She thought I meant the money, and I did, but I also meant that hatred. The McTavishes hadn’t tried to hide their belief that I wasn’t one of them. But this would make it far worse. This made me a weapon Ruby had decided to wield against them, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Well, I want you to have it, Ruby had replied, picking an invisible piece of lint off my shirt. And that’s all that matters.
And that’s how it had been.
Ruby’s sly smile follows me all the way to the kitchen.
Libby is mixing up some viscous green liquid in one of those little blenders made for that kind of thing, and when she glances over her shoulder at me, I bite back a groan.
This house is something like twenty thousand square feet, how in the fuck does everyone in it always end up on top of each other? I should be able to go days without seeing anyone else, but no, just like it was all those years ago, it’s as if the house keeps forcing us together, making us bump up against each other until we snap.
“Ben said to get started without him today,” Libby calls out over the noise of the blender.
I swing my leg over a stool at the kitchen island, sitting down and pulling out my phone. “Where is he?”
Libby shakes her head, her long hair in loose curls halfway down her back. No polka dots today, but those same white jeans, this time with a white top and a navy sweater, rows of necklaces around her neck, rattling as she turns around.
“He had to drive into town to meet with some lawyer buddy of his. Don’t ask me what for,” she adds, holding up one hand even though I had not even started to ask. “I could not give a shit.”
Again, a distant kind of alarm bell ringing, a queasy sensation that something isn’t right. But is it real, or is this place just making me paranoid? It can do that to a person. Even Ruby thought so.
I look back at my phone, scrolling through emails, looking for anything I might have missed from Nathan, my lawyer.
Just in case.
Libby moves around the kitchen, pouring her noxious juice into a pink cup emblazoned with a cursive L, before leaning back against the counter, watching me.
I ignore her, my eyes on my phone, hoping she’ll go away now, refusing to cede the space, but Libby can’t pass up the opportunity to catch me alone.
“So. Your wife.”
I don’t reply, my fingers tightening around my phone.
“She’s pretty,” Libby goes on. “Like, prettier than I thought you could land, if I’m honest.”
“Can’t disagree with that,” I say, still refusing to meet her gaze. I’d been surprised myself at how Jules, with her blond hair and big eyes and gorgeous smile, had wanted me, a skinny, sullen kid pouring beers at a cheap wing place. I’m not as skinny now, and I finally figured out how to style my hair so that I don’t look like I’m in the Vienna Boys’ Choir, but there’s no doubt I’m punching above my weight.
“I guess I thought maybe you didn’t like girls or something. But maybe you just like blondes.”
I look up sharply and our eyes meet. She’s tapping the pink straw of her cup against her lower lip, studying me.
“Does she know––” she starts, and I cut her off.
“Don’t.”
Maybe it’s my voice, low and dangerous even to my ears, or something in the way I’m glaring at her, because Libby shoots me a dirty look, dumping the blender, base and all, into the sink with a clatter, remnants of green juice splattering on Cecilia’s clean counters.
“Don’t act like it’s some big shameful secret, Camden,” she says, turning and bracing her hands on the sink behind her. “Because, honestly, if you hadn’t been so weird about it, everything would’ve worked out a hell of a lot better than it has.”
My gut twists even as I give a shocked laugh because, Jesus, she really believes that.
“What do you think would have happened?” I hear myself say. “We would’ve gotten married? Lived happily ever after here at Ashby?”
It’s such a perverse thought—me and Libby, married, shacked up together in this house—that I can hardly picture it, but Libby must not have that hang-up because she’s suddenly crossing the kitchen, she’s suddenly standing there in front of me.
“It would’ve solved everything,” she replies, her voice almost cracking, and for the first time, I realize that that night—that fucked-up, deeply wrong night—might have meant something different to her than it did to me.
“We were kids,” I tell her, trying to be gentle, even as my mind fights to push down every memory, every detail. The soft breeze coming through my window, the green-apple scent of her shampoo, the way her hands slid over my skin.
How long I’d let her kiss me, let her touch me, before shoving her away. Seconds, but they lasted an eternity.
“No one’s ever said no to me, Camden,” Libby says now, her hand resting lightly on my chest, and I can’t help but laugh as I cover her fingers with mine.
“I don’t doubt that,” I tell her. “But … fuck’s sake, Libby, you’re my cousin.”
“Not by blood,” she says, too quickly, and there’s a sudden sour taste in the back of my throat.
“Maybe not, but in every way that matters,” I reply firmly. “And besides, you didn’t want me anyway.”
That part I remember maybe too clearly. Pushing her away, even as every cell in my stupid teenage body had wanted to pull her closer, my voice raspy as I’d said, Your dad will kill me.
And Libby, gorgeous and naked and all of seventeen, shooting me a look far too old, far too knowing, and saying, Who do you think sent me in here?
If Howell wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself just for that. For deciding that if he couldn’t change Ruby’s mind about her will, he’d do whatever it took to make sure his family wouldn’t be cut out of it. Including sending his teenage daughter into my room to seduce me.
That was the night I knew I couldn’t stay here. That I couldn’t be a part of this so-called family any longer.
Libby is still standing in front of me, one shell-pink nail resting on the middle button of my shirt, and as I look in her green eyes, I see something there. Something real.
Something that turns my stomach and breaks my heart all at the same time.
“Who says I didn’t want you?” she asks, her voice low. “I mean, you were weird, and you always looked at me like you were afraid I was going to bite you or something, but you were cute even back then. And smart.”
She steps closer, so close that I can smell her perfume, feel her breath on my face.
“And you’re still cute and smart now,” Libby goes on. “And tall. I always forget that you’re tall.”
Reaching up, she rests her hands on my shoulders, squeezing slightly as I hold myself very still.
“It’s just … Cam, think how much easier it would’ve been.” Her voice breaks, her eyes searching mine. “You and me? It would’ve made Daddy happy, it would’ve made Nana Nelle happy…”
“Would it have made you happy?” I ask, and she smiles a little, giving that uniquely Libby shrug.
“It would’ve made me rich,” she says. “And that would’ve made me happy.”
I suck in a deep breath through my nose, and I see Libby’s smile start to curve up at the corners as she leans in even closer, her lips almost touching mine.
Stepping back so fast that I nearly overturn one of the barstools, I jerk my chin up and away from her mouth. My heart is pounding and there’s an acrid taste at the back of my throat as I picture Jules walking in, seeing us, seeing me. I’ve never looked at another woman since the night Jules walked into that shitty bar, and even though nothing about Libby in this moment is tempting, that familiar oily slick of guilt is slithering through me again.
“I’m not the answer, Libby,” I say now. “I never was. Find something better.”
My words take on a slightly desperate edge as I reach out to take her hands in mine. “You deserve better. Fuck this house, fuck this family, fuck the money. Just … be you. Whatever that is.”
I squeeze her fingers, smiling a little, hoping she hears me, and for a minute, I think she might. Her beautiful face softens, her fingers press into mine.