Chapter 44
T he next day when we go down for breakfast, there’s a new chef in the kitchen to greet us. Frederick’s both older and shorter than Ryan, and has the disposition of an antique teacup.
I like him.
One look at Ever and I can tell she does, too.
After welcoming him to the Munreaux team, I inquire about his living arrangements.
“Mr. Munreaux is graciously allowing me to stay in the guesthouse.”
“That’s good,” I say distractedly, already brainstorming what measures I can take to provide Ever private swimming time. Just because his appearance doesn’t scream pervert doesn’t mean he’s not one. Ryan’s had me fooled.
Speaking of…
Since Arthur’s not in here, I ask Frederick, “What happened to your predecessor?”
He glances at my scar but I don’t so much as flinch. I’m not wearing a hat, and for some reason, I don’t feel the need to go get one. I don’t even touch my eyebrow. I just focus on Frederick, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“Mr. Koch was just in here packing up some of his things. I believe he’s still out front if you’d like to bid him farewell.”
That’s exactly what I’d like to do.
“Did he…” I go over and check several drawers until I find something that’ll work. “He did. He forgot this.” I hold up the mallet. “It was a present and he forgot it.”
“Oh no,” Ever says with zero emotion.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her before jogging out front. Still recovering, Arthur and Edwin aren’t around, so I don’t worry about being discreet when I call out the pervert’s name.
He’s sitting in the driver’s side of a car that costs more than my parents’ house, the door still open. When he twists in his seat to address me, one of his hands grips the steering wheel. His right hand, the one he used to jerk himself off to Ever.
Propping my arm on the roof of his car, I lean down, invading his personal space to an uncomfortable level for both of us. Ryan only looks a hair better than Arthur did yesterday.
“Ah, Mr. Brantley. Please, please accept my sincerest apologies regarding the—”
His words turn into screams as I bring the mallet down on his knuckles. Once. Twice. Thrice. I raise it for a fourth, but Ryan whips his hand off the steering wheel.
“Fuck you and fuck your apologies, you rapey fuck.” I tap the mallet three times against his forehead, causing him to writhe and beg. “You come anywhere near Ever again and I’ll use this to bash your fucking brains in.” One more tap, then I stand. “We clear?”
He doesn’t answer fast enough, so I smack his cheek with the mallet, much harder than I did his forehead but nothing compared to what I did to his knuckles.
“Are we clear?”
Cradling his hand to his chest, Ryan nods, his face drenched in tears and snot.
“Good. Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and brain you right now.” I could. Thinking about what he might’ve done to Ever had he made it into her room has me bloodthirsty, and if he doesn’t disappear from my sight soon, I will. People already see me as a monster.
I make myself slam the car door shut and step back to watch Ryan drive away, hoping his car’s a manual. I didn’t even think to check.
I didn’t care.
Honestly, he’s lucky to be driving away at all.
“So you do know where the trash goes?”
Hearing Ever, I turn back to the manor, finding her at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against one of the motorcycle statues, her arms crossed as she stares at me with mild curiosity.
I’m her monster. I’ll do anything for her, including maim any motherfucker that wrongs her…even her father. If it comes to that.
“I figured it out.” A little later than I would’ve liked but I’m just glad Ever did confide in me.
“If you’re still in need of some sustenance…” She grins. “…Chef Frederick said breakfast will be ready soon.”
“I could eat,” I say without specifying what.
Later, when Ever goes out to check on her butterflies, she leaves the conservatory door open after stepping through it.
“I’ll be out here,” I promise when she glances back at me.
Even though I’m no longer worried about her running off, I still prefer to stick close to her.
“You don’t want to come in?”
I regard the building, then her. “Do you want me to?”
For answer, she pushes the door open wider, silently inviting me in.
Inside, I’m immediately met with another door. In the tiny space, Ever explains the need to check for stowaways before leaving, then we go through the second door and it’s like being transported to a whole new world.
“Whoa,” I breathe as my head falls back to take in everything above us. The air in here is warm and humid, nothing like Connecticut right now. It’s also brilliantly green. Green everywhere. Like a tropical rainforest without any predators. Butterflies of all colors and patterns flutter overhead, through trees of all heights, some as tall as the glass ceiling.
There’s not a lot of sound in here. A small tinkling from running water maybe. Otherwise, it’s like dozens of tiny book pages fluttering.
Ever’s watching me closely.
“What do you think?”
“It’s magical.” There’s no other way to describe it in here. It’s amazing.
Grinning, she nods before scanning her conservatory like she’s trying to see it all from my perspective.
“You never let anyone else in here?”
“Only Edwin when I’m away.”
“So why am I here?”
“I need you.”
“What do you need me for?” I don’t know shit about butterflies.
