It’s huge.
I pick at the frayed hole in my jeans. “So, you’re going to be a good father?” Because you weren’t with me is implied and he knows it.
Smoke-colored eyes land on mine, and I see something there . . . perhaps regret. “I want to be.”
I tap my fingers against my chair, ready to get out of here and process everything. It’s been a crazy as hell day . . . a seventeen-year-old stepsister I want to fuck, a new stepmother who disapproves of me already (I can tell), and now a new baby.
I change the topic, heading back to the crux of the matter. I steeple my fingers and give him a long look. Being on my own has taught me to go for what I want. “Back to the money . . . I’ll do everything you ask of me for two hundred thousand.”
His eyes flare, and I see a hint of admiration in them. “You making a deal with me?”
I nod. “And you have to call me Spider. No more of this Clarence bullshit. Cate gave me the name, and it’s mine. It’s something you can’t take away from me.”
He takes another swig of his Scotch, his eyes lingering on mine before drifting out to rest on Anne. He gazes back at me and nods, signaling that our meeting is over. “Deal.”
Rose
THIS ENTIRE DAY HAS BEEN bizarre and sucked the wind right out of me. The only way to get pumped back up is to crank “Defying Gravity” and sing it as loud as I can as I drive out to Highland Park. It’s my favorite song in the musical Wicked mostly because it’s about empowerment, about leaping into the unknown as you trust your instincts and push ahead with what you think is right. I want to be that girl. Desperately. I want to take a leap and be everything I ever imagined . . .
But not in Highland Park.
With a sigh, I whip through the double gates and park alongside Robert’s Mercedes.
Anne and I had lived comfortably in a Dallas suburb, but this house is insane. It’s a three-story whitewashed brick with French country details, from the rustic shutters on the tall windows to the huge medieval-looking front door. Around the back is a covered patio with two fireplaces, a mountain lake-shaped pool, and an outdoor kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine. Beyond the pool is an intricate garden, complete with a little maze of shrubs, stone benches, and alcoves. Sitting on about five acres, the estate is one of the biggest in Highland Park.
I try to picture Spider growing up here, but I can’t. He doesn’t fit in here, and neither do I.
I ring the doorbell because this doesn’t feel like home to me, and a freshly showered Spider answers, looking infuriatingly handsome with damp hair and wearing a a pair of low-slung jeans with a black Beatles tee. My traitorous eyes linger on his well-defined shoulders.
A small smile toys around his lips. “Hello, Miss Seventeen.” His accent washes over me, clipped, soft, and deep with layers.
And just like that, I’m under his spell, sucked into his allure all over again. I recall our kiss . . . the magic of it . . . the way his hands cupped my face.
Feeling frustrated, I stuff those thoughts and feelings down and brush past him into the foyer. “Let’s get one thing straight, stepbrother, your sexy little accent won’t work on me.”
“I never said it would, stepsister.” He leans against the wall, his copper eyes drifting lazily over my outfit. His lip twitches. “Did you wear that for my benefit?”
I straighten my shoulders, my body automatically remembering the deportment lessons I took. Yes, I wore the red dress and heels. And I look good.
I glide past him, like a gazelle . . . maybe. “I wore it for me.” Lie.
“I’m not surprised. I’m not worth dressing up for. You look beautiful, by the way.” He gets a pensive look on his face as he stares at me, and I sigh, reminding myself that he is my new stepbrother, and I do have to be an adult and get along with him. I brush my gaze over his attire. “No mesh tank top? I must confess, I’m going to miss all those tattoos on display.”
He shoots me a quick look, as if trying to suss out if I’m teasing him or not. His eyes search mine, and I smile, just a little one.
A gruff laugh comes out of him, and for the first time since the whole flight attendant thing, there’s a slight easing between us.
I clear my throat and stick out my hand. “I’m hoping we can be friends. What do you think?”
He takes my hand as sparks fire over my skin. “Fine with me.”
I arch a brow. “Pretending not to care is usually the tendency of someone who really does care the most . . . Clarence.”
He tosses his head back and laughs, the sound clear and deep. It ignites a memory in me, one from my childhood. I grapple to hang on to it but it drifts away quickly.
Our hands part, a bit reluctantly, as his eyes gleam down at me. “You know, I hate that name with a passion, but hearing it on your lips . . . not so much.”
“I’m serious. It’s called a defense mechanism, and people do it so they won’t get hurt.”
He squints at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you read into things too much?”
“Maybe.” I look down at my hands, noticing they are nervously twisting the straps on my small clutch. I have my own tells. “I do like to analyze people.”
“And what did you figure out about me?” His eyes gaze into mine before he glances at himself in the mirror. It’s as if he’s afraid to look at me for too long, and I wonder why.
I infuse my voice with confidence I don’t actually have. “That you’re dangerous.”
“Me? Why?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “You don’t care who you hurt to avoid feeling anything, which probably means you’ve been hurt in the past. You have demons.”
He freezes, his gaze coming back to my face. “Looks like you got me pegged then.”
I hesitate. “We all have demons, right? In some form or another.”
He just stares at me. “What’s your demon, Rose?”
“I don’t belong here. It’s like I’m playing a game of pretend.” I glance around the grand house. “This isn’t the kind of home I’m used to. It’s the same when I’m at Claremont. I don’t fit in with those kids. I grew up in Tin Town, probably not what you would have expected.”
He watches me as I talk—or more like ramble—making me nervous.
“I never fit in either when I was at prep school.” He pauses. “You aren’t anything like I expected. When Robert mentioned a younger stepsister on the phone, I pictured a little girl in pigtails and a school uniform.”
“I do have a school uniform.”
A serious expression appears on his face. “You know, I never would have kissed you if I’d known your true age. I know better than that.”
I stiffen, feeling defensive. I recall the hell I grew up with, the foster homes, the times I had to fight to defend my virtue. “I may be seventeen, but I’m not a kid.”
Robert appears in the foyer, his eyes bouncing from me to Spider, his gaze searching.
“Everything okay out here?”