30

Tiv

Friday 11th May, Year 825

Thirteen calls in the space of one night.

What was she doing?

There were no other calls for the entire month. I read the time stamps on the calls: the longest lasted twenty-five minutes. I wondered idly if I was facilitating contact for her and a new man. The thought made me ill. I crumpled up the bill and threw it on the floor. My gaze lingered on the bookshelf for a moment before I retrieved the thick tome and flipped to where the snowdrop marked a page. It lay pressed and pale, and in a rash impulse, I crushed its fragile form between my fingers. Alayna should have received my letter by now, yet silence was her only reply.

I pulled my mobile from my pocket and dialled Marco's number. He had moved out, desperate to escape Father. I was not far behind him however you had to be eighteen to own property in Lambent. Two months.

While I was more than delighted to be free of Marco, we needed to talk.

"What's up?" he answered.

"What are your plans for this evening?" I asked.

"I'm seeing some friends for drinks," he said.

"I want to meet for dinner, can you push them back?" I pressed.

Marco, clearly taken aback by the request, muttered, "Are you alright? What's Father done?"

"Nothing. It's Alayna. She's still using that bloody phone I gave her," I said, throat tight with irritation.

A hint of amusement coloured Marco's tone, "I told you so."

"Just make reservations somewhere busy for seven," I snapped before he hung up.

Eyeing the remains of the snowdrop, I sighed roughly with regret.

The waiter escorted me to our table where Marco sat sipping red wine, engrossed in the menu. Marble columns climbed towards the ceiling, crowned by dazzling chandeliers that bathed Staventon's skyline in warm light through grand windows. I looked out towards the city, where the towering glass and steel structures shone in the setting sunlight. Each skyscraper twisted elegantly towards the sky. The largest building was the Grand Spire, which was the centre of government in Staventon. Surrounding it, a network of skybridges linked the buildings. The streets below were lit up by gentle streetlights, guiding people through the city. The restaurant buzzed with conversation, and each white-clothed table hosted a flickering candle.

Dismissing the waiter's offer to take my coat, I caught Marco's amused look and cut straight to the point.

"What exactly did she say to you?" I demanded as soon as I took my seat.

Maroc scoffed, "Order a drink and let me pick my meal at least before we fall out."

I glared at him before conceding. I thought about Meredith's accusation of causing strife and softened. I knew I wasn't leaving without my explanation so I pushed thoughts of Alayna to the back of my mind for the moment and looked at the menu.

We ate and actually caught up. I could not recall the last time Marco and I had spoken without some kind of animosity between us. Certainly not since Mother had died. He told me of his grand apartments in the city and how Father expected him to be seen in public with the daughter of Roory Beckett, Lambent's president.

I groaned, "He's going to start campaigning again, isn't he?"

"Yes, next month. Governor of Staventon," Marco said, shoving a bit of bloodied steak into his mouth.

I was enjoying not being known. Another campaign meant four months of being thrust into the limelight and used as a pawn to further advance Father's career.

"There is no way people will vote a Vakosian in," I pointed out.

"You tell him that," Marco shot back.

We both knew I would not.

"Do not agree to date that girl or he'll have you engaged by voting time," I grumbled.

Marco shrugged, "There's worse people to marry than Freesia."

I barked a laugh, "There is no way you're done sleeping your way through the entire female population. We've just got here."

He gave me a withering look, "Marriage is a business arrangement. That does not need to stop me."

"That's a depressing way to look at it," I mused.

"It worked out for our parents," he said.

I laughed bitterly, "You think their marriage worked out?"

"It lasted twenty-five years and would have lasted longer if…" he trailed off.

"They never had anything good to say about each other. They avoided each other like a plague. Whenever they did see each other, they fought! I once saw her hit him with a fire poker after he struck you. And we know the rumours people mutter about Beau behind our backs!"

"Vicious rumours spread by scabs to discredit our parents," Marco said simply, though he couldn't hide the bitterness on his face.

"Perhaps. Either way, they were hardly secretive about their affairs," I continued.

Marco swore, "Remember the pool attendant? He was barely older than me. What was she thinking?"

