7. Claire
7
CLAIRE
I try not to gawk stupidly at everything, but gosh, it’s hard. This place is insane. It looks like the kind of club I see in TV shows; too posh and luxurious to really exist. The furnishings are all warm, dark leather—the kind that looks like it’ll be the same in fifty years.
In high school, I used to know a girl whose dad was making a fair bit of money in estate planning. She always had the latest of everything, followed the last fashions. A few years back, she invited Noah and me to her birthday party. We’d never been close, as she was part of the popular crew—a cheerleader—but Noah wanted to go, so we did.
Her house was the very opposite of this. I could tell every piece of furniture was chosen because it was expensive, or well known, or fashionable, but the overall vibe was cold, impersonal, uncomfortable.
This house is…cozy’s the wrong word, but I can imagine people just lying back on those sofas and reading a book. I bet they’re comfortable. There are too many students here tonight, so most of us are standing, but I’m curious to try my theory someday.
This isn’t the obvious, in your face, I-make-six-figures-a-year that I’ve encountered in the past. This place whispers wealth . Every piece goes together. I get the feeling most of the interior has been there for decades, and yet, it still looks pristine. All because the right thing was purchased from the start.
The art on the walls is another indication that I’m most definitely no longer in Kansas, Toto. The brushstrokes and the colors make it clear they’re all genuine, and every piece is stunning. But also interesting. I find myself looking at a red and gold abstract on white canvas that seems to speak of violence, pain, and beauty all at once.
“That’s Markus’s,” someone says.
I steel myself, recognizing the deep, slow, low timbre, which makes no sense as we’ve spoken literally twice.
Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to face Darius Keller. “Oh?”
He gives me that smile again. The one that doesn’t reach his intense, probing blue eyes. “Yeah. If a piece looks like it could be about murder, it’s definitely Markus painting it. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you. I think he mixes blood in his paint.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
That strange smile morphs into real amusement. “Clearly, you haven’t heard about my cousin Markus yet if you think that.”
“He’s very talented. Is his last name Keller too? I definitely want to follow him.”
Somehow, Keller finds that less amusing. “It’s Goltz, actually. He’s my aunt’s son. But you won’t find any of his art on the internet. He doesn’t display.”
“Shame. This is really good,” I praise.
Keller shrugs. “It’ll be gone next week. He replaces them when the mood strikes, and chucks the old ones out.”
Now, I gape wordlessly. That’s just…such a waste, in every possible sense.
The paint alone must cost a fortune, and the canvas too. But all materials aside, he’s good. People would buy his art. Hell, I would buy his art, if I could afford it.
“Don’t let him throw this one away, please. If he’s really just sending them to the trash, do you think I could have it?”
Keller raises an eyebrow. “Really? It feels a little violent for you.”
Somehow, I know what he means. I look sweet. I am sweet. “This piece doesn’t feel like me,” I admit, “but we don’t have to relate so something to love it.”
“Oh, hell no. That’s way too deep for Saturday night. You, my friend, need a drink. What’s your poison?”
I flush, embarrassed by the fact that I don’t actually have an answer. “I don’t know, I don’t drink much. Something sweet?”
“You’re in luck today. We have a bartender in the lounge. I’ll go get you something. How about you?” he says.
I suddenly remember I’m not alone. Lily has remained silent and out of sight, standing patiently next to me. I’m the one who stopped noticing her, first fascinated by the painting, and next, by him.
“Something sweet sounds great, thanks.” She offers her hand. “Lily.”
“I’ve seen you around a couple of times,” he tells her, shaking the offered hand for less than a second. “Be right back, ladies.”
Lily’s staring at me with a funny look in her eyes. I pretend to ignore her, but she doesn’t look away, so I have to cave. “What?”
“You have a thing for him.”
“Please.” I huff in annoyance. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh. And I was literally standing there, waiting for you to introduce me, but you were too busy staring into the depths of his eyes like nothing else existed.”
Like an extremely mature eighteen-year-old grown-ass woman, I stick my tongue out at her.
She chuckles. “I don’t blame you. Man, he’s pretty. Everything and everyone here is pretty.”
