Chapter 1
1
DAISY
I stand ramrod straight. The black pumps are cutting into the sides of my feet, but I ignore the feeling, and I don’t shift.
‘Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.’ The priest waves an incense thing over the coffin.
I don’t roll my eyes the way I want to. Mom wasn’t even Catholic. I don’t think John is either.
Like me being here, it’s just another thing that’s for show.
I glance up at the other women dressed in black who are standing around, watching my mother’s casket being lowered into the ground. I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone here except for John, who’s standing next to me, and his two sons, Andrew and Jack. I watch one of the women wipe her eye with a tissue behind her large, dark sunglasses. I give it a few seconds, and then I mimic the action. There’s no tear to wipe, but I have similar shades on, so it’ll look like I’m suitably upset. The appearance of normality is what matters.
I am. Upset, I mean. But I haven’t cried. Just before I left The Heath, after I heard that my mother was dead, Doctor Stoke asked me if I had .
Under his hawk-like eyes, I’d assured him that, of course, I’d cried at the news of my beloved mother’s passing, delivered to me by Crewes, one of the blanks, in a bored tone while he picked at a crusty stain on the breast of his white uniform. The doctor in charge of The Heath had nodded sagely at my words, and probably gone to his office to put a tick next to the ‘shows appropriate outward emotion’ column of his ‘Marguerite is cured ’ checklist.
The fucker’s been under the illusion that I can’t lie for years. One I admit I fostered on purpose once I realized they had some pretty narrow views regarding what Marguerite’s poor little autistic brain was capable of compared with theirs ... regardless of the fact that I got top marks in all my online classes. But, then, I suppose my IQ has never been the problem.
I allow myself a cursory glance around the cemetery. It’s vast, and the headstones are well-tended. I suppose she’d appreciate that. My mom did like things to be just so. The leaves on the mature trees are beginning to change, and I give them an extra second of my attention. That was one of the things I missed while I was in old England, the changing of the summer to fall in New England.
I’d forgotten how bright the colors get.
I realize the priest has stopped speaking, and people’s heads are bowed in prayer. I copy them, but I don’t bother speaking to God. I found out early on at The Heath that praying was about as useful as trying to call my mom. Neither ever answered.
A minute later, people are starting to walk away. That’s it. My mom’s life summed up in an hour in a cemetery. The priest didn’t even say anything specific about her. I have no idea what her life was like after she left me that afternoon nine years ago. Did she miss me the way I missed her ?
I cut the line of thought immediately. It can only lead to hours of mind circles, and I’m too jet-lagged for that today.
I glance at John in my periphery. He hasn’t spoken to me since I got here. He had a car waiting for me at the airport to drive me straight to my mom’s funeral, and I was almost late, which put me into a semi-nervous state right off the plane. Now that the funeral is done though, I’m beginning to calm down.
When said stepfather finally speaks, it’s not to me. ‘Have Marguerite brought to the house. I’ll go through things with her there.’
His manner reminds me of Stoke in more ways than one, and that has my lip curling into a sneer that I immediately wipe off my face, bringing my expression to the one of polite interest that I was made to practice for hours on end if I wanted any rewards like dessert ... or to go outside.
I wonder what he needs to discuss with me. Will he send me back to The Heath tonight or wait until tomorrow?
Glancing at Jack and Andrew, I keep my face expressionless. I haven’t seen either of them in almost a decade. They’ve grown up. I guess we all have. But in Jack’s case, the changes are pronounced. Where once was a weedy, gangly boy of fourteen, there now stands a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-two. He’s probably half a head taller than me. His light blonde hair is shorter than it was and the cut looks well-maintained. It’s soft and brings into focus his angular jaw and chiseled features. I always did find his face oddly pleasing to look at, but now I find I like it even more. By comparison, his brother Andrew, Jack’s elder by only a few minutes, is shorter and a bit stockier. His face is pudgier, his hair thinner and darker, and I already don’t enjoy looking at him. They’re both staring at me like they don’t know me. I suppose I do look different these days.
‘Marguerite?’ Andrew asks, his eyes moving up and down my figure in a way I’ve seen the blanks do when they don’t think anyone’s watching.
