25. Izabella
IZABELLA
Gulliver keeps me pinned to his side, his arm draped gently over my shoulders, while the others crowd around me like security guards, ensuring no one can get close. I’m still not sure that staying with Gulliver is the right thing to do, but the guys had my stuff packed and were shuffling me out of my room before I even had a chance to argue.
Thorn drives a shiny white Mercedes, and yet again I get squashed into the back seat, only this time I’m stuck between Kip and Gulliver, both of whom are acting like my black eyes and bruising must mean I’m on the verge of falling apart.
To be honest, I haven’t really allowed myself to fully process the fact that both of my parents violently assaulted me two days ago. They both hit me hard enough to leave marks, bruises, and maybe even a scar from the cut on my cheek. I haven’t turned my cell back on yet, but I don’t expect either of them will have contacted me to apologize. I think they’re both so far gone that I’m not even sure they realize that their behavior is wrong any more.
I feel like I should be sad, and I am, but more than anything, I’m frustrated and angry. I’ve literally given up my own identity at my family’s request to protect my sister’s legacy and ensure nothing prevents her from meeting the terms of the will, and this is how they repay me.
If I asked him to, I know Gulliver would go to them and confess the truth about our fake engagement, but fuck them. They didn’t even give me a chance to explain before they beat the hell out of me, so they don’t deserve to know the truth.
I won’t be hiding in plain sight anymore. I won’t be pretending to be Penelope. All of my obligations to my family ended on Saturday, when my parents beat me to the ground and called me a whore. I plan to do everything I can to try and ensure that Penelope doesn’t inherit my great-grandfather’s estate. Maybe in the long run, my little acts of rebellion won’t have a massive effect, and she’ll still turn into the monster I know that money will make her. But it’s the only thing I can think to do that will balance out the anger I feel toward them. In the grand scheme of things, forcing my sister to attend her own classes and pass her own tests seems pitiful, but after three years of blind devotion to a family who got colder and more dismissive toward me, I’m confident my small rebellion will have a big impact.
When we get to Gulliver’s house, I start to panic. He and this house are so connected to the downward spiral of events that culminated in my parents attacking me. My hands start to tremble, but when I look down, I see the ostentatious diamond ring on my finger, and an odd sense of peace settles over me.
When Gulliver got down on one knee and slid this ring onto my finger, I was horrified by the lie he’d forced me into, but now wearing it feels like a victory. Gulliver is the one thing my parents wanted so desperately for my sister, but no matter how much they negotiated and cajoled, he refused to give in to their relentless pursuit.
Our engagement might be fake, but my parents don’t know that. All they know is that he chose me and not my sister, and that must be driving them fucking crazy.
When Thorn slows to a stop outside of the house, Gulliver holds my hand and helps me from the car like I’m an invalid. Kip rushes to grab my case from the trunk, and we move as a group toward the front door. Just like at my parents’ house, Gulliver’s housekeeper Beth opens the door before we reach it, her eyes going wide when she sees me. In the last two days, I’ve avoided mirrors as much as possible, but I still know I look like an abuse victim.
Since the attack, my bruises have darkened to an ugly purple color that mottles most of my face. Both of my eyes are still swollen, and the stitches the doctor had to put in my cheek are impossible to miss. I look like someone beat the crap out of me.
Ever the professional, Beth quickly neutralizes her expression, offering me a polite nod of acknowledgment as Gulliver ushers me inside and back up to the bedroom I stayed in on Friday night.
“This can be your room, unless you don’t like it, in which case there are several others you can pick from if you’d prefer,” Gulliver says, his voice gruff, yet weirdly accommodating.
“This room’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, moving past him and into the familiar space. My brow furrows when I spot several Van De Burg garment bags hanging on the closet door.
“Are these yours?” I ask, pointing to the bags.
“No, they’re yours, they’re the clothes you picked on Saturday morning. I had Fitzy bring them back here instead of sending them to your parents’ after you left,” he admits a little sheepishly.
“Why?”
“You weren’t answering your phone. I figured if the clothes were here, you’d have to come here and get them,” he says with a rakish grin.