I see exactly what she means. There’s literally not one unattractive person in the room. It’s eerie. There are people of varying size, shape, nationality, and gender, but what everyone seems to have in common is looking like they came out of a Vogue photoshoot.
“Then we must be pretty too, or they would have kicked us out,” Lily declares.
I grin.
Once I start paying attention to the people more than the art and interior design, I feel some probing stares, like they can’t really place me, but no one seems hostile. That doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m an imposter, in the wrong clothes, in the wrong house. I don’t belong here.
“As I live and breathe. Lily Trueman, here on my street.” A tall guy with an incredible physique his vest does nothing to hide approaches my roommate, smirking.
I see her stiffen, which is a little out of character, given nothing really seems to get to her.
“Cross,” she sneers, with a glare I wouldn’t have thought her capable of.
He only grins wider. “Want to introduce me to your pretty friend?”
“Not particularly.”
Ignoring her, Cross offers me his hand. “Hector Cross. You’ll have to give me your name or I’ll call you Barbie.”
“What is it with old, unusual names in this town?” I wonder. “And I’m Claire. Definitely not Barbie.”
So far, I’ve heard Aurelius, Darius, Markus, Magnus , and now, Hector.
“Well, Claire, you can blame the name on those guys.” He waves in the general direction of a group assembled on one of the comfortable-looking dark green sofas.
Unless I’m mistaken, the Markus, Marius, and Aurelius are amongst them.
“The Kellers’ grandfather was a palaeophile, way into lost civilizations, dead languages, that type of stuff. He called his kids Arlo, Augustus, and Marcella. They, themselves, chose Grecian names for their kids after that. The daughter married Eriks Goltz, the most loaded man in town. He sets trends. So, my sheep of a mother decided to hop on the trend. I just go by Cross.”
“Hector suits you,” I say, because, well, the golden tan, the pile of defined muscles, dark hair, and ever-changing amber-hazel eyes definitely give the impression of strength.
“ Please don’t encourage him. His head is plenty big enough,” Lily begs me.
I’m definitely trampling over some history, and I certainly don’t want my new friend to be mad at me, so I take my cue, hooking my arm around her elbow. “We need to find Keller; he has our drinks.”
Cross’s smirk morphs into a full-on smile. “Oh, I got it. No need to hold up a sign screaming I’m spoken for. No one’s going to encroach on Keller’s territory. I just wanted to see my favorite little cosplayer squirm.”
I can’t decide what, amongst everything he just said, shocks me the most. “I’m not—” I was going to say I’m not spoken for, but that’s not right; I am. Just not by Keller. The fact that he assumed so makes me squirm much more than Lily. “We’re not…” I try again.
Lily saves me. “Come on, Claire. He’s not worth the bother, trust me .”
As we walk away, in the direction Keller took to get us those sweet drinks he promised, I whisper, “What was that all about?”
Lily rolls his eyes. “He’s a player on the college hockey team. Which is terrible, by the way. What are they thinking, playing hockey in California? They don’t even have snow half the time. Anyway, it’s like him and the rest of his hockey friends haven’t left high school. They just love picking on my friends and me for being…” She shrugs. “Us. I don’t mind too much, but they’re just horrible to Liv. You’ll meet her eventually; she’s painfully shy.”
“Ugh, I know the type.” I glance back at the guy who’s watching us walk away. “I didn’t get a bully vibe from him, though.”
“I suppose he’s not the worst of them,” she admits reluctantly. “But he doesn’t stop anyone, and he could.”
I’m silent for a while. I never really thought to blame someone for their inaction, as such. This makes me scrunch up my nose. Back home, some of Noah’s friends were pretty terrible to anyone they didn’t consider consequential. It was awful to watch, and I was pretty certain the only reason I was left alone was because I was with Noah. But Noah has never actually said anything to stop any of them. When I think about it, it’s pretty messed up. At the time, I was just glad the bile wasn’t thrown at me, so I just kept my head down and didn’t think much about it.