Her eyes come back to mine.
“You’re my security blanket. I only feel safe when I’m around you.”
That warms me more than the rays of sunlight piercing the transparent roof.
“You are safe around me,” I promise her. “Even from your dad.”
“My father?” Her scoff is clearly forced, but it’s her hands going behind her back that give her away.
Crowding her, I reach around and grab her hands back there, letting her fidget with mine instead. With the other hand, I rub the side of her hip.
“He was the one making those bruises.”
Ever looks down between our bodies, keeping her eyes downcast for longer than necessary.
I release her hip to lift her chin.
Looking in her eyes, I swear to her, “And as long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry about him hurting you again.”
“He’s not—”
“No more lies, butter—”
Ever’s eyebrows jolt.
Fuck. I did it again. She’s not the butterfly. She couldn’t be. She said it herself she didn’t go to Hide and Keep.
She also said she started sneaking out at the end of last year. Hide and Keep was at the end of last year. My butterfly disappeared after a helicopter appeared. Arthur denied having a helicopter when it was brought up, but he’s a liar. Most of what he’s told me about Ever has been false. Even if he doesn’t have a helicopter now, that doesn’t mean he didn’t have one before. He has a helipad in his front yard. Why the fuck would anyone have a helipad in their front yard if they’ve never owned a helicopter?
“No more lies, bat,” I say to try to cover up my mistake.
She drapes her arms on my shoulders, playing with the back of my neck to calm herself.
“I don’t want to think about him and what happens when you’re not around.”
I don’t either. It makes me irrationally angry when I do.
“Just be here with me for now. Be my security blanket.”
“I’m your everything.”
She cracks the kind of smile I would love to feel against my own.
Tearing my eyes off it, I ask, “What can I help with in here?”
Ever leads me around, letting me help with some of her tasks. While we work, she teaches me about the butterfly life cycle, pointing out any chrysalides she spots.
If this is another world, Ever’s another girl in it. She’s intelligent, patient, enthusiastic, and happy. So damn happy. Maybe even happier than when we’re in my room.
That is until we come across a dead butterfly, then Ever’s entire demeanor changes as she stops to pick it up.
“White peacock,” she mutters as she cradles it gently in her palms. I’m not sure if that’s its name or the kind though. It’s white with light brown markings that somewhat resemble a peacock’s, so it’s probably the kind.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Ever quietly, to which she shakes her head.
“It’s natural. Everything dies at some point.”
“It doesn’t make it any less sad.”
Ever doesn’t respond as she studies the dead butterfly.
“Did your dad really kill your mom?” I ask.
“Depends on how you look at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
“I look at it…” She peeks at me very briefly before continuing, “As my mother killed herself. Mostly. But my father’s partly to blame, as am I.”
“Why the hell would you think you’re to blame?”
“My mother escaped to Martha’s Vineyard every summer, like clockwork, and at the end of every August, my father and I would go meet with her, stay in our house there for a weekend, maybe take the yacht out, before bringing her back to Connecticut with us. As much as I’d like to think those trips were to escape my father, I know they were to escape me, too. We weren’t close. We didn’t talk about normal mother-daughter stuff. We didn’t really talk at all. We played from time to time, but that was it.”
“Played?”
“She was depressed. Severely. I’m assuming anyway, because no one ever told me what the issue was. But during the rare times when she wasn’t…down, I guess…she was pretty emotionally immature. She never wanted to do anything she deemed hard.”
“Having a kid is hard.”
“She had me, but she didn’t raise me. My nanny raised me. My mother only played with me when the mood struck.”
That’s really fucking weird. Children aren’t toys.
“What would you play?”
“I don’t know. Kid stuff. Imaginary stuff. We would play hide-and-seek in the maze out front for hours.”
“Yeah?”
She nods, a small grin moving her lips. “As long as I was ‘it,’ she would play for hours. She would say ‘look for me,’ then go hide.”
As nice a memory as that may be, there are some glaring issues with it. Ever’s mom was troubled. Nothing that she’s shared so far sounds normal. I know some wealthy people “summer” other places, but leaving their own kids behind to do it? I’ve never heard of that shit before. Also, what adult never takes a turn being “it”?
“It doesn’t sound like you’re to blame for her death at all. It sounds like she was incredibly selfish.”
Her face loses some of its shine.
“She had an incredible daughter that she had absolutely nothing to do with except when it benefitted her. That’s not a parent, Ever, that’s a narcissist.” The same could be said about Arthur. Actually, I’ll say it—Arthur’s not a parent. He’s a narcissist. “If Alette Munreaux really did kill herself, that was about her, too. Not you.”
“She didn’t stay for me though.”
