Chapter 1 Noah
Noah
When things are going a little bit too well, that’s when I know something catastrophic is coming.
Like here in this gleaming, grand hotel lobby.
I could dip, but skipping your own father’s wedding to your lovely new stepmother would be frowned upon in my family, to say the least.
So would screaming my lungs out.
And setting myself on fire.
And murderous intent.
All things that have crossed my mind since this day began.
“Yo,” Wes says, waving his hand in front of my eyes. “Earth to Noah. You okay?”
I take a sip of the strong macchiato I’ve been nursing for too long. “Other than feeling like there are crosshairs on my back? Like I’m prey being hunted for slaughter? Besides that, I’m peachy.”
And there’s a good reason for that.
“Dramatic,” Weston says, gingerly reaching for the paper coffee cup in my hand. “How many shots of espresso have you had today?”
“Two,” I tell him. “Plus another three, but those were hours ago. The light espresso roast they have at this hotel absolutely fucks.”
“So maybe the reason you’re feeling ‘hunted’ is because your veins contain more caffeine than blood at this point? Give me that.”
I clamp my fist around the cup as he tries to pry it from my hand for a moment, before deciding he’s probably right and giving it up.
I pull in a long breath. “Can you do me a favor, Weston?”
“Anything.”
“Punch me right here repeatedly,” I ask, pointing to my temple. “Maybe I can be unconscious for this wedding.”
His expression is so kind it gives me a guilty pang in my chest. “I’d rather give you a hug, dude. Hey, what’s the Latin word for how you’d describe today?”
Weston loves the fact that I can recite things in Latin, and I’m happy to provide the entertainment. I search my brain for the right one.
“Calamitas.”
“Calamity? Noah, it’s not going to be that bad.”
I exhale. “You know exactly how bad it’s going to be.”
Wes gives me a sympathetic look. “Don’t let the fuckface win like that. Just make it clear to Torin that you’re not going to let him push you around. Easy.”
Hearing his name makes my jaw clench.
Torin Jensen is about to become my stepbrother, the moment my dad gets married today.
On paper, Torin is perfect.
That’s how he likes it to seem.
But he’s made it his job to fuck with my sanity since the moment Dad started dating his mother four years ago.
It’s like he’s been auditioning for the role of angelic stepson with my dad even before the wedding was planned. He just got back from a one-year volunteer position where he built tiny homes from scratch, one by one, with a charity group that my father donates millions to every year.
Perfect.
Torin is so good at woodworking that he was also featured in a photoshoot on Lumber Depot’s Instagram page three months ago. Shirtless, of course. Hauling two-by-fours over his shoulder.
People in the comments called the shoot “10 Things I Hate About Shirts,” saying he looked like a young Heath Ledger.
Fucking.
Perfect.
The company page got thousands and thousands of thirsty comments, and they raised many thousands for charity, too.
Just hang a halo over his big, blond head.
“How long do you think it will be before someone here asks him for a selfie?” I ask Weston.
Weston snorts. “Torin would probably eat that shit up.”
“Of course he would. He loves attention.”
“I mean, the photoshoot was for a good cause. Even if it ended up being a showcase for his abs.”
I lift my eyebrows. “You’ve seen the photoshoot?”
Weston scratches the back of his head. “I mean, it was all over the internet for a few days. At least… my corners of the internet. I’m pretty sure everyone saw it at least once.”
“Lovely. Maybe everyone in the frat has seen the shirtless psycho, too.”
Weston exhales, giving me a sympathetic look. “Okay. I’m just going to say it. We all looked at it. Multiple times. We just didn’t want you to know about it because you and Torin are so…”
“It’s fine, Wes.”
I’m used to the fact that no one else understands my problem with Torin.
At this point, I just think he hates my existence. His favorite thing is bringing up my reputation at the worst possible times.
Do I party a lot?
Yes. I used to, at least.
Was I acquainted with the bottom of a liquor bottle at least a few times a week?
Also yes, but I’m done with that now, too.
I should feel at home here, at a fancy wedding that’s basically a day-long party, but everything feels too sharp, too rough around the edges without the usual amount of alcohol in my blood.
Champagne glasses clink together, echoing over the marble floors, and a giant fountain sits at the center of the room filling the space with the sound of rushing water.
“Oh, shit,” Wes mutters, nodding toward the front of the lobby. “There he is.”
The gilded front doors of the lobby swing open, two doormen pulling them aside.
And my gut twists.
I see a glimpse of blond.
