20. Nick
20
NICK
I didn’t make a habit out of attending galas, parties, or fundraisers with George or my mom. Before Dad died, Mom and I weren’t in the partying mood, anyway. Tied up with Dad’s seemingly nonstop leukemia treatments kept us from celebrating much. Even when we finally had something to be optimistic about—the last time they’d declared Dad in remission—we’d been too cautious to let him overdo himself.
Mom and I had never been near the brink of poverty when Dad was alive. Keeping him in the hospital for treatment and rehab had taken a huge chunk out of our finances, but his life insurance policy had tided us over until Mom decided to marry George.
We’d never been without, though. If Mom hadn’t remarried, we wouldn’t have done well financially, but that never happened. She made sure we weren’t destitute, losing both Dad and all our money.
However, there was nothing that would ever make me feel like I belonged in the world of wealth and influence that the Lorsens were a part of.
Going to any of these fancy-ass parties was the clearest reminder I could ever ask for. Surrounded by the rich, crowded out by the powerful politicians, business owners, and CEOs, I failed to acclimate. Living at the mansion was a challenge enough, and still, despite all this time Mom had been George’s second wife, I felt like a guest there.
It wasn’t just because I kept Dad’s surname, my surname. It was because this wasn’t what I knew. It wasn’t what I wanted. Wealth failed to impress me, not when I could see firsthand how corrupt and shitty the upper crust of society could be.
Tonight was an exception, though. George told me that my name was already on the guest list, so I “had” to show up. And the reason that I was on the list was because this association’s fundraiser would introduce a new scholarship made in Dad’s name.
Whatever.
I sighed as I stared out the side window on the ride to the venue, some greenhouse or conservatory place. The suit I wore was itchy and too heavy, and even this tailored outfit wouldn’t hide who I was. As soon as we got there, I’d toss the jacket on a chair and roll up my sleeves, not giving a damn who saw my tattoos. The heat index was over a hundred. Fuck looking dapper. No matter how long I’d scrubbed my hands, paint clung under my nails and around calluses. And I didn’t bother to style my hair, counting on only staying long enough to appease my mom and George.
But then again, what the fuck else am I going to do?
I spent most of the day in the studio, painting over the portrait I’d done of Sabrina. Now that I’d had her, the possessiveness I felt for her was even more potent. I didn’t want anyone to see her, not in such an intimate pose like that.
She was mine.
For my eyes only.
Thinking such a fierce claim was a joke. I had yet to figure out how to make Tiffany think I was sticking with our deal that would enable me to pursue Sabrina honestly.
Maybe it was just as well that I stuck around for this fundraiser. It might distract me from thinking about her for a while.
I just had to get there. Mom was already there since she’d driven separately on the way from the salon. Tiffany was also coming in her car because she was at another salon to have her hair done. It wasn’t like Mom and Tiffany ever tried to get along or be close. They were distant like George and I were. Yet, I was stuck with the older man now.
He drove, surprising me that he didn’t want a driver to get us to the party. And as I was his only passenger, he saw this as a prime time to ask me about my future and slightly lecture me about finding my way forward after Dad’s death.
“Even if it’s changing majors, it’s a step in the right direction,” he said.
Yeah, if I knew what direction I wanted to go. I let his lecture filter through me without sinking in. I had to stress about the very real chance that he’d find out about Mom’s infidelity and kick us out. In that case, I wouldn’t be in college at all anymore.
Still, I pretended to listen and didn’t act like an asshole, blowing him off on the ride there.
Don’t bite the hand that feeds… while it’s there.
I liked George as a person. He was fair and ethical, if overly serious at times. We had nothing in common to make me like him more. The fact that he and Dad knew each other in the bachelor’s degree days was enough of a connection. And he had been there during Dad’s illness, then fatal accident, a solid and steady family friend. I couldn’t determine whether he actually loved Mom since they weren’t affectionate, looking more like roommates than anything else, but I was grateful that he had seen his friendship with Dad as something to continue after his death by providing for me and Mom.
We arrived before George’s lecture could annoy me, and I didn’t waste a second to walk around. He drove me here, but we wouldn’t stay together. He would be near Mom as they mingled and bullshitted with all the important people whose egos needed to be stroked. For better or worse, I was on my own, and I hoped no one would bother a nobody like me. Tiffany would keep her distance too, all the more to suck up and kiss ass to those she deemed worthy of her time.
