearing some atrocious satin nightmare of a dress.

  “Do you get along with all of them?” my aunt asks, taking a long swallow from her water bottle while keeping her eyes locked on my face.

  “All except Poe,” I answer honestly. “He and I, there’s something weird there. Oil and water or fire and ice.” Just thinking about what happened on Wednesday after lunch gets me riled up again. “The arrogant ass pretty much goes out of his way to avoid me most of the time, which is fine by me. Though he did offer me a bizarre warning the other day.”

  Yeah, bizarre in both the message and the delivery method, alright.

  My aunt is instantly concerned.

  “Warning? What do you mean warning?” Cecily looks a little pale around the edges of her honeyed tan. A bit too pale for a trivial high school threat from a shithead guy. I start absentmindedly nibbling on my thumbnail.

  “Nothing serious, he just told me to stay away from another student. A nasty bitch named Hali.”

  At that, some of the tension leaves my aunt’s face and she laughs, the sound thick with irony.

  “A Halliday warned you to stay away from a Torsten?” She laughs even harder, her sides shaking and tears forming in her eyes. Staring at her like she’s just gone off either her rocker or her meds, I wait for her to calm down before I speak again.

  “Care to share with the class? What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry.” She wipes her eyes with the corner of her beach towel. “It’s just funny that he would warn you away from the one girl who is closest to his family. Or closest to his mother, anyway. Hali Torsten’s parents are the ones who have been trying to fill the Bradleigh hole in our little town. And Eunice Halliday, Poe’s mother, has been their strongest supporter ever since day one.”

  That little tidbit of information gives me a jolt.

  So Poe and Hali? Is that why he warned me away? To keep her from finding out about what happened at the airport? But then why tell me with his head between my legs? I mean, that seems pretty counter-intuitive.

  I know Sunday said Poe ignores Hali fully and completely, but there have to be things that she doesn’t know about.

  “Just be careful, please, Stella. The world here is very different from the one you were raised in. Things often aren’t what they seem, and what seems like a minor issue can escalate very quickly.” Standing and gathering her towel and water bottle, Cecily lays her hand on my shoulder. “Something happened in that group to scare your mother badly enough to leave and go into hiding, and I would hate to have history repeat itself.”

  With a last squeeze, she drops her hand and makes her way back into the house, leaving me alone by the pool, lost in thought.

  Saturday dawns rainy and cool. I left my window open a little last night, and the first ten minutes of my morning is spent cuddled into my pillow mountain listening to the soft patter of raindrops through the trees and the occasional grumble of thunder in the distance. I desperately want to stay in my cozy little nest, but I promised Sunday I would go shopping with her, and I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.

  Cecily meets me in the kitchen after I’m showered, dressed, and halfway through my cereal.

  “Big plans today?” she asks, leaning against the counter while she waits for her coffee to finish brewing.

  “There’s a party at Roxy’s tonight, so Sunday is dragging me shopping with her.” I shrug. “I figure keeping her company while she looks for the perfect outfit is the least I can do after she’s been so great since I got here.” Leaving out the part about my going with Bingham tonight, I finish the last of my cereal and get up to rinse my bowl and shove it in the dishwasher.

  “What about your perfect outfit?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to get away with worn-in jeans and my oversized hoodie.” Chuckling, I join Cecily back at the table. “I brought my black T-shirt dress with me, so that’ll do. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not exactly overly concerned with the latest fashion trends.”

  The two of us simply sit together for a few minutes, watching through the glass sliders as the finches chase each other around the trees in the yard. The side-eye my aunt is giving me is nearly burning a hole in my temple, but I’m choosing to pretend I don’t notice it, knowing full well this will likely be the only quiet I get all day and not wanting to spoil it. Sunday was way too excited about our shopping trip today, so her level of chill will likely be non-existent.

  Finally, Cecily abandons her beloved morning coffee and disappears down the hall, returning a few minutes later with a black plastic card in her hand. Setting it in front of me, she sits back down and starts drinking her coffee again, a small pleased smile on her lips. Pushing the card away in protest does no good as she just slides it right back to me.

  “This is yours,” she says, an indulgent note in her voice. My face must be broadcasting my discomfort because she laughs and gives me a mock stern look in return. “It’s not unlimited, so maybe don’t go trying to buy a Ferrari or a leopard or anything.” I try to object again, but she’s not having any of it. “You should’ve been doing this your whole life, Stella. This money is yours, too. You are the Bradleigh Heir, after all.”

  There’s that Heir thing again. Auntie and I are going to have a little sit-down about what precisely that means soon.