It’s always easy to spot Torin’s tall frame. His hair is too long as usual, and I can see his Instagram-famous cheekbones from here. His eyes cut across the crowd, but he doesn’t see me.
“He’s already schmoozing and he’s been here for twenty seconds,” I tell Wes as Torin moves through the crowd hugging people I’ve never met.
“He walks in like a celebrity,” Wes says.
“Whatever. Let him peacock around all he wants, as long as he leaves me alone.”
“Damn. For a guy who doesn’t come from money, he sure looks comfortable in here.”
“He’s good at playing the game,” I explain. “He thinks I’m spoiled as fuck. I know I’m lucky, but I’ve never judged anyone for their background.”
“Wasn’t your choice to be born into it,” Wes says.
“Right. But I don’t know how to change a tire, or do craftsman-level woodworking, or build entire houses with my hands, and Torin can.”
The truth is that he’ll never respect the way I’ve lived my life.
Again, because of my reputation.
A real bitch, that one is.
I’m the youngest of six trust-fund siblings and still an undeclared major at Crimson College, without a clue what I want to do with my life.
I’m just… floating.
Being the frat-boy king of Jello shots isn’t exactly the proud accomplishment I once thought it was.
I’m better than this.
Swear on my fucking life.
I just don’t know how, yet.
“Wasn’t it supposed to be just your two families here for the wedding?” Wes asks, grabbing a couple of water bottles from a table nearby. He passes me one and I tear it open, chugging it before crushing the bottle in my fist.
“It was supposed to be a small, secluded wedding. But then Dad invited the Baxters, and then he had to bring along the Castillos, and then a chain of grapevine invites suddenly turned a getaway wedding into… this.”
Weston grins, leaning against the marble wall beside me. “Your father couldn’t have a small event to save his life. The Vancliffs have parties in your blood.”
Across the room, Torin’s found his way to my dad now. Dad’s leaning in to give him a hug, probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him. The two of them make the rounds together, disappearing back into the crowd.
“It still makes me sick seeing the strange fondness my dad has for him.”
Wes grabs a cream puff from a catering tray and pops it in his mouth, chewing slowly as he holds up a finger. “Being stepbrothers doesn’t necessarily have to be so bad,” he offers. “Maybe you two can make nicey-nice? You could be the bigger man, maybe try to be his friend?”
“Not possible.”
“His mom worked for your dad before they started dating, right?”
I nod. “Kolina became our private chef, after Dad divorced my mom. They started doing charity work together too, and Dad fell hard.”
“And what reason would Torin have to hate you more than your older siblings?”
I shrug my shoulders. “For fucking sport, maybe? Who knows? He’s just a slut for attention. If he’s going to be on campus with us this summer, Torin’s going to kill me or I’m going to kill him.”
“Noah,” a deep voice cuts through the din of the crowd.
Of fucking course.
I turn around and see him.
He’s behind us, unsmiling, with silver eyes that cut right through me.
“Torin.”
“Can’t help yourself from talking about me, can you?”
He’s in a dark green suit with gold cufflinks, likely a gift from Dad.
I shrug. “What I said was true, and I’d say it again. I don’t want you on campus.”
“Seems like you’re enjoying the wedding day so far,” Torin tells me in his low, almost baritone voice, looking down at my suit then back up to my eyes. “Been draining the open bar of their whiskey?”
A flare of rage hits my chest.
I’m not even going to dignify him with the knowledge that I’m not actually drinking anymore.
“And I assume you’ve hooked up with a member of the catering staff and already forgotten their name?” I toss back at him.
He reaches out and for a moment I think he might try to punch me.
I realize he’s just going for a champagne glass from a caterer’s tray as they’re walking by.
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“I don’t do hookups anymore,” I tell him. “You don’t know me, Torin.”
He takes the glass and tips it back against his lips, staring at me.
He looks me up and down.
“How’s it been at Crimson? Picked a major yet?”
“Don’t do this here, Torin,” I tell him. “Not in the fucking mood.”
Weston is hovering beside me and when I catch his gaze, it’s so easy to tell he’s holding back a smile. Wes has a field day watching other people go at each other’s throats, but just because he ended up with his former enemy doesn’t mean everyone will eventually get along.
Torin loves to ask me about my life’s purpose. He’s known forever that he aims to start a nonprofit, and he’s dedicated to his major of Environmental Studies.
But I’m used to being interrogated about my future.
My older siblings are all different flavors of massively successful: Blaise and Cameron are corporate execs, Mickey and Alicia are in finance, and Maya is a lawyer.