Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Yes. Are you?”
She nods, but then amends her reply. “Well, tonight at least…I am.”
“And tomorrow? What happens then?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Oh…I’m…” She shakes her head and glances down self-consciously. “I’ll go back to what I was before.”
“Her employee?”
She looks back up at me, shocked by my question. “What? How did you know that? Who are you? You seem familiar now that I think about it.”
“I’m just someone seeking the truth. And who are you?”
“Oh, are we answering in riddles?” The corners of her full lips rise into a smirk. “Compared to everyone else here? I’m no one.”
“Is it your intention to become someone then?”
Her arms tighten around her. “I doubt that’s possible.”
A gust of wind blows off the ocean, sending her hair into disarray. The mess only makes her more beautiful. No, I think. She’s wrong; with a face like that, it’s definitely possible.
“So then why are you here?”
To continue taking advantage of my grandmother?
“Like I said…I’m Cornelia’s guest,” she says, regaining the ground she lost between us, stepping closer to me as if trying to prove she’s not afraid.
I have quite a few inches on her, so she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. When she does, I’m surprised by how scared she looks, surprised she can feign the emotion so well.
“You’re her employee.”
Her eyebrows furrow in annoyance.
“So what?”
I ignore the question and get on to matters I’m much more curious about.
“Did Cornelia put you in that dress? And what about that necklace? Was it a gift too?”
She reaches up to touch the diamond draped around her slender neck. “Who says this isn’t mine?” she challenges with a cool tone.
I huff out a cruel laugh and step closer, wanting to be sure every word is heard over the howling wind. “I say so. That necklace once belonged to my mother.”
Her jaw drops and she looks down as if seeing her outfit in a different light now. “I didn’t know…” she whispers.
As if that makes it any better.
“I think you should leave.”
“The party?”
“Newport,” I say, my unyielding tone leaving no room for opposition.
“But I’m Cornelia’s—”
“Employee. Yes, we’re clear on that. And I’m her grandson.”
My blunt words slice through the air and she whispers my name under her breath, anger evident as she gives me a once-over. It’s like she’s trying to memorize what I look like so she can avoid crossing paths with me ever again.
“What a wonderful introduction we’ve had. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Now, if you’re done trying to intimidate me, I think I’d like to go back to the party. As I am Cornelia’s guest, she’s probably wondering where I’ve gone. I wouldn’t want her to think I’ve stumbled into harm’s way.”
She picks up the skirt of her gown and puts her back to me, walking quickly up to the house so that I’m left out there alone, stewing in anger as the remnants of her floral scent still linger in the air.
It’s one thing for Cornelia to keep her here, quite another for Maren to insist on staying even after I’ve asked her to leave.
She must really like the gig she’s set up for herself—invitations to exclusive parties, decadent jewelry, designer clothes. I wonder how deeply she plans on embedding herself in my grandmother’s life and how long she’s willing to put up with me.
11
Maren
When my parents died in a car accident, I was at home alone, reading. It was their anniversary, and my dad had surprised my mom with tickets to a local play. They were due home before my bedtime. Sometime after dinner, police officers came and banged on the front door of our apartment loud enough to wake the dead. When I unlatched the deadbolt and creaked the door open a smidge, a gruff man peered over the top of my head and asked me if there were any adults present in the house.
I told him the truth, but I should have lied.
There was no one to take me in after their accident, no aunts or uncles or well-meaning neighbors. I was placed in the foster care system almost immediately, shunted around from place to place for the next few years.
I think about what it would have been like if Cornelia was my grandmother, how different my life would have been if she’d swooped in and brought me home to Rosethorn after the accident. What a privilege to have a place to feel safe and at peace, never having to worry where I’d live or how to scrounge for my next meal.
I think about this as I go to sleep that night, replaying Nicholas’ words in my head.
“I think you should leave.”
And go where, exactly? I should have asked him.
It was Cornelia who uprooted my life. She plucked me from Holly Home like I was one of her roses in need of pruning.