Violence shades his arrogance. He won that pride, and I don’t want to know how. Except that I do. Is that why he’s all sharp edges and hewn muscle? Where did he come from, and why is he here? What made him into this walking grenade of a man?
If things had gone differently, I might have asked him all of this. But I don’t need a knight in shining armor, I need a sword.
“Look, you don’t fucking know me. You’ve never met anyone like me.” Venom coats each word. “You can say whatever you want.”
He moves toward me, and I back away instinctively. I found the button. I pressed it. Something tells me I’m not ready for the fallout. Now I’m the one at war, wondering what it would feel like to collide into him even as my brain orders me to run far and fast. Anxiety strips away my confidence. I don’t know who I’m playing with—I have no clue who Sterling Ford really is.
“I can see it. Right here.” A rough-tipped finger jabs the bridge of my nose before trailing down and tapping its tip. “Fuck or flight. What’s it going to be?”
“Don’t you mean fight or flight?” I say coolly, hoping I’m the only one to catch the tremble in my voice.
“I said what I meant.” He steps back and shoves his hands in his borrowed suit’s pockets.
Relief washes over me but when it’s cleansed the anxiety, I’m surprised to discover it’s left something behind. Something raw that claws at its cage. My hand closes over my stomach as though I can trap it there before it escapes. I don’t want to know what monster he’s awoken. I don’t want to admit that part of me responds to someone like him.
Or that he has me trapped. I don’t dare push past him. Touching him…seems like a bad idea. As if he can see my struggle, he steps to the side. Which one is he: the hero or the villain? Both watch me from his guarded eyes.
“Where are my manners?” He gestures toward the stairs. “You have guests.”
Suddenly, all those strangers don’t feel like intruders. They feel like safety. Rushing past him, I try not to look at him, but I can’t help it. He pulls my attention like a magnet. The scowl is now a permanent fixture on his handsome face but it stops at his eyes. I don’t pause to consider what I see there until I reach the first step. By the time, I reach the last one, I’ve convinced myself I was wrong. It wasn’t pain in those stormy eyes, and if it was, it was my own reflecting there. I’d imagined it. I couldn’t let myself do that again.
I thought Sterling was just a poor boy dressed in a rich man’s suit. I was wrong. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“There you are!” My best friend’s arms circle me tightly, but my eyes—and thoughts—are on Sterling. Poppy doesn’t notice, which is no surprise. She’s perfected the art of convenient ignorance. Her philosophy is why deal with something unpleasant if you can avoid it? Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.
Right now, I wish I could be her, instead of the girl running from the wicked boy upstairs or the girl whose mom just died.
“Are you okay?” Her voice drops to a whisper, and I remember why we’re best friends. Because that convenient blind spot of hers doesn’t extend to me. She sees me clearly. Probably even the stuff I don’t tell her. Like about the night before mom died. Or about the smug jackass I met at the coffee shop before…
We’re best friends, but it’s not like anyone can ever really know you. Not entirely. We all have secrets—parts of ourselves that are better hidden than shared. Sometimes even from ourselves. We’re born alone and we die alone. The last few days have made that clear to me.
“Fine.” I shrug off her concern, hoping she doesn’t press the issue. She doesn’t.
Instead, she seems intent on distraction. “Everyone’s in the solarium, hiding from mum and dad.”
She clasps my hand and drags me in that direction. I don’t want to hang out with them. The guys will make stupid, insensitive jokes. The girls will fawn over me, but I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s anything more than an act. But it’s better than staying put and running into him again, so I let her lead me away.
Poppy prattles on about changes to her parents’ trip to the Seychelles. “Dad’s been called back to London…”
I’m barely aware of the update. I’ve heard it before. The Landrys were constantly planning a vacation they never took. Mr. Landry always wound up being called to London and then Mrs. Landry would fly to Palm Springs and have an affair. The world kept spinning and the Seychelles remained untainted by their lousy marriage. Poppy is proof that good things can come from bad places, like a flower growing through a crack in the cement.
She’s kinder than she has to be, given her looks and upbringing. With her black curtain of hair, amber skin, and willowy, dancer’s body, she could be like most of the other girls we know: all beauty and money with a big empty spot where her soul should be. She could cut and belittle and dehumanize. Instead, she threw a party for her gardener when he got engaged and plays with the maid’s daughter to give her a break. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because she has that convenient ignorance. Maybe she refuses to focus on all the bad in our world.
I’m considering this when I realize that she’s moved on with