“Doesn’t make it any more your fault than that butterfly’s death does.” I nod at her hands.
“Doesn’t make it any less sad either,” she repeats my words.
“No, it doesn’t.” Coming to terms with the fact that Yasmin’s death wasn’t my fault hasn’t made the loss any less sad for me, or in general. Loss is tragic, no matter what the circumstances are.
While Ever disposes of the butterfly, I take a seat on the bench by the pond. Feeling eyes on me, I look down to find one of the orange fishes staring up at me, its mouth in an expectant O at the surface. We hold a bit of a staring contest until a white butterfly with orange wing tips enters my vision. It lands on my thigh, so I try not to make any sudden movements.
I’ve never had a butterfly on me. It’s kinda cool. They look so small and fragile yet fly out in the open, leaving themselves open to a number of dangers, then will land in precarious places like a grown man.
Reminds me of my flyer.
I watch as she returns.
“I think your fish is hungry,” I tell her.
Ever mutters something about it always being hungry, then flits around, checking on things, before disappearing into a small back room. A minute later, she’s back with a tub of what appear to be pellets.
As soon as she approaches the pond, all the fish swarm to her, their mouths open and waiting.
She tosses some of the pellets in, chuckling when the fish splash in their fight to get food.
Holding out the bucket to me, she offers to let me feed them, but I shake my head, more invested in watching her.
“Great orange tip,” she says, nodding at the butterfly on my leg and setting the bucket by her feet.
Even though she didn’t have the greatest examples of caretakers, Ever still became one herself. Her bats, her fish, her butterflies—Ever cares for them all, deeply. But only when she’s out of the public eye.
In the public eye, she’s nothing like this. It’s like all those designer clothes are her costumes to support her role.
Costumes…
My butterfly’s costume at Hide and Keep was elaborate. She even had contacts in. And a mask. The makeup and wig looked like professionals applied them.
None of that is unusual for Hide and Keep. Some people go all out. And plenty of them want to keep their identities hidden.
But my butterfly went the extra mile to ensure she couldn’t be identified. She didn’t even speak.
Who would want to do that?
Who would need to do that?
A girl who can’t be herself around her own friends? A girl so known, she can’t go anywhere without being recognized? A girl disobeying her powerful father’s orders by sneaking out?
My butterfly was short and petite.
So is my little bat.
My butterfly was daring but in an inexperienced way.
So is my little bat.
My butterfly kissed me.
My little bat…won’t. And she doesn’t have a real excuse why she won’t either, at least not one she’s willing to share with me.
Did Ever technically say she didn’t go to Hide and Keep? Or did she just use evasion as a way not to answer?
“Do you have any monarchs in here?” I ask despite spotting several already.
Ever’s gaze shoots to my tattoo, so I twist my arm to give her a better view. She immediately looks away though.
“Probably,” she says noncommittally, suddenly silent on the subject when all she’s done since we stepped foot in here is talk about butterflies. All of them except for monarchs.
Now why is that?
“Tell me something about monarchs.”
“Um…” She keeps her focus locked on the feeding frenzy. “They’re beautiful.”
“That’s an understatement,” I say without taking my eyes off her. “What else?”
“They’re interesting.”
Another understatement.
“What’s so interesting about them?”
“Uh, let’s see. Eastern monarchs do this insane migration every year to reproduce. It spans from Mexico all the way up to the Canadian border. After hibernating all winter on trees in certain Mexican forests, they wake up in the spring and mate before heading north to reproduce. Then in the fall, their great-grandchildren, with no one to guide them, no map to use, nothing to go off of besides some sort of inherited internal GPS, return to the same forests to hibernate.”
“How come their great-grandparents don’t go back with them?”
“Their great-grandparents aren’t alive by then. During the trip, monarchs only live between two and six weeks, so the entire migration cycle usually takes about four generations to complete. The monarchs that hibernate over the winter can live up to nine months, but once they lay those first eggs in the spring, they die shortly after.”
“Shit. I had no idea.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Most people don’t.” Ever shakes her head.
During the motion, I catch a glimpse of orange and black on the back of her head and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time all over again. Not Ever Munreaux. My butterfly.
“What’s something else most people don’t know about monarchs?” I ask.
The great orange tip takes flight when I stand up.
“They can mate up to sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen hours ?”
Ever jolts at my voice, at my proximity. She tries to play it off by smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You can grab a handful,” she says, talking about the fish food.
Instead of doing that, I grab her face, careful of the monarch on her hair, and turn her to me. Both my thumbs on her cheeks, I run my eyes over her face, searching for the similarities now that I know what I’m looking for.
It’s all so fucking clear. Her reaction when she first saw me in her father’s office. Her many drawings of me. Her refusal to kiss me. It’s the only identifier I got from her that night.