I shuddered, "He wasn't as bad as that secretary who stole Mother's pearls and wore them to that press conference."

"Mother punched her in the face, you know," Marco grinned.

I did not smile. "Julie Jameson."

"That one surprised me. Didn't expect him to have a scab. He's such a hypocrite," he grimaced.

"She was Mother's friend," I said flatly.

"Probably the best option then. He loved twisting the knife," he shrugged, going back to his meal.

"Exactly. Mother and Father did that to each other. Intentionally. To hurt each other. Their marriage was an absolute disaster and we just had to sit silently in the crossfire. Please yourself, however, that is not the life I want."

"Did you read Mother's will?" he asked abruptly.

I blanched, "No."

"Not only did she leave him nothing, she insisted that everything for the four of us was not to be touched by him. He can't access a penny."

That would have been a crushing blow to Father. Mother was far richer than he ever was. Her money was old and spanned generations. He came from an ordinary family and was simply lucky enough to coax her into marrying him. Who knew how. I didn't even know the story of how they met. It sounded like their marriage soured not long after I was born. Though money was no issue for him now, I knew he would be silently seething at Mother's decision to tie up her money and make it inaccessible to him.

"I bet he loved that," I muttered.

"Surprisingly, I have not told him I've read it," Marco said sarcastically.

"Well, I hope you have better luck with your marriage to Freesia Beckett then."

Marco did not speak for a while. "Mother left Meredith more than the three of us combined."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

I felt my jaw drop, "Why?"

"There was no reason why, but Em has inherited most of Mother's fortune."

"Perhaps to give her the option to leave if she wishes," I frowned.

Marco nodded but paused before he spoke, "You think that's what she wants?"

It was no secret that Meredith stayed for Beau, Marco and I. I knew she loved my Mother as her own however I presumed she despised my Father. There had been many occasions over the years when she had witnessed our abuse and intervened. She had a way with Father and was able to calm his temper like no one else could. Though to suggest that made her life easy with us was quite a leap.

"I think if she wanted to leave, she'd already be gone," I replied simply. "She'll probably stay until Beau is old enough to move out."

We sat silently for a long time. I dared not ask him what he was thinking as I wondered why Mother would give so much to a daughter who was not biologically hers. There was no resentment; Meredith deserved every penny. Yet curiosity still nagged at me.

Marco finished his meal before changing the topic, "How's your job with Father treating you?"

I pulled a face before sipping my wine, "I do not start until July. What have I got to look forward to?"

"Father is paying me a fortune to wear a uniform and follow a general around all day. I'm not going to complain," he smirked. "He has to have one good son, seeing as you're making it your life's work to vastly reduce his lifespan through stress."

I glared at him, "I think he's paid off the guards at the port. They won't let me leave."

"Why the hells do you want to?"

I gave him a pointed look and he scoffed.

"Speaking of her, are you going to tell me what the whore did?" he asked. My glare deepened and he began laughing, "Don't look at me like that. Apparently she'd had half The Grange before you. You should probably get tested. She is a whore."

"Don't call her that," I murmured, my glare deepening. Marco's expression remained impassive. He didn't speak again so I continued. "What did she tell you? I want no lies or exaggerations. Simply tell me what she said."

I braced myself.

"We spoke on the evening she found out about the bet. It was hard to get sense from her between all the profanities. Though she told me her thoughts like she had not made it abundantly clear earlier in the day. She said 'we' keyed my car however didn't tell me which of her nasty scab friends helped her do it-"

"That was me, not one of them," I interjected.

He scowled at me, "You vandalised my car at her command?"

"No… I just did not stop her from doing so," I admitted.

Marco stared at me intensely, "You did not tell the Guard."

"Of course I didn't," I spat, ignoring the compulsion to scream at him for almost killing her.

Marco swallowed back whatever vile retort he was chewing on and took another drink, "She has you firmly in her scabby clutches, doesn't she?"

"Showing mercy to people who have wronged you is not a weakness, Marco. Her neck is worth more to me than the paint of your car," I snapped.