“You were going to hold my new leather jacket hostage?” I ask, arching a brow at him.
“I don’t like to be ignored.” Shrugging, he closes the distance between us and slowly lifts his hand to cup my bruised cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened. I won’t ever let them hurt you again,” he says, but it’s more than just words, the look in his eyes says it’s a vow, and I shiver at the intensity of his promise.
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“But maybe I need to protect you,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a featherlight kiss against my lips. “Come down when you’re ready, I’ll ask Beth to make us all something to eat.”
I nod, and he turns and walks away. My skin prickles once I’m alone, and I glance down at my perfectly tailored black jeans and pale pink cashmere jumper. I hate this outfit. In fact, I hate most of the clothes packed in my case because they’re things my mom picked for me so I could look like my sister in case anyone thought I was her when I was out of the house.
“Can I help you unpack, Miss Rhodes?” Beth asks, appearing in the doorway.
“Do you have a trash bag?”
Her brows pull up in question, but she nods. “Of course, let me go and fetch one for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning away from her and dragging my case up onto the bed. Unzipping it, I pull out each item of clothing, flinging everything that’s Penelope’s style to the floor and placing the few items that I actually chose for myself onto the bed.
Beth knocks gently on the still-open door a few minutes later, and I turn and move toward her. “Thank you,” I say, reaching out to take the trash bag from her. “Do you know of a donation center or a charity or anywhere that could make use of these clothes?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she steps into the room. “These ones?” she asks, pointing to the pile of designer clothes on the floor.
“Yes, it seems wasteful to throw them away. I’d rather someone else use them if they can,” I say, shaking out the trash bag and then folding each item and placing it inside.
“There’s a woman’s shelter about thirty minutes from here. They’re always looking for donations. But there are thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes here. Are you sure you don’t want any of them?” she asks, her eyes a little wide like I’ve lost my mind.
“I’m positive.” I nod. “I know you’re trying really hard not to look at the state of my face, and I appreciate that more than you know. But these clothes, and the person I was forced to be when I wore them, aren’t me. I won’t pretend anymore, so I have no need for any of this stuff,” I tell her, still carefully placing skirts and shirts into the bag. “I’m never going back,” I whisper.
Beth’s nod is full of understanding as she moves and picks up a shirt off the floor, folding it and passing it to me. “How about I run these things over to the shelter once I’ve made you all some lunch? I’m sure they’ll appreciate them.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, not speaking again as we work side by side, placing all of my Penelope-approved wardrobe into the trash bag.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Gulliver asks, strolling into my room and glancing from me to Beth to the huge trash bag.
He’s changed out of his school uniform and into baggy sweats and a muscle vest. For the first time, I can clearly see his tattoo, and my eyes run over the ink on his skin, taking in every detail. It’s a huge bird, drawn in black and white, its wings spread wide and soaring over a setting sun. The artwork is exquisite, and the tattoo I’d been so intrigued about when I’d seen it peeking out of his collar is actually the tip of the bird’s wing.
“Izzy,” Gulliver calls, pulling me from my daze and making me drag my eyes away from his huge, toned arms and chest.
“Er, oh, what?” I say, clearing my throat.
“I asked if everything was okay?” he asks with a smirk that says he knows I was ogling him.
“Oh, yeah, fine. I’m just getting rid of the stuff that’s from my Penelope Appreciation Society wardrobe. Beth offered to run it over to a woman’s shelter that’s not too far from here.”
“Oh, okay, are you coming downstairs?”
“I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to finish up here and get changed. I should have just kept my sweats on. Old habits, I guess…” I say, trailing off.
Gulliver nods, and his expressive eyes that were so intense when he was promising to protect me, soften. “For the record, I think you look sexier and more beautiful in your sweats than in anything that’s supposed to make you look like your sister.”
My mouth falls open, but he doesn’t speak again. He just turns and heads downstairs, like he didn’t just drop a very sweet compliment then walk away.
“I’ll take this bag. Is there anything else, miss?” Beth asks.