  “Buy yourself some new clothes and anything else you need. Have fun. Be young for once.” She stands and pats my shoulder, and I reach up, putting my hand over hers in silent thanks. Embarrassed, I keep my head down as my eyes glaze with unshed tears at the kindness this woman continues to show me.

  Cecily heads off to get ready for her day while I sit and stare at th
e black card still on the table in front of me. This all feels like some weird dream.

  Is this really my life now?

  Even though I still don’t know the rules or what any of this means, I’m starting to like my aunt a lot, and my new friends seem pretty great, so why not go with it? Everything has been a struggle for so long, and a lonely one at that, so why shouldn’t I enjoy my new life?

  It can’t be any worse than the one I seem to be leaving behind. Right?

  Chapter Twelve

  My phone chimes with a text message letting me know that my ride is out front. It’s just a selfie of Sunday crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue while flipping the deuces, but I get the gist. Laughing, I grab the credit card and shove it in my back pocket, along with my phone, and head out to the Rover after yelling goodbye to Cecily.

  “What up, homie?” she laughs, nearly yelling to be heard over Post Malone.

  “You’re crazy, lady!” I grin as she turns ‘A Thousand Bad Times’ even louder, and we pass through the gates at the end of the driveway.

  Five exhausting hours later, I feel like I ran a marathon. If shopping were an Olympic sport, Sunday would medal in it every damn time. I’m used to working ten-hour shifts at The Juneberry, and I still couldn’t keep up.

  Somewhere in my sore-feet-induced haze, I agree to let Sunday help me get ready for the party tonight. When we get back to Tweedvale and unload our bags into my room, we head out to the pool for a quick swim before dinner. In my case, it’s more of a float in the shallow end, since I’m not entirely sure my spaghetti arms and legs would stop me from drowning at this point.

  Cecily calls us in for dinner and over huge Cobb salads, she asks about the party tonight. Of course, the blabbermouth sitting across from me lets it slip that I’m not going with her, but with Bingham Ramsey. Her shin is an easy target for my kick under the table. I roll my eyes when she gives me her innocent bystander look, which is completely ruined by the smart-ass grin that follows, tucking the corner of her mouth into her cheek.

  She tries to hide it, but I catch the same strange look cross my aunt’s face that showed up on Sunday’s when I told her about my date the other day.

  “Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on? Like, should I not be going with this guy?” Cecily and Sunday look at each other across the table.

  “He doesn’t strike me as your type. I thought you’d be going with somebody else if you weren’t going to go with the girls, that is.” She stares into space for a few seconds, lost in her own head as her salad fork taps her front teeth gently, before she tunes back in and smiles at both of us. “Oh well, I’m just glad you’re going to Roxy’s and that the girls will be there, too. You can all keep an eye on each other.” Curious about who she thought I’d be going with, but not really wanting to ask her, I drop it and let Sunday drag me upstairs to play dress up.

  Here’s where our differences become glaringly obvious. The first thing I do is sit cross-legged on my fluffy duvet and find some music for us to listen to. The first thing Sunday does is throw open the walk-in closet doors and start rooting through my shopping bags. I set my phone in the dock of my little stereo and lean back, ‘Last Resort & Spa’ by Battle Tapes playing through the speakers as I watch Sunday put my new clothes away with a fair amount of amusement on my part.

  “Sunday, why are you hanging up my clothes? You know I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, right?” She just rolls her eyes like I asked the dumbest question ever.

  “How else am I going to see what your outfit choices are? Stell, I’m an artiste,” she jokes. “This is my palette. Let the master create.” With a theatrical flourish, she thumbs her nose at me and steps back to consider the options.

  It’s taken less than a week for me to learn I should just let Sunday do her thing when she’s on a roll, so I find myself relaxing, enjoying the music and the puffy pillows and soft bed. I seriously love this bed. It’s like a big, warm, comfy hug. My eyes drift shut, listening to the faint mutterings and musings coming from the other side of the room.

  Sunday lands beside me with an oomph, having taken a running jump from somewhere near the middle of the room and making me bounce before she drapes herself across my legs.

  “Okay, you. I have the perfect outfit picked out. Are you going to make this easy, or are you going to be difficult?”

  Jesus, how bad is it if she’s asking me that before I’ve even seen what she chose?

  Suspicious now, I scoot up to a sitting position, rubbing my fists into my eyes. With a sigh, I drop my hands into my lap.

  “Dude, what are you trying to get me to wear, and why do I think I’m not going to want to wear it?”