I resist the urge to fidget under their combined gazes, to smooth the black pencil skirt that’s a little too tight around my arse ... ass , to pull at the matching fitted blazer that’s also a little small. It was waiting for me on the private plane. One of the two flight attendants told me that her notes had a request in them that I put the suit on before we landed. The woman looked half-afraid that the passenger before her in the gray clothes with The Heath’s insignia emblazoned on the front of it was going to attack her at any moment.
I just put them on as requested , but whichever blank gave John my measurements to get my outfit together for my mom’s send-off was off a little. It was probably Crewes. He couldn’t get a number right to save his life, or the perverted arsehole ... asshole just wanted to see me in a tight skirt. The dickhead probably assumed he’d be escorting me on my little trip across the pond.
But there are no blanks with me. It was a surprise, I’ll admit, when Stoke told me a car was coming to take only me and to give his regards to my father.
He’s not my father.
It was jarring to leave The Heath anyway, but not even to have any of the blanks with me ... I didn’t like it, and I hated that I didn’t like it because I’ve been wanting out of that place since the day I got there. Now that I have a chance to be free, a part of me is terrified to take the leap.
I’m out.
I’m out right now.
So what am I going to do?
Where am I going to go?
I regard the twins in front of me and give them a vacant smile to put them at ease, to make them underestimate me .
I’ll figure it out. But, whatever happens, I’m sure as hell not going back to The Heath.
Jack (Shade)
Marguerite walks in front of us as Andy gives her a flourishing gesture toward the cars still parked on the gravel close by.
‘Is that really her?’ he asks me quietly. ‘I don’t remember her being ...’
Smoking hot?
Surreptitiously, my gaze travels the length of her body from her shiny dark hair that’s up in a French twist, along slim hourglass curves, and down to her narrow ankles.
I pull at my collar as I give him a smirk. ‘Well, she left, what, nine years ago? She was only a kid.’
We all were.
My eyes lock onto her ass, swaying slightly in that tight, black pencil skirt. Her heels are a bit clompy. Conservative. Like a librarian.
The thought goes straight to my dick, and I just stop the groan I want to let out as I watch Andy catch up to her and fall into step next to her, murmuring in a low voice as he gestures around to the trees.
What the fuck is he talking about with her? The foliage? But she says something back and nods at him. He glances back at me, and his hand moves from his side to behind her, pretending to grab her ass for my benefit. I roll my eyes.
We get to the sleek, stretch town car, and he opens the door for her like a gentleman. She slides into the leather backseat with a murmured ‘thank you’. Andy’s eyes lock onto mine, and he bites his fist dramatically.
I nudge him and give him a warning look.
‘Just making sure our sister is settled,’ he says with a wink.
‘She’s not our sister,’ I mutter with a frown.
He raises a brow. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘C’mon ...’
I glance through the window at her, sitting in the car with her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. I knew our father had sent for her when April was killed in the crash. I try not to think about that. I miss her a lot. She was the only mom Andy and I ever knew and she tried her hardest to be one to us both, especially after Daisy was taken to the UK.
April couldn’t actually protect us from our father. Not really. John always gets things his way, and that included how he parented his sons. But I never begrudged my stepmom not being able to stand up to him.
Few can.
I let out a small sigh. A part of me was excited to see Marguerite again. We lived as siblings for over a year before they took her to that clinic. We played videogames together in my room sometimes. I looked after her in school when I could. I liked her. I wince as I remember the childlike grin she just gave us.
‘You know she’s not all there,’ I mutter to Andy.
He chuckles. ‘Looks like enough of her is to me.’
My reproachful expression has him putting his hands up. ‘Okay, okay. Marguerite is our sister in every sense of the word. Fine. I won’t do anything inappropriate.’
I snort. ‘Yeah, right.’
Andy goes around the other side of the car and gets in. I take a moment to turn back to look at April’s final resting place on the small hill. She would have liked the spot I picked .
‘Goodbye, mom,’ I whisper, my heart aching as how much I’m going to miss her finally hits me.
It’s like I’m finally realizing I’ll never get a hug from her again. She’ll never fix my tie for me, or make sure I had dinner. She wasn’t my real mom, but she might as well have been.
I wipe my eyes before I get in the car, pushing my grief away for now. There’ll be time for it later. School is about to start and she would want me to do my best in my last year at Richmond.
I close the door. Marguerite is between Andy and me. She’s put on her seatbelt, I note as the car begins to move, and we leave the cemetery.