“No, thank you, Beth. You’ve been really helpful.”
Offering me a small smile, she scoops the trash bag from the floor and silently leaves. Closing the door behind her, I quickly strip out of my Penelope-approved clothes and pull on my favorite pair of jean shorts and a lilac, fitted cropped shirt that says I’m late because I didn’t want to come printed across the chest. Walking into the bathroom, I avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I drag my hairbrush through my hair and quickly twist it into two braids.
As I secure bands into the bottom of each plait, I catch sight of my reflection. I don’t gasp or pull back in shock. I might not want to look at myself right now, but I know what I look like.
The wave of emotion I’ve been fighting to keep below the surface surges upward, but I drag in a breath and push it down again. I can’t fall apart right now. It won’t do me any good. Falling apart won’t make my parents better people. It won’t make the marks, pain, and memories go away.
When I’m done doling out the only justice I can think of, I’ll give myself time to remember. Then I’ll take a week and lose my mind grieving a family that literally pretends I don’t exist. Until then, I’ll pull back my shoulders and do the only thing I can, which is be me, and try to convince myself over and over that it’s enough, until maybe I’ll believe it.
The shiny wooden floor is cold and comforting beneath my bare feet as I make my way down to the ugly white living room. I’m not sure it’s a room I’d choose to spend time in, but the terrace that’s attached to it is beautiful.
When I walk in, the doors are open, and I can hear the guys outside, so I head that way, not even pausing when my bare feet hit the pavers on the terrace.
“Hey,” I say to Kip when he’s the first to notice me.
“Hey, come sit, do you want a drink?” he asks, jumping up from his spot on the couch and moving toward me.
“A soda would be good, please,” I say, sinking down into an empty chair and curling my legs beneath me.
“Fuck, Izzy, you look like shit,” Davis calls, cringing as his eyes scan my face.
“Well, that’s what happens when you get punched a bunch of times. I’m not putting on makeup,” I reply tersely.
“Did you ice it? Does it hurt? Do you need some painkillers or something?” he asks.
“I have some painkillers the doctor prescribed me, but I’m actually much better today than yesterday,” I say with a shrug, taking the glass of soda that Kip holds out to me.
“Want me to go beat the shit out of your dad?” Thorn offers, his expression serious.
I can’t help but laugh. “Not right now, but thanks.”
Pulling up one shoulder, he shrugs. “Offer’s there, no expiration date.”
My eyes fall on Gulliver, who’s been oddly quiet, his attention fixed on the cell phone in his hands. His jaw is tense, and he looks angry, or at least I think that’s anger.
My lips part and I start to speak, but Beth arrives with a cart full of sandwiches and steaming bowls of soup. She busies herself setting up the lunch spread on the counter at the side of the wet bar, and my stomach growls appreciatively.
Grabbing a small FedEx box from the bottom of the cart, Beth hands it to Gulliver before she nods and leaves. I watch as he lowers his cell to the table in front of him, then looks up, finding me watching him.
“Here,” he says, throwing the package across the table at me.
I catch it on instinct and furrow my brow as I rip open the tab and find the latest model iPhone inside.
“I like my cell. I don’t want a new one,” I protest.
“I already got your number assigned to the new SIM in the box, and I added you to my account in case your parents disconnect your phone,” he says as he stands and crosses to the counter, filling a plate with food, then handing it to me.
“I could have got my own,” I say a little sulkily, as I take the plate from him and fight not to groan when I spot melted cheese oozing from the side of a toasted sandwich.
Ignoring me, he makes himself a plate and returns to his spot on the couch as the other guys all grab their own food.
“I got us all the rest of the week off school. I told the principal we were all being featured in an article about the most influential families in New York,” Gulliver says between bites of sandwich.
“Won’t she realize it’s all bullshit when an article doesn’t get published?” I ask.
“It will get published,” Thorn says. “We were all asked to do the article months ago, but we’ve been stalling them. Now they’re over the moon to not only write the article but to also have Gulliver’s beautiful fiancée from the very old and influential Rhodes family included as well.”
