Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CADENCE
By the end of the week, I’ve adjusted to my new circumstances. Being on the outs with the ‘popular’ table hasn’t really hurt me.
Rox isn’t above shoulder-checking me in the corridors, but Felicity still gives a friendly nod when Gretchen isn’t beside her. Perhaps she’s shoring up her allies to prepare for the day she gets shoved aside.
Hudson is the biggest help.
His relaxed attitude soothes my nerves when he drives me each morning. His playful overtures never overwhelm me, and I look forward to the journeys, flattered by his constant flirting.
The thought of our upcoming date still excites rather than fazes me. When I remind Mum I’ll be out for the evening, she asks Arnold if she can take us both to a beauty salon early on Saturday.
He agrees, phoning through to a spa attached to his gym membership where we can charge everything back to his name.
We relax in the heated water, then steam clean ourselves in the sauna before dipping into a cold plunge pool to seal those open pores closed. A makeup artist contours my face until I look magazine cover ready, and a hairstylist tames the worst of my curls, adding highlights and streaks of rich chestnut brown to my supermarket brand DIY dye job.
While they work their magic on Mum, I relax in a chair, glancing over when a middle-aged woman takes the seat next to mine.
“Having a nice day?” she asks, and I smile, giving a polite nod. “You’re Arnold Fletcher’s new stepdaughter, aren’t you?”
I frown, checking to see if Mum heard, but the stylist is blow drying her hair. “Not really. He and mum aren’t married.”
“De facto then,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I heard he can be aggressive when things don’t go his way.”
My polite smile drops, and I shift in my seat. “I really wouldn’t know.”
“Maggie Arlington certainly had concerns about his controlling behaviour.” She pulls a business card from her pocket. “She left because of his violence. Against her and against her son.”
Maggie is Drake’s mother.
The revelation makes me uneasy, but also confused.
From the way he presented it, I thought Arnold had known nothing about his son until after Maggie’s death. To learn he might have been the impetus behind their estrangement sets off alarm bells.
My frown grows deeper as I study the woman. She’s well put together in the way women are when they don’t have money to splash about.
“She talked to me extensively before she died,” the woman continues, pushing the card at me.
Elaine Ngata. Journalist.
Not that her profession means the hooks she’s dangling are baited with the truth. I’ve read my fair share of clickbait and tabloids.
“I’ve been gathering information to write a piece on Arnold Fletcher for quite some time and would love if you had a few minutes to talk.”
My lips clamp together, and I shift again. The request—hell, just her presence —making me deeply uncomfortable.
“No, thank you.”
I try to return the card, but she holds up her hand. “My cell’s on the back. Call anytime.”
“Mum!”
Elaine abruptly stands, walking out the door and I go to the window, watching as she leaves the premises.
“What was that?” Mum calls out to me, circling her finger near her ear. “Didn’t catch a word, sorry.”
I think of Arnold’s face as he pinched me. The dizzying switch from mild to vicious then back again. On the scale of harm, it hardly counts as violence. Not of the type Elaine alluded to.
Just last week, Hudson reacted worse to his brother’s snarky comment, dragging him out of the room in a fit of temper, and nobody’s writing a book about that.
The fact she approached me instead of waiting for my mother points to her being underhanded. A woman who’d turn a molehill into a mountain, taking shelter behind her journalistic byline and opaque sources.
And if I ignore her, there won’t be repercussions. It’s not like she’s camped outside the house, taking invasive photos every time we try to leave.
I shove the card deep into my pocket, turning to my mother with a broad smile. “Nothing important.”
Back home, Mum nudges me towards a short summer dress when I would have chosen jeans.
I feel like she’s mentoring me in the ancient ways of dating as she discourages the addition of a denim jacket by pointing out if it’s cold, he’ll have the perfect excuse to wrap his arms around me to keep me warm.
My nerves tingle with anticipation as I put the finishing touches to my makeup, primp my hair one last time, then sit to adjust my strappy sandals, making sure the vegan leather ties lie flat.
Perfect.
The light chill means my arms are a second away from breaking into goosebumps, and I rub them before taking one last look in the mirror. Feeling pretty.
“Going to a gangbang, are you?” Drake asks as I sidle past him in the hallway.