The ten-minute drive to the house is made in silence. As we arrive at the intricate iron gate, it swings open slowly and the car turns into the long driveway. We pull up on the semicircle in front of the wide marble steps a minute later, and I get out, not waiting for our driver to open it.
I extend my hand to Marguerite, wondering if she’ll take it. She didn’t like being touched, I recall. Wouldn’t even hug her mom. Though there was one time ...
The hesitant touch of her fingers makes me jolt back to the present as she elegantly swings her legs around and gracefully rises from the vehicle.
I half wonder if she wasn’t at a clinic at all for the past decade but at some finishing school or something instead.
I watch as her head tips back to survey the house in front of us, her expression inscrutable. I follow her eyes, taking in the white exterior, the columns by the large front door, and the many windows that make the house so bright inside.
Does she remember her year here, though it was almost a decade ago?
‘Dad will be waiting,’ Andy says, looking impatiently down at us from the top step .
Her eyes find him, and she blinks slowly.
I stare at her as covertly as I can. I’m sure there was something defiant in that blink, but it was gone in less than a second. I get the feeling that there’s more in her expressions than I can discern at the moment. I wonder if we’ll get to know each other again while she’s here. I guess that depends on how long our father has decided she’s staying for. It’s up to him. Despite the fact that we’re the same age, her mental state means he’s still her legal guardian.
She walks up the stairs slowly, her movements poised and her back straight. Could probably put a book on her head right now, and it would balance there easily.
A butler opens the light grey door, and she nods her head at him almost regally as she enters the foyer. Her heels clack on the parquet flooring as we move past the stairs and toward the back of the house, where our father’s office overlooks the tiered gardens, pool house and tennis courts.
Andy knocks on the last door on the left, and I hear our father’s voice say, ‘Enter.’ He opens the door and goes in. Marguerite hesitates for a second but then follows my brother while I bring up the rear. As soon as I’m inside, I can hear a discernable clicking, and my eyes search the room for the sound. I find a metronome on the shelf in the corner. I stalk to the closest wall and lean against it mostly so I can watch Marguerite’s and my father’s expressions while they talk.
She’s giving him that vacant smile again, and my stomach twists unpleasantly. She was always weird when we were kids. She was very quiet, yet quick to anger, and had a lot of issues at school, but she was all there . What happened to her?
I shake myself a little. What do I care? She was put in that place in England for a reason. She was a fucking danger to herself and others .
Marguerite moves into the room almost carefully. She looks at my father and then her head turns toward the metronome as well. She stares at it a moment too long before she gives my father her attention again, the child-like smile still on her face.
John Novelle senior regards her and then snorts.
‘I already read Stoke’s most recent notes, Marguerite. Did you think I wouldn’t keep tabs on your progress?’ He sits back in his chair, and it creaks a little. ‘He’s admitted that you’re ready for life out here. That you’ll no longer be ... an embarrassment to this family.’
She looks so uncomprehending as she stares at him that I open my mouth to tell him to stop being so hard on her, that there’s been a mistake because how can she ever have a life in the real world?
But my father speaks again before I can. ‘Cut the shit, Marguerite. Do you want to go back to The Heath? Is that it?’
To my surprise, the empty look melts off her face, and a more assessing and much worldlier expression takes over her features. My mouth falls open and I see Andy’s do the same. What the fuck? Has she been playing us?
‘I do not,’ she says simply, her accent holding a bit of a British lilt.
My father nods. ‘Well, I’m giving you a chance. I was told you were able to keep up with your studies and that you earned the UK equivalent of a High School Diploma plus,’ he waves a flippant hand, ‘a few college credits. So, I’ve enrolled you as a sophomore. You’ll be getting your Bachelor of Arts in English Literature. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. I understand.’
My father’s eyes narrow a fraction. ‘Yes, I understand what, Marguerite?’
‘Yes, I understand, Sir . ’
His lips turn up a little. ‘Let’s see if you’re as cured as Stoke believes you to be, shall we?’ he leans forward. ‘But any repeat of the problems from before, and you’re going right back.’
She inclines her head.
‘Good. You’re enrolled at Richmond University. You’ll be staying with Jack.’
I push myself off the wall at his words, sure I’ve misheard.
‘You think she’s going to be staying with me?’ I splutter. ‘In the house ? With the others? You aren’t serious.’
But I can see from my father’s expression that he’s not kidding ... not that he’s the joking kind.