  “Promise you won’t argue? Just take my professional word for it and wear what I picked for you?” She gives me the biggest puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Your professional word? Are you trying to dress me up like a baby hooker?” I ask with a nervous laugh, mostly kidding, but a little concerned I might be right. Her eyes widen in mock horror, her hand covering her heart.

  “Moi? I would never. Shut yo’ mouth.” Performing a hilarious and freakishly agile commando roll off the bed and jogging over to the closet, she pulls out her chosen pieces. My mouth falls open, fully ready to protest, but before I can get a sound out, she’s already crossed back over to me and dropped everything on the bed.

  “Plllllleaaase, Stell?” She gives me her best dramatic pout, paired with a quivering lower lip, so I really can’t refuse her. But maybe I can get something out of this, too?

  “I’ll make you a deal. You can dress me up however you like if you agree to tell me more about the whole founding family bullshit. You know, since you neglected to mention that you, Roxy, and Aylie are the queens of this town, as much as the guys are the kings and all.” Arms crossed, I stare at her accusingly.

  “Is that all?” She waves her hand dismissively. “That’s easy. We can totally have story time while we nurse our hangovers tomorrow. Sound good?”

  Much to her glee and against my better judgment, I agree. Sunday runs with it, like a hyperactive kid given a pound of candy and eight sodas, even going so far as electing herself my hair and makeup department as well. But, by the time both of us are ready, I have to admit, she’s good at this. I know I’m decent-looking, but I’ve never looked like this before.

  “Holy shit, girl. You are hot. Like hot, hot. Poe is going to shit his pants twice tonight.”

  “Twice?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Once when he sees your seriously fine ass in that outfit, and once when he realizes Bingham Ramsey is your date.” Pleased with her handiwork, she packs up her own purchases from today while I tidy the vanity in my ensuite bathroom quickly. I’ve always been a drugstore mascara and lip gloss girl, and now there has to be at least twenty different products on my counter that I’m pretty sure I will never remember how to use.

  While I’m cleaning up, I realize that if Sunday’s right about Poe’s reaction to both my ass and my date, I can use it to my advantage.

  Maybe it’s time for a little game of ‘Make the Jackass Jealous’.

  Dabbing a little of my new perfume on the pulse points at my neck and wrists, I take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror and shake my head, still not sure how I got here.

  As I step back into my room, Cecily knocks on the door to let us know Bingham is here to pick me up. Sunday and I trundle down the stairs, each of us loaded down with the bags of clothes and shoes and makeup she bought today, when she stops briefly at the front door and reaches her hand out for my arm.

  “Stell, just so you know, I wasn’t trying to hide what I am, or my place in this shitty town. It really doesn’t mean much to me, and if I could leave it all behind, I would. You’re so new to all of this, and I didn’t want to scare you away with the weight of what your name signed you up for the minute you got on that plane. Please don’t be mad.” She looks so worried, and her words are so sincere.

  “No
worries, Sun. We’re good.” Her face breaks into a relieved grin, and we load her bags into the back of the Rover as Cecily comes down the front steps.

  “You look beautiful, girls. Have fun tonight. Watch out for each other,” she whispers into my ear as she gives me a hug goodbye. Bingham leans casually against the passenger door of his white BMW sedan, so I make my way over to him. Before getting in, I wave at Sunday as she drives off, and blow Cecily a kiss as she reminds my ride to drive carefully. Once we're on the road, Bingham glances over and gives me a quick up and down.

  “You look good.” There is something hungry about his expression that I’m not entirely comfortable with.

  “Thanks.” My smile is tight. We’re quiet for the rest of the drive to Roxy’s, the air in the car stale and dry, just like the guy behind the wheel. I spend the whole time wishing I had just gone with my girlfriends, and trying to ignore the way Bingham keeps licking his lips and slanting his eyes in my direction.

  Pulling up to Roxy’s house, I’m in awe. The massive stone and glass structure emanates light from every window, and I’m pretty sure you can see it from space. Even crazier, the triple-wide, curving drive is lined on both sides with what has to be millions of dollars’ of wet-dream-worthy vehicles. My stomach starts to do its clenchy thing and panic runs her sharp, cold fingernail down the back of my neck.

  Calm down. You are Stella Evangeline Bradleigh, whatever the hell that actually means. Right here, right now, that name is a magic pass saying you belong here, at least for tonight. You are not party crashing, and you don’t need to worry about getting caught somewhere you shouldn’t be.

  Bingham parks and gets out, coming around to my side of the car but not opening the door for me.

  Uh, okay. This guy is odd. Who stands there like that and doesn’t open the door?