We enter a second lounge, with bookshelves filled with both academic texts and fiction; anything from graphic novels to classics, and fantasy titles. I would have expected gaming consoles and DVDs from a college house, but instead, this study-slash-lounge-slash-bar has a reading nook. The seat’s taken, but I can imagine myself claiming one of those deep armchairs and tuning out the world, a good book in hand.
“They don’t even have a TV,” I muse.
“There’s a home theater on the first floor, actually.” I was too focused on the room and missed Keller’s approach until he was right in front of us, two drinks in hand. “Ladies. I asked for something sweet, and Luke made you what he calls a porn star martini.”
I’m blushing like an idiot. Porn is another word that shouldn’t cross Keller’s lips in public.
“Oh, I know that one!” Lily says, taking her glass eagerly. “Thanks.”
The drink is orange with half an inch of foam on top. I take a tentative sip, and my eyes widen. “Oh, yum.”
“Yeah? I’m a little curious, after seeing him make it.”
“Oh, you should try!” Without thinking, I offer him my glass.
It only occurs to me that it’s an oddly intimate thing, sharing a single glass, when he’s dipping his lip in the foam. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Add fuck to the list.
He gives me back my drink. “I think I’ll order one of those.”
“Most guys wouldn’t want to walk around with a girly cocktail in hand.”
“Most guys have something to prove,” he replies, shrugging.
The implication he doesn’t is something I refuse to dwell on.
“Be careful with that; I think he put more vodka and liqueur than anything else.”
“Really?” Lily pouts. “But it tastes so good! I can’t even tell there’s any alcohol.”
“Trust me, there is. I’d better go bug Luke again.”
With his warning in mind, I make myself sip my drink slowly.
“Oh, we’ll tag along,” Lily offers.
My guess is, she’d do just about anything to avoid another chat with Cross.
“It’s pretty crazy that you guys hired a bartender for a college party. What’s wrong with punch and beer kegs?”
“Nothing, but the ladies like cocktails.” He shrugs. “Luke’s a student, anyway. We have a fair few helpers from the main dorms. They do odd jobs for the houses, and we pay into a pot to cover their dorm fees. Everyone wins.”
Luke was awfully busy, with a dozen people waiting around his marble bar for their orders, but when he spots Keller, he immediately asks, “What do you need?”
Keller points to the two of us, standing on either side of him, with each of his thumbs. “The girls are already halfway done with their cocktails; and I wouldn’t mind one myself. You can make it all in one shaker, right? It’ll be easier to do all three at once.”
“You got it, let me just finish the couple of kir royales.”
I watch him serve the mix of crème de cassis and Champagne, pouring Moet and Chandon from a magnum bottle. “I’ve never had champagne,” I say idly.
“Luke, we have an emergency over here,” Keller calls. “This philistine needs Champagne, stat.”
“Damn, never?” From Luke’s wide eyes, that’s a sin. “You can’t have a kir for your first time. It’s lovely, but you need to try it neat.”
“Well, I’ve had cava, and prosecco.”
Luke looks like he could cry. “You’re breaking my heart, girl.”
He grabs a crystal flute with a delicate design from under the bar and fills it before sliding the drink to me. I set down my half-finished martini to try it.
It occurs to me he gave the girls their drinks in plain glasses.
“Hey, I’ve had Champagne, but not from a fancy expensive brand. I’ve seen this one around, it’s like, twice the price of the one my mom gets. Can I have some, too?”
Lily is also given a pretty glass.
“It’s the best the wyverns keep on hand, chilled,” Keller says. “They have a few nicer bottles in the cellar, but nothing like what we keep in the vesper tower. If you like it, we’ll have to expand your palate someday.”
I dip my lips into my drink. “Oh, fuck .”
“A four-letter word, huh?” Keller smirks. “Somehow, I actually didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”
I pout. “I’m not a prude.”
Except I kind of am. But not out of choice; I’ve just been raised in a way that doesn’t allow for most kids’ usual activities—booze, parties, that kind of thing. My grandmother was very against it. She constantly compared me to my mother, assuring me that I’d end up like her if I didn’t do what I was supposed to do.
Which is stupid. My mother is doing fine for herself.