I hinge one thumb over to cover her mouth like I always do. I don’t kiss her though. I massage her lips with the pad.
Another memory loses its haze, sharpening in stark clarity without a filter of delirium over it.
“I’m begging. Kiss me, Crue.”
Hide and Keep wasn’t the only time our lips have met. Ever used her mouth to feed charcoal into mine when I was sick. That’s why my vomit was black. That’s why I felt better faster. She used it to counteract the poison.
Then she hid it from me, so I wouldn’t try to kiss her again when I was healthy and discover who she really is.
I return my thumb to her cheek and lean in until our mouths are only inches apart. Ever’s jaw clenches in my hold and my name climbs its way through her teeth.
“Yes, butterfly?” The nickname comes out naturally, because it’s her. It’s always been her.
“What? That’s…” A million and one emotions flash across her face. “Why would you call me that?”
“It was you. The butterfly at Hide and Keep.”
Another butterfly stops for a rest on one of my knuckles, its wings black with yellow stripes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t be caught dead at something as desperate as Hide and Keep.”
Not dead but she was caught. I caught her. And I have every intention of keeping her…after I figure out how.
“Then kiss me.”
“Why?”
“Kiss me, Ever. Prove to me you’re not my butterfly.”
“Crue. I’m not… I can’t…”
“What’s the big deal? You kissed me the other night.”
That gets her to drop at least some of the act.
Her eyes also drop…to my shoulder.
She scoffs quietly. “Blue morpho. Of course one comes to you.”
I side-eye the blue butterfly on my shoulder before quickly returning my attention to an even more beautiful butterfly. The most beautiful butterfly.
“You remember the charcoal?” she asks.
“I remember you. Your lips on mine.”
“It wasn’t like that. I was just doing what I could to help.”
“I know.” I pull her closer and lower my voice. “But I want it to be like that. I want your lips on mine again.” I want her lips on mine forever. “Not just in sickness, but also in health, and everything in between.”
“Crue…”
“Why didn’t you tell me, butterfly?”
At first, I think she’s gonna keep up the ruse, but then she says, “Because I’m different…than that. I’m…not…”
“I know exactly who you are.”
“Really? Because I don’t even think I do.”
“You can be soft and sweet or intense and cruel. Your shine is unmistakable, yet you prefer the dark. You’re fearless and graceful, like a butterfly. You’re intelligent and selfless, like a bat.” Ever’s been telling me some wild facts about bats, like how deeply they feel emotions, even grief and joy, as well as how altruistic they can be. “You’re multifaceted, Ever Munreaux. You’re also mine. My butterfly and my little bat.”
A single tear escapes the corner of her eye, rolling down onto the tip of my thumb.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted you to have the memory of how I was that night without who I usually am ruining it.”
Her head in my palms, I keep her from lowering it to search those watery eyes.
“Ever, you’re better than you think. You’re better than everyone thinks. You’re better than an anonymous kiss in the dark. Ruin the fucking memory…” I draw her even closer. “Just like you ruined me.”
She’s the one that closes the final inch, crushing my lips with hers.
I’m the one who deepens it though, sneaking my tongue inside like she sneaks into my room—unapologetically.
While she tastes exactly like I remember, her skill isn’t the same at all. She wasn’t a bad kisser at Hide and Keep, just lacked experience. She’s definitely improved since that night. She’s no longer hesitant or self-conscious. She knows what she’s doing now, along with what she wants.
I’m so fucking glad it’s me.
Relocating my hands to just under her ass, I pick her up off her feet. She wraps her legs around my waist and leans back, sending the butterflies on us flying. We both look up to watch them join all the others. It’s a kaleidoscope of color and activity above us and around us.
My gaze falls to Ever so I can watch her instead. At no point in my life could I have guessed I’d be here, in a private butterfly conservatory, holding Munreaux Motorcycles’ heiress, deeply, deeply in love with her. Ever worked so hard to make me hate her. But falling for her was effortless. I was already face-first at her Louboutin-covered feet before I even realized I’d fallen.
“You’re magical,” I rasp, pulling her attention back to me.
She grips the back of my neck and meets my stare with an equally intense one of her own. Does she love me?
Only one way to find out.
“And I think I’m in love with you.”
Her laugh tinkles like the lightest bell chime, then she’s saying, “You think? I know I’m in love with you.”
She pulls me or I pull her, I don’t know, but suddenly we’re kissing again and it’s magical, too.
As long as I live, nothing will ever top this moment. I want to live it over and over and over again.
“What are you doing for the next sixteen hours?” I ask the second we break for air.
With a smile like the Grand Canyon and eyes so bright they’re practically sparkling, she says, “You.”