Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Sisters
Becky
The dining room of Rosewood Hall is enormous, all soaring ceilings and white-paneled walls polished to a soft sheen.
One entire side of the room is made of French doors, their glass panes stretching nearly floor to ceiling, opening out onto the shared lawn behind the house.
Beyond them, the grounds stretch into darkness, the edge of Ashford House barely visible in the distance.
Above the doors, arched transom windows frame the night sky, stars splashed across the dark, sparkling like jewels on velvet.
Long tables run the length of the space, flanked by wooden benches already filled with women. There are more of them than I expect, rows and rows, stretching far, and before I can stop myself, I’m counting. Twenty-five tables. Ten to each.
Around 250 people.
The number sticks in my head, as I take it all in. How everything gleams. Crystal glasses catch the light. Linen napkins folded neatly. Conversation spills in every direction, laughter, the low clink of glasses. It’s loud but not chaotic. There’s a rhythm to it. A warmth.
It’s beautiful.
And overwhelming.
I hover inside the doorway, my senses snagging on every detail. The brightness. The noise. The easy way they lean into each other, shoulders brushing, voices unguarded.
I’m not used to this.
Growing up, our house was always quiet. Any sudden sound felt as though it might break our fragile balance.
Conversations happened in low voices, if they happened at all.
Meals were small. Quick. Functional. Half the time eaten alone or beside a hospital bed that smelled of antiseptic and wilted flowers.
There was no laughter like this.
I swallow as I step further in, unsure what to do or where I’m supposed to fit.
“Becky.”
Louellen’s gentle voice breaks through the noise. A light touch on the small of my back, warm and steady, guiding rather than pushing.
I glance over, a little startled, and find her next to me, smiling as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
“C’mon,” she says, tilting her head toward the tables. “You’re with me.”
“Oh. Okay.” I fall into step beside her, careful to stay close. I’ve already figured out that Louellen is the head of this place. Being seen with her feels like a kind of protection, a signal to the other girls that I belong. Or at least that I’m allowed to stay for now.
She leads me to a table right in the center of the room. Two empty spots wait like they were reserved for us.
Did Lou plan this? For me to sit with her?
Or did Carrson set this up? Ask her to include me?
He doesn’t seem like the type to care.
Which is probably why I want him to.
My mind wanders, wondering what he’s doing right now. Eating dinner? Alone or with the rest of the fraternity?
I slide into place next to Lou, and she quickly introduces me to the other women who sit around us. They smile and pull me into the conversation, asking simple questions, filling the space so I don’t have to.
One of them leans down, her hair slipping over her shoulder as she studies my boots.
“Oh my god, I love these,” she says, glancing up at me with a grin. I smile back, feeling lighter than when I first walked in.
“I like yours too,” I tell her, and I mean it. My gaze drops to her shoes, slim and perfectly fitted, the leather soft, the stitching delicate, the wedge high enough to be glamorous.
Around the table, it’s the same story. Clothes perfectly tailored. Jewelry chosen to match. Diamonds shine at ears and throats, flashing when the women turn their heads, when they laugh.
I glance down at myself and wipe my hands on my jeans, wishing I hadn’t ruined the jumpsuit Lou lent me.
Plates appear a few minutes later, carried out by a group of girls moving easily between the tables. They set salads down in front of us one by one, quick and efficient.
Lou leans in slightly. “Freshmen,” she says. “They serve dinner.”
I glance back at the girls, noticing it now, the subtle difference. The way they hover a minute longer, the way they move around the tables instead of sitting at them.
“It’s one of their responsibilities,” Lou says.
“A tradition. Everyone does it their first year.” She picks up her fork, unfazed.
“It teaches them to start at the bottom.” Her eyes track them.
“Some of them have grown up with servants. You should hear the complaining the first few days.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile is more fond than annoyed. “They learn, though. Everyone has to.”
I nod, because it makes sense to me.
You earn your way up. No shortcuts. No exceptions.
“That’s my younger sister, Evelynn,” Lou points to a girl with long brown hair and now that she says it, I can see the resemblance. “She’s a freshman, but she knew what to expect coming here.”
A sister. I stare a little longer, my heart aching just a little. “That’s nice,” I tell Lou finally, “that your sister decided to come to the same college as you.”