I tilt my nose in the air, determined not to let him get to me.
Meanwhile, my eyes are filthy traitors, gazing at the snug fit of his jeans while my head fills with images from the most X-rated of my dreams.
And maybe a shred of me would be disappointed if he didn’t make some revolting comment. It’s practically a compliment.
“I’ll pass your regards on to everyone involved. Maybe put your name forward if they’re looking for a mope. That’s about your skill level, isn’t it?”
His arm sweeps out to block me, palm hitting against the wall. But I must be growing used to him, foreseeing the move. I easily duck underneath and give him both middle fingers before I escape to the stairs. Holding tight to the railing as I walk down, a self-satisfied smile on my face.
Between the dress and the makeover, I look and feel like a different, flashier, richer version of myself. When Hudson arrives to collect me, his face reflects the same and I blush while he gives a low whistle.
When he places his hand on my lower back, escorting me to the car, Mum flashes me a thumbs-up sign from the kitchen window, grinning from ear to ear.
Hudson is the perfect date, keeping up a stream of questions about my day while he’s driving, then rushing around to open my door once we’re in the mall parking garage. Even planting a kiss on the back of my hand while his eyes roam farther afield.
“Can we get a large popcorn?” I ask when we join the queue for snacks. “I love the butter.”
“So do the rats,” he warns in an ominous voice. “My mate used to work at—”
“La-la-la-la-la,” I say, fingers in my ears. “No ruining one of my favourite foods with your bullshit stories,” I scold him. “And in penance, I’d also like a choc-top.”
He doesn’t let me pay for anything and I feel a warm buzz as we take our seats inside the theatre, upgraded to the large ones with full armrests complete with a tiny tray table for food. The date could be lifted straight from a teen movie.
The comedy-dramas. Not the slasher films.
I’m blushingly explaining my favourite form of literature—and goodness knows how the conversation turned to that —when he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, leaning forward to kiss me.
It’s… nice.
With my free hand, I touch his hair, finding it softer than I expected but just as springy. The moment he feels my fingertips on his scalp, he deepens the kiss, tongue pushing past the seal of my lips, thrusting inside my mouth, wetter and sloppier than I expected.
My muscles tense. I let go of his hair to plant my palm on the centre of his chest, pushing gently until he breaks away.
His breathing is heavy while all I feel is a faint relief he withdrew so quickly. My gaze flits away as the inadequacy of my response makes itself known. He’s such a kind boy. Not just the personal chauffeuring but his attention to family, the way his ego is sufficiently robust that he can make fun of himself.
I want to cry that I feel nothing more.
My arm tenses, resisting the urge to wipe a hand across my lips, turning to the side so my expression won’t reveal anything it shouldn’t.
And my face freezes in shock, blood roaring in my ears.
Drake stands in the aisle, reading his phone, the screen illuminating his face with a clinical, blue light. His free arm is around Stacey, the pretty blonde server he bumped into at the restaurant last week.
The one who made my skin crawl with jealousy even as I pretended not to care. Before he proved himself even more of an arsehole than I’d anticipated.
He looks up, eyes coldly assessing me, and I instantly understand his appearance isn’t coincidental.
Disappointment weighs down my mood. He’s come to ruin the evening I’ve been excited for all week. It’s like he can’t stand for me to enjoy myself, tearing me down at every opportunity.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he booms, dropping into the seat next to mine.
He settles his date into the next chair along before nudging me with his elbow. Doing it again, harder, when I don’t respond.
“What?” he whispers as the lights lower. “You invited me along to a party I don’t want to go to. Surely, it’s fair play for me to invite myself along to your date?”
I wrinkle my nose in a gesture of apology to Hudson, but he seems more amused than alarmed and once again I’m grateful for his low-pressure, low-expectation company.
Stacey waves hello to me and Hudson. I have vague memories of her from Alabaster, but she was two years ahead. And, no shade, but there were a lot of rumours about her being a sex worker, both before and after she left school.
It makes sense. Drake doesn’t seem to have people around him. Until the pretence with Gretchen, he’d ignored the sycophants who crowd him at lunch. Turning up his nose at their overtures of friendship.
Of course, he’d opt for the arms-length companionship of a sex worker.