He rolled his eyes, "I didn't actually think they'd kill her. I was simply trying to piss you off. Seeing as my ribs have only just gone back to normal, I think I succeeded." I clenched my jaw, not sure if I believed him. He must have read it on my face as he continued, "If I wanted her dead I would have reported her again for hitting me in the bloody face before we left. But thank you for believing the worst of me as always."

"Just tell me what else was said," I grumbled.

"She said she'd got a mobile out of you and wondered if she could have gotten a car out of me," he said seriously. "She obviously wondered how far we would have one-upped each other."

"No, she didn't," I barked.

"Why did you even ask if you're just going to disregard what I say?" Marco barked back.

"There must have been a misunderstanding," I muttered.

"You're a fool. Did she even tell you we'd spoken?"

"No. She ignored me for a week. When I eventually saw her again she couldn't keep her hands off me," I admitted.

"Probably hoped to get us arguing. It worked too," he grimaced.

I sighed, a small part of me breaking inside. "I think I've been a bit of a fool."

"I've been telling you this for an age," Marco retorted, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. I swore at him and it widened to a malicious grin, "Come out tonight and meet my friends. They're fun."

"No, thank you," I said.

"Oh come on! You never play out," he whined.

He was right. I hated all the sycophants in Harroworth so I never left the house or bothered with them. Perhaps the people of Staventon were the same however I wouldn't know if I did not meet them.

"One drink," I replied.

Marco beamed.

"This is Freesia Beckett," Marco introduced, and I shook the hand of the President's daughter.

She looked expensive even by our standards. Her narrow, gold-brown eyes glanced over me as the introduction finished and she turned back to Marco, her angular features softened when talking to him. He became more jovial at her gaze and their playful banter began. I cynically wondered how long it would take them to end up like my parents. To her left, her friend giggled and offered me her hand. I shook it and introduced myself.

"I'm Amelia," she smiled.

She had to have been a model. Everything about her was polished and pristine. Her long, blonde hair did not have a strand out of place and her body was a perfect hourglass, accentuated by her expensive clothes.

"Do you want a drink?" she offered.

I was already off to a better start with her than any woman I'd ever met. Not one of them ever offered me anything. Apart from Alayna and her little, white snowdrop.

Fool.

"I'd love one," I smiled.

The bar was another classy establishment. Everything was adorned in black and gold, it glittered under several chandelier lights. The gleaming glass bar held every single type of drink and an assortment of ingredients for making ostentatious cocktails sat in mason jars on the elegantly lit shelves. It was extravagant. So then why the hells did I wish to be across an ocean in a rotting little shack, drinking warm beer with a girl who had been using me? I pushed her out of my head for the hundredth time that evening and introduced myself to the rest of Marco's group.

Jonas was tall, pale and gaunt, his hair long, black and greasy. He was Marco's right-hand man, chatting him up to Freesia. It was quickly becoming apparent that it did not matter where we lived, Marco always managed to find a lackey. Another Rob.

Sitting at a nearby table, I introduced myself to a huge man called Xander. He grinned widely at me and I could not help but eye him judgmentally; he clearly had nothing better to do than live in the gym. Before we even spoke his face morphed into a scowl as we shook hands stiffly. I figured he was exactly the type of person Marco would have around him: just as self-obsessed and narcissistic. Another Andy.

Sat next to Xander was a couple named Tala and Kale. Tala was a small, pretty girl. The gold in her irises stood out in the green drawing you into them. She was simply lovely to be around. She began talking enthusiastically about her work, indicating instantaneously she was smarter than I would ever hope to be. We spoke for a while, her gentle-natured and soft-spoken demeanour shining through. The supermodel, Amelia, seemed to be good friends with her and she kept flitting from Freesia to Tala with a mischievous beam on her face gossiping about Marco as if I were not there.