“What?” I shriek. “I can’t have photographs taken looking like this.” I flap my hand in front of me, gesturing to my beat-up face.
“It’s fine. We’ll hire our own hair and makeup and have them sign NDAs. Once they’ve worked their magic, no one will suspect that you’re anything but perfect and blemish-free. Plus, this is the perfect way to rocket you back into the public eye,” Kip says enthusiastically.
“We’re going to spin it that you chose to take a step away from the Elite social circle for the last few years, but that with the engagement, you’re ready to retake your position in society. Consider this your coming-out article without the dreadful dancing,” Gulliver says austerely.
“Where is it going to be published?” I ask, a ghost of a grin starting to spread over my lips.
“TheNew York Times society pages, where else?” Gulliver smirks.
My grin widens, and I can’t help laughing as I shake my head. “My mom is going to lose her mind; she’s been trying to get them to write an article about Penelope since the news about the inheritance came out.”
“That’s just step one, Little Ghost. After that, we have tickets and invites for every club opening, gala, fundraiser, and must-be-seen-at event for the next month, not to mention the ridiculous engagement party I plan to throw. In a matter of weeks, there will only be one Rhodes twin everyone is talking about, and it won’t be your fucking sister,” Gulliver says, a mischievous, seductive gleam in his eyes.
“I need to speak to the principal and try to get my class schedule moved around. I want to be in as many of my sister’s classes as possible,” I say.
“Why?” Davis asks.
“Because if I out my family for having me cheat for my sister, they’ll deny it. They’ll twist it around and make it seem like it’s me who’s cheating or lying. But if Penelope and I are both in the same class, taking the same tests at the same time, then there’s nothing they can do and no way Penelope can fake it. She’ll fail, and I’ll be there to witness it.”
“Which classes have you been taking for her?” Kip asks.
“English, all her math classes, biology, chemistry, physics, and sometimes world history. Sometimes I’d sit for a test or do her assignments for history and social science, but I’ve attended probably eighty percent of her core classes and sat for all the tests for the last three years. To be honest, the only class of hers that I don’t take is French.”
“What about when it was a pop quiz?” Gulliver asks, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“She’d text me, and then she’d ask to use the bathroom or find some other excuse to leave the room, and I’d go back in her place,” I say with a shrug.
“So, you both take the same classes, just in different periods?” Thorn asks, his nose scrunched up as he tries to figure out how I managed to cheat for my sister for so long.
“Basically, yes. Sophomore and junior year, she took a couple of classes that I didn’t, so Mom and Dad hired private tutors to teach me the curriculum so I could step in if I needed to. But for the most part, they just donated enough money to the school to make sure we were never in the same class at the same time and that the teachers didn’t question which Rhodes was actually in the room,” I say, lifting the last bite of my grilled cheese to my lips and humming appreciatively.
“Why not just get Penelope the tutors?” Davis asks, his shrewd eyes accessing me.
“Because they had her parading around in front of all of her potential husbands every night,” Gulliver answers before I have a chance.
I nod. “She did have tutors to start off with, but even with their help, she still struggled to maintain her GPA, and I didn’t. The Rhodes name can’t be sullied with anything less than an A, and Penelope is a B average student,” I sneer sardonically. “Ironically, I still have a perfect 4.0 despite the fact that I rarely attend my own classes.”
“So, without you taking her tests, she’s going to fail?” Thorn clarifies.
“Yep,” I say, smiling as I pop the p. “There’s less than six months until graduation. If she gets one B grade, she could pull it back with extra credit, but two B’s or one C ,and she’s fucked. Bye-bye 4.0 GPA, and bye-bye billion-dollar inheritance.”
Kip starts to laugh, and the sound makes my smile spread even wider.
“The terms of the will state that she has to be a success, and my great-grandfather judged success by results. To inherit, she has to graduate GAA with a perfect 4.0. Before this weekend, I would have helped my family make that happen,” I tell them, looking them each in the eye and finishing with Gulliver. “Now I want to sit back and watch while it’s all taken away from them.”