I hope she charges him extra for ruining my night.
“Isn’t it nice here?” she whispers, unaware of the undercurrents. “Much better than our local mall.”
“It’s lovely,” I agree while catching Drake’s satisfied smile from the corner of my eye. I’m pleased when the lights lower so I don’t have the strain of conversation.
“Your stepbrother is a supreme arsehole,” Hudson whispers in my ear and I giggle in agreement, leaning into his warmth as I take a handful of popcorn from the bucket in his lap. “And you’ve fallen straight into my cunning plan.” He fakes a yawn, stretching, then letting his arm drop to rest around my shoulders.
“Was that your big move?” I tease, deciding the evening won’t be ruined unless I let it.
“The first of many.”
My hand bumps against Hudson’s as we reach into the bucket together and we share a smile.
A few minutes into the film, he laughs, licking his thumb and wiping it across my cheek. “Messy. How did you get chocolate there? That’s the last time you’re allowed an ice cream.”
Our eyes lock, his thumb still resting on my cheek and my body arcs towards him, deciding to give that failed kiss another try.
Then Drake’s elbow bumps my hip as he struggles to remove his jacket, and the moment passes. He drapes the top across his lap, long enough that the collar reaches most of the way across mine as well, but I bite my tongue. It hardly matters.
I snuggle closer to Hudson, occupied more by ignoring Drake than I am by the movie. Luckily, it’s an action-comedy and light on the plot.
A half hour in, I feel Drake move beside me. A second later, his hand lands on my thigh.
My back stiffens, worried Hudson will see, but his gaze remains fixed on the screen, oblivious to what’s happening. Even if he glanced across, the jacket hides Drake’s wandering hand.
I shift my leg, but he adjusts.
I try to peel away his fingers, but it’s like trying to budge steel.
Hudson checks my face as I shift again, still getting nowhere. I manage a vague smile, biting on my lower lip while digging my nails into the back of Drake’s hand. A trick that might work if the manicurist hadn’t clipped them short, despairing of their thick ridges and chipped edges, leaving them a poor substitute for a fork.
I face forward, grimly keeping my eyes fixed to the screen while Drake slowly plucks back my hem until his fingertips brush across my bare thigh.
My jaw clenches, leg stiffening in silent protest. Shivers unfurl from my lower back until I tremble against the seat.
“Are you cold?” Hudson whispers and I don’t need to see Drake’s face to know his lips are twitching with pleasure at his effect on me.
Hudson takes my left hand between both of his, warming me when a bucket of ice water is what I need. I try to will my hand into a positive response, but his grip is too moist with sweat to enjoy.
Then the soft graze of Drake’s fingertips ventures higher, causing a riot of reactions though he barely grazes my skin. My body melts into the seat, searing heat marking each feather light touch.
My stomach flutters as his knuckle grazes the outside of my panties. I try to shift again but the clench of my thigh muscles makes everything a thousand times more intense. Better… and far, far worse.
I abruptly stand, tripping over Drake’s long legs, pushing past his date to reach the aisle.
“Are you okay?” Hudson asks, following me with far more grace.
“Yeah. Sorry. I just need the bathroom.” I take his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, tears welling behind my eyes at the continuing absence of any tingle, any spark, any hint of chemistry. “Go back to your seat.” I press a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll be five minutes.”
When I reach the sterile bathroom, it’s blessedly empty. I brace my hands on the cold counter, eyes closed, breathing through my nose.
Once I’ve regained enough equilibrium to check my expression, my cheeks are flushed, eyes too bright. Because I’m leaning forward, the neck of my dress gapes a little and I see the fading remnants of Drake’s warning.
The fire sparks in my eyes as I straighten.
Stop being ridiculous.
If only it were that easy. I tug the back of the dress until its neckline rises to obscure the text. The words should read, CAUTION: IDIOT because it’s what I am for letting him get to me so easily. For allowing him to make me flustered.
I run cold water on my wrists until my chest loosens, tidying my new hairstyle with my fingers.
The door opens and I glance over, muscles seizing as Drake pushes the pneumatic door closed to shut us in together.
“Are you all right?” he asks in a teasing voice. “You seemed a little heated just now.”