For our entire exchange, Tala kept her tanned hand in the man's sitting by her, Kale. His strong stature seemed to radiate authority though his jovial expression made him seem younger—perhaps early twenties. He had a good sense of humour and was just as welcoming as Tala. I warmed to him quickly and we spoke for a while before I found myself curling my toes in my shoes whenever he looked at Tala. Between conversations, they would simply throw themselves at each other, Tala gently moving a hand through his sandy blonde hair as he pulled her closer to him, forcing me to look away from their disgusting displays of affection. I did not want to spend any more of my evening with a couple so blatantly in love. Again my mind went to Alayna, pushing me up against my car and kissing me. I clenched my jaw and took my leave of the happy couple.

I was bloody miserable.

"Your glass is empty," Xander noted.

"So it is. I only came out for one. I'll be heading home soon," I said, going to call the town car to collect me.

Xander put his hand on my phone to stop me from dialling, "One more drink and a socialise won't kill you."

He had changed his tune.

We went to the bar and he chatted casually, he was friendlier upon investigation. Much less like someone I would expect to hang around with my brother.

"How do you know Marco?" I asked.

"I work for him," he replied flatly.

Xander looked about a decade older than me. He probably hated the fact he worked under a teenager. He pointed to a bottle of my favourite whiskey behind the bar and the barmaid poured two glasses of it.

"Bottoms up," he clinked his glass to mine uncouthly and emptied it in one gulp. I followed suit and the barmaid poured us two more.

One drink turned into several in that bar. Alcohol clouding my head, I stopped counting how many places we went to after the third. We ended up in a dark club, the music was so loud we had to shout over it to be heard. The club pulsated with energy which thundered through the soles of my shoes. Strobe lights sliced through the smoke-filled air, casting shifting geometric shadows over the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. Marco danced with Freesia and I looked away awkwardly at how much affection they were openly showing each other. I had never observed Marco like that with a woman before. Perhaps his eventual marriage wouldn't be such a disaster.

Amelia came with a tray of drinks and placed them on the table. Xander, Tala, Kale and I all joined her in throwing back more shots. Immediately Tala pulled a reluctant Kale to the dance floor and Amelia threw herself in my lap. Her weight settled awkwardly across my thighs, stirring discomfort through my body. Every fiber of my being tensed, rejecting her presence. Alayna belonged there. Not her. My thoughts morphed to Alayna wrapped around a faceless man, kissing him as she had once kissed me. Heat crept up my neck as the room began to tilt dangerously.

"Excuse me a moment," I slurred, gently shifting Amelia to the adjacent seat.

I staggered to the club's back alley where the warm night air did nothing to cool my overheated skin. Bile rose abruptly and I vomited behind a bin. Clammy hands pressed against the wall steadying an unsteady world.

"What was the name of the lovely lady who did this to you then?" Xander's voice broke through the ringing in my ears as he delivered a rough pat on my back.

I swore, "Marco needs to learn discretion."

"He didn't tell me anything but your glares at Tala and Kale spoke volumes. We've all been there. Those guys are sickening even when you're not heartbroken," he said.

Heartbroken. How dramatic. Then the image of Alayna kissing the faceless man resurfaced and proceeded to throw up again.

"She's made a mess of me," I grumbled, the alcohol making me too truthful.

"I can see that," Xander grinned. "Who is she?"

"That whore's not important. Simply a minute of my time which is over now," I murmured sourly.

"Honestly, good riddance. Love is a lie. Sex on the other hand… Amelia is literally throwing herself at you. Go wild my friend," he grinned, offering me a mint.

Nodding numbly, I decided in my drunken stupor to wash my hands of Alayna for good then promptly followed Xander back into the bar to continue drowning thoughts in spirits.

When I woke up the next morning, I had no notion of where I was. The room was white and bright, hurting my head. A gentle wind blew through the open balcony doors, the translucent curtains floated in the warm breeze. I was not alone. The blonde girl was in bed next to me, still asleep. I couldn't remember her name. I always figured losing one's virginity would be awkward and nerve wracking. Luckily for me, I barely remembered it. No awkwardness shared, no nervous heartbeats. Instead, there was just emptiness—an experience devoid of intimacy or memory. I dressed making less noise than the dead so as not to wake her and was in a car back to the manor within ten minutes. I threw up again on the way home.