20. Juliette
JULIETTE
R oman Montgomery may not be dead, but he’s dead to me.
That’s probably dramatic, but it’s the only thought on my mind as I pace the length of the table in our formal dining hall.
Laughter floats in from the people tipsy off champagne and still schmoozing out back, but their joy doesn’t come close to affecting me. My heels—the ones I’ve since put back on my feet—are the only other noise.
Although, my brother Alex’s silent judgment feels loud.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
I don’t even know what I’m so upset about. It’s not like Ryder—no, Roman —and I really knew each other or owed one another anything.
But the second that thought crosses my mind, I know it’s not entirely true. I was open with him in a way I’m not with other people. There was a freedom there, because he didn’t know anything about me or who I was supposed to be.
But he knew the whole time.
Maybe he was using me.
But for what? To be cruel?
As a gotcha moment for my family? What could he possibly accomplish with that?
The more I think about it, the less it makes sense. I was the one who sought him out, at least after the first couple of times running into him. And it isn’t like he sent the art tickets to Felicity.
Confusion spirals through me like I’m free-falling from a cliff, and I can’t tell which way is up.
Alex is the only other person in here with me, after rushing after me when I stormed through the front door.
He doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, because he was the only one of us that wasn’t out there.
“Why are you standing there like a creeper?” I snap, needing an outlet for my anger.
He frowns and then scoffs, moving to the chair at the end of the table, dramatically pulling it out and plopping down in it. “There. Happy?”
I give him a sarcastic smile. “Thrilled.”
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
I stop pacing, giving him a look. “Why does there have to be something wrong?”
“Yeah.” He puts his feet up on the table, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the chair. “You’re really calm and put together right now. My mistake.”
A grin pulls at my lips, and I shake my head, sighing. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles, and it’s so similar to our mother that it’s physically painful to look at.
Alex is the only one of us who really favors her over our father.
His brown hair is lighter, almost a golden brown instead of the black like the rest of us, and it has the perfect amount of wave that makes it look like it’s styled even though he doesn’t do a damn thing to it.
His eyes are like honey mixed with green, and his looks are so movie star–esque, it’s a miracle he hasn’t up and left us for Hollywood.
He is an actor, after all, even if his degree is in philosophy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“About what?” I’m pacing again.
He waves his hand in the air. “Whatever’s got you looking like you’re about to huff and puff and blow this place down.”
I stop and frown at him. “No.”
Footsteps sound from down the hall, and Alex smirks. “Fine, you can talk about it with Dad instead, then.”
“How do you know that’s Dad?” I strain my ears trying to hear, but it could be anyone walking toward us for all I know.
“His steps sound different.”
“That’s such a weird thing to notice.”
Alex shrugs.
Father rounds the corner into the dining room in the next second, and my mouth drops open, glancing back at Alex.
He winks, proud of himself.
My father stares at me, and I remain silent, every second making my skin itch from being under his gaze.
Does he know that I knew Roman? Is he mad at me? Did he hurt him?
The last question pisses me off, because why should I care? Roman hurt me . Even if that’s ridiculous after such a short amount of time knowing each other.
“Everything okay?” I finally ask to gauge the waters. “Who was that?”
His nostrils flare and then he clears his throat. “That was Roman Montgomery.”
Damn, his poker face is good. I’ve never been able to get a read on him.
My mouth grows dry. “And who is that, exactly?”
Dad moves farther into the room, resting his hands on the back of a chair, his knuckles blanching from how tightly he grips it.
“Marcus Montgomery’s son,” he says.
Alex laughs.
I snap my attention to him. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just impossible, is all. Marcus’s son is dead, don’t you remember it being all over the news? He’s obviously joking, Jules.” He waves his hand toward Dad, who is frowning over at Alex.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“Well, sweetheart, that would make two of us.” Dad gives me a tight smile.
“He’s really Marcus’s son?” Alex asks, the amusement dropping from his face.
“It would appear that way.” He gives me a sharp look. “Why were you talking to him?”
I stutter, rearing back like he smacked me. “I…I don’t know why?—”
Alex laughs again in disbelief, his feet dropping to the ground as he leans in, eyes alight. “Holy shit, you’re serious?”
Dad cuts him a glare, and I don’t even know what the hell is going on.
“Dad,” I say, taking a step toward him.
His gaze softens. “I’m sorry, honey, welcome home. This isn’t how I wanted today to go.” He opens his arms to offer a hug, and my chest warms, but before I take a step, my mother walks in, and right behind her is that dickhead Preston.
My father’s eyes break away from mine, going to them instead, his arms dropping.
“There you are,” my mother chirps.
Her eyes betray the playful lilt of her voice as they cut from my father to me, a hint of disapproval blazing in their depths.
I learned to play the game from watching how well she does it, actually, so it isn’t difficult to wipe any look off my face and plaster on the practiced Calloway grin.
“We’ve been looking all over for you,” she continues.
My father smooths out his features and walks to my mother, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek and then reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Preston, glad you could make it.”
I blink at them as they walk toward me.
To my side, Alex stiffens, a scowl marring his features.
Preston is conventionally attractive, and as much as I hate to admit it, that’s only gotten better with his age.
He’s tall, although with my frame, when I wear high heels, we’re close.
He’s lean but muscular, and he’s in a perfectly fitted suit with sandy blond hair that’s meticulously styled off his face.
His smile is blinding and white, and his blue eyes sparkle when he takes my hand in his.
It’s familiar, and just like it used to when he beamed at me in high school, my heart speeds, just a little.
But his palms are soft.
A memory of calloused fingers tangling with mine and a rough hand wrapped around my throat flashes in my mind.
I push it down, annoyed with myself, because honestly, fuck Roman Montgomery. Anything I thought I had with him can’t exist.
It doesn’t exist.
So, when my father tells Preston to take me back out to the party, I don’t argue, and when Preston asks me on a date an hour later, I say yes, purely out of spite.