“They all do,” Lou shrugs, “all the little sisters. Most Mother’s have three.” She freezes then smiles, the transition so quick between the two expressions that I almost miss the first.
I blink. “Mothers?”
Lou smiles wider, “Families, that’s what I meant.” She lets out a light laugh.
I’m about to ask more, but the freshmen are back, carrying large plates, a rich and buttery scent drifting through the air.
The meal is served family style. Platters of food are passed between hands without hesitation, like no one here has ever had to think twice about having enough.
I barely notice what’s set in front of me, too busy trying to keep up with the conversation around me, nodding when it feels right, smiling when I remember to.
Lou doesn’t have that problem. She moves through it easily, making it obvious she was born into rooms like this.
Other sisters come over to talk to her, asking questions, seeking her opinion, each one angling for her attention.
Lou handles it without effort, and every time someone joins us she makes a point to introduce me as, “My new friend, Becky.” I like the way that sounds.
Especially when they look at me differently afterward, as if I’m important.
Someone worth noticing.
Halfway through the meal, she leans toward me, lowering her voice so only I can hear. Her lips tug up, a small, delighted smile breaking through.
“Guess what?” she says. “Carrson emailed me right before dinner.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth.
Lou has a computer too. I make a note to check it out later.
“What about?” I ask.
“He wants me to take you shopping tomorrow,” she says. “Get you a whole new wardrobe.”
I blink at her, certain I misheard.
“What?” A small, incredulous laugh slips out. “I can’t afford that.”
Lou waves it off immediately, reaching for her drink. “You’re not paying.” She grins wider. “He is.”
My mouth opens, but words don’t follow. Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I sit there, hoping Lou doesn’t notice.
“That’s not necessary,” I finally manage.
Lou smiles, as if she knows better.
“Maybe not,” she says lightly. “But he asked.” She spears a forkful of food, then pauses before taking a bite. “Well, demanded, actually. You know how he is.”
I turn toward her, suddenly very invested in this conversation. “I don’t really…know him,” I admit. “He can be difficult to read.”
She nods, understanding flickering across her face. “Go easy on him,” she says gently. “He’s not always great at it.”
“At what?” I ask.
“People,” she says simply. “Being around them. Dealing with them. Letting them in.”
She glances down at her plate, like she’s weighing how much to say.
“He didn’t exactly have a…healthy home environment.”
“What does that mean?”
Lou hesitates. Her gaze flicks past me, scanning the room before returning.
“A lot of us grew up together. Since we were kids, our parents all knew each other.”
She has my full attention now.
This is it.
One of the patterns I picked up on while learning about this place, the same families. The same names. The same faces. Men in tailored suits shaking hands, their perfectly dressed children posed behind them like dolls. I have the pictures, the files, in my backpack upstairs.
“There were always parties,” Lou continues. “Dinners, events. We’d all be there.” A small pause. “But Carrson’s father would leave him at home. Like he forgot about him.”
My chest gives a twinge at that. Carrson alone.
“And when Carrson did show up…” The hint of a smile touches her lips, but it fades almost immediately. “He was a wild thing. Half feral.”
She lets out a sigh.
“He didn’t know how to play,” she says. “Everything was a competition. He had to win.” She trails off, then shrugs lightly. “It didn’t matter who got hurt.”
I can picture it.
The other boys already paired off. Choosing each other. Leaving him out.
“He didn’t fit,” she adds quietly. “And his father…” Lou’s voice becomes more careful now. “He was hard on him. Very focused on discipline.” She pauses. “Carrson, he wasn’t raised to be normal or to get along with people,” she adds quietly. “He was raised to be in control.”
There’s more there. I can hear it in what she’s not saying, in the space she leaves around it, but I can only guess at what it is. How deep it goes.
“I get that,” I say, responding before I can think better of it.
Her brow lifts.
“I was homeschooled,” I add. “My sister was sick a lot. Hospitals, treatments. It was easier to stay home.” I glance around the room, at the noise, the laughter. “You don’t really learn how to do this.”
I gesture lightly.
“Be around people.”
Lou watches me.
“You learn how to be quiet,” I say. “How to stay out of the way.”
How to make yourself small.
Lou nods, her mouth softening at the corners. “Then you probably understand him better than most.”
I study her closely. She comes across as simple. Open. Friendly.
I don’t buy it.