Sure, she had a kid early, and let her own mother raise the kid, but she has a good job, friends, a social circle. A lot of things I missed out on myself. Like freedom.
That was one of the reasons I applied to so many out-of-state schools. Get to really see the world, out of my grandmother’s judgmental gaze. And here I am, drinking expensive Champagne from a fancy flute.
“I don’t want to ever drink anything else,” I gush.
“Not even your cocktail?” Keller teases.
I amend my statement to, “I only want to drink what Luke serves.”
“Luke better serve some water eventually, then,” Lily teases me.
Watching Luke work on our cocktail is fascinating. It’s so good, I make myself observe him to remember how to make it. But after one porn star martini and half a flute of Champagne, I’m already a little tipsy. I really have to slow down.
“So, Keller,” Lily says. “How come you get priority over everyone waiting around? No one really seems to mind.”
“Seniority,” he replies with a shrug. “And hierarchy, as a general rule. If my cousins were waiting, they would have been served first.”
“I see.” Lily nods, like what he’s saying is no big deal. “I’ve noticed some of the pecking order amongst you guys from the sidelines. Who’s above you in Rothford, would you say?”
He tilts his head. “My cousins, for sure. Magnus, Marius, and Markus. The first two have seniority and a much bigger wallet, along with the kind of name that makes people notice. Markus is younger than me, but we’re both on our first post-grad year. The little shit’s a genius. He’d still have priority here, as this is his house. Next door, we’re around the same level.”
“And?” Lily prompts.
He shoots her a wolfish grin. “And no one.”
“Not even the other Kellers? Voss, Cross, Rothford, Hunt, Archer…” she lists.
The only name that stands out to me is Rothford, the name of the school. And I guess Cross, as I just met him.
“Voss is new money. A lot of money, but new all the same, especially in this town. His dad’s a Hunt, but the least consequential of them. Everyone knows Lewis is a cunt. The Rothfords lost all their money and some of their status. Vi’s fine, but she gets more clout from being married to Voss than her own name. Archer and Hunt? They would be way, way above me; same level as the Goltzes, really, if they were studying here. But they’re at Stanford and Harvard, so, yep. Just my cousins. As for the other Kellers…” He winks. “Well, there’s a reason I’m the one they call Keller.”
Somehow, he doesn’t sound boastful. It almost feels like he’s limiting the extent of his reach and status. He didn’t hesitate to say both Hunt and Archer—whoever they are—were above him in status, and didn’t expound on why he’s the Keller, for example, although my internet search gives me a hint. After all, the whole family is loaded, but from what I understand, it’s Arlo, his dad, and his modelling career that launched them all. He’s even the reason why Marcella Keller met Eriks Goltz in the first place.
When I snooped on the Kellers, the internet was all about Arlo, Darius, and—somewhat strangely—Octavia. Maybe because they’re all models.
“Makes sense,” Lily says. “Well, if that gets us drinks faster, you’re a good friend to have.”
“Friends,” he muses. “I like that. I don’t have many of those. Yes, let’s be friends, Lily Trueman.”
“Really?” Lily chuckles. “What would you call the dozens of people always around you.”
“Acquaintances.”
“What’s the difference?” I ask.
I feel a bit left out of the conversation, mostly because I was just watching and finishing my Champagne flute. I place it back on the bar and start on the cocktail.
“Friends do things for each other. There’s a degree of loyalty with that sort of relationship. With acquaintances, it’s all about give and take. I can’t take much from you,” he tells Lily. “So, we’ll have to be friends instead.”
“How about me?” I question.
He was looking specifically at Lily, and excluding me. Not anymore.
My heart skips a beat in the seconds when he turns those blue eyes back to mine, assessing and probing. “I haven’t quite decided, little ghost.”
He says it like he’s kidding, but those eyes? There’s no humor in them. Just cold, unadulterated focus.
He smiles. Lily laughs.
I take a big sip of my cocktail and look away.
I don’t like this. It’s not right. We’re flirting. I shouldn’t flirt with a guy I met two days ago. I have a boyfriend. I certainly shouldn’t feel my core tighten and heat from a single, intense glance.
I really shouldn’t have come here.