‘It’s a Frat house, Pop. I know I’m a senior and all, but we can’t just have girls living there. Especially not ones like ... her .’
She turns her head to look at me. I’m almost afraid I’ll see hurt in her eyes or something, but there’s nothing on her face.
My father stands up, leaning forward with his fists on the desk. ‘I paid for that Frat house, goddammit. Hell, the new science building is called the fucking Novelle Center, Jack. In case you’ve forgotten, my money makes sure you have all the advantages possible despite the direction you’ve decided to take, so you WILL do this, or maybe that lab you and your friends fuck around in gets repurposed. There are plenty of Grad students who have their eyes on it, I’m told.’
He glances in the mirror over the mantle and fixes his hair with his fingers while he makes a visible effort to relax. ‘Anyway, I’ve already spoken to Dean Wallis, and, as anticipated, he doesn’t care. So, yes. You’ll be the one to watch her, boy. You’ll make sure she goes to class and gets the grades she needs this year.’ He jabs a finger in the air toward me, but his eyes narrow on Marguerite. ‘Anything happens, and it’s on you. And fix her up with a weekly allowance, too. I won’t have anyone accusing me of not being a good father.’
I see something pass over Marguerite’s features and I brace myself for an outburst, but she doesn’t make a sound and the expression of polite interest is back in place before anyone else notices.
My father walks slowly around his desk. ‘Remember, it can all go away, Jack. All of it. In the blink of an eye. Do as you’re told and you can do what you want within reason. That’s the deal.’
I hear Andrew snigger, and I throw him a look that promises pain if I get my hands on him later. This is my father’s punishment for choosing not to go to an Ivy League school with my brother. Another one in a long line over the past three years since he realized I wasn’t messing around, that I was actually not going to follow in his footsteps.
I won’t be under his thumb forever, I remind myself as I grind out a ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Andrew, you’re heading back to Harvard tomorrow, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’ He smirks at me and twists the knife in a little. ‘Business School’s waiting, you know?’
‘I do.’ My dad puffs up a little with pride. ‘Well, I’ll say goodbye to you now. I’m at a conference in Zurich for the next few days, and I’m leaving early tomorrow.’
I notice he doesn’t speak to or even look at Marguerite again as we say our farewells and leave the office.
In the hall, I punch Andy in the shoulder. ‘Fucking kiss-ass,’ I mutter.
He smirks and shrugs. Then, he glances at Marguerite.
‘Where is the restroom, please?’ she asks before he speaks.
I frown. She lived here. Doesn’t she remember?
‘Down the hall to the left toward the front door,’ I say, but she’s already walking slowly away from us .
She knew. She just wanted an excuse to escape us, I realize.
‘I almost feel bad for you,’ Andy chuckles. ‘Almost.’
‘Fuck you,’ I snarl. ‘I mean, what the fuck? What the hell am I supposed to do with her?’
‘I can think of a few things,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows. ‘She’s clearly ‘all there’, as you put it. You’re lucky. You’re going to have a hot girl living with you all year.’
My brother stares down the hall with a thoughtful look on his face. ‘I thought that place was bullshit. Figured it was a home for people like her, like a forever type of home, you know? But she almost seemed normal in there. I wonder if they really did cure her.’
I huff. ‘Maybe you should ask her.’
‘Maybe I will. But not now.’ He claps me on the shoulder. ‘I gotta pack. Not all of us can float along doing addition and subtraction at college!’
‘Chemistry is not addition and subtraction,’ I mutter, but he’s already heading down the corridor toward the kitchens, whistling an annoying tune.
‘Whatever,’ he calls behind him.
Asshole.
I go back to the foyer and wait for Marguerite while I message the other seniors in the house about what’s going on. Mav and Blake are going to be pissed that we’re on babysitting duty all year, that’s for sure, but there’s no way in hell I’m not roping them in. If I’m in this, they’re in this too. Maybe if all three of us pull our weight, we won’t have to waste too much time looking after her.
I only hope Marguerite can handle it. I pause, thinking things through. Maybe it would be best if she cracks. Then, my father will send her back to that clinic, and she’ll be out of our hair.
Maybe we can... help her along .
I smirk and message the chat I have with the guys. I almost feel bad for her. But then I remember her little subterfuge, and my jaw clenches. She was the one who threw herself into open water by fucking with me. It’s her fault if the sharks get her now.