I found the bar easily enough, and I got a drink to help me tolerate this evening. At a quick glance, it was the same old. All these events were identical. Frou-frou décor, a live quartet playing music, tailored suits and elegant gowns. No expenses would be spared for the booze and food, either. Every year, the specific fundraiser hired a different caterer as a “demonstration” of how the elite and wealthy wanted to pay it forward to the community they didn’t actually give a shit about.
Mom noticed me across the room. Each time our gazes caught, she almost smiled, and it pained me that she was so distant from me, her son. I wished she would lean on me for help. I wished even more that she wouldn’t do something reckless and drastic like cheating on George. But I knew better than to approach her here. Her position was next to George. Unless I went up to speak with her, she wouldn’t say as much as a hello while I tried to hang out in the background until I could bolt.
On that note…
I checked my phone to see if Pierce had replied yet. He said he’d come and pick me up later, if I wanted.
When I lifted my head and faced forward, I realized that what—or who—I wanted was right here.
Sabrina.
She lowered her gaze, caught red-handed as she watched me. Of all places I could have run into her, this fundraiser wasn’t at the top of the list. I struggled to overcome the shock of spotting her. Happiness bloomed at the mere sight of her in my presence. Curious how she’d feel about me after giving me her virginity, I wished I could approach her. Just to be near her. To talk. To hold her. To… somehow let her know that I was glad I was her first and that I wanted her again. And again.
I wouldn’t be telling her that I was getting possessive and obsessed. Admitting how hung up I was over her should be something that I’d do in private. While she wove through the crowd in a catering outfit, it was clear this wasn’t the time or place.
Besides…
I looked around the crowded venue for my family members, and that was using the term loosely. Tiffany didn’t feel like a sibling at all, but she was here, near the fountain carved of ice. If she saw me talking to Sabrina, she’d know it was over. She’d realize that I didn’t hold animosity for her enemy and competition.
And being an asshole to the sexy, curvy brunette was out of the question, too. I didn’t want to be a jerk toward her for the sake of making her miserable. I’d discovered the critical distinction between being argumentative and combative with Sabrina and the cruelty of bullying her. I did enjoy going against that stubborn woman, but only for the sake of riling her up and feeling so alive until we both snapped and collided with each other.
What Tiffany wanted didn’t matter—yet, it still had to. If I could prevent George finding out that my mom had cheated, I would do whatever it took. Now, I had to balance my attraction and growing feelings for Sabrina.
Easy, right?
I sipped my drink and figured my only wise course of action would be distance. Watching Sabrina throughout this party put a new angle on the concept of stalking and following her. But I didn’t approach. I couldn’t. Tiffany would be watching. Mom would be too.
This connection Sabrina and I had forged had to remain secret for now.
Unfortunately, that meant watching Sabrina suffer all night long. Tiffany was giddy with glee to see Sabrina working here like a low-class commoner. It shifted the scales. Here, Sabrina was “inferior” as a catering employee, no doubt helping her mother, Melody. At school, Sabrina was the smarter, better student, probably George’s top pick for that internship at his firm.
And my stepsister was horrible to her. Making her trip. Causing her to spill stuff. Each time Tiffany brushed past her, I saw her lips moving as she likely put her down and taunted her. I noticed that Sabrina avoided going near the professors who had been at the dinner at the mansion. Still, they spotted her. Sabrina held her head high and said hello, not giving any indication that she’d let herself be embarrassed about having an ordinary job aside from her studies.
I bit my lip or ground my molars throughout it all. Every time Tiffany—or Rachel, since she’d come as well—picked on Sabrina, I fought the urge to run up there and intercept them. Doing so would out how I really felt about this intelligent spitfire, though, so I had to refrain.
The final straw came too soon, though.
In slow motion, I watched from across the room as Tiffany stuck her foot out in front of Sabrina. Just as she moved forward, Sabrina tripped while holding a tray of discarded wine glasses.
And down she went.
Goddammit!
I couldn’t take it anymore. This deliberate distance was wearing on my nerves. I couldn’t stand back and watch her take this crap from my stepsister. It was bullshit. Totally uncalled for. Even if I wasn’t starting to fall for the girl I wasn’t supposed to consider at all, I wouldn’t care for how low Tiffany would stoop.
As I hurried in their direction, other guests stepped back and gave Sabrina space to get up. No one helped her up, but even if any of the men near her dared to touch her, I wanted to be the one to assist. I wanted to be the only person she’d thank. I wanted her to be mine, even to the point that no one else could matter as a helpful bystander.
Gasps over the spilled wine chorused through those closest to them. George and my mother weren’t anywhere near them. Neither were the professors Sabrina and Tiffany both had for classes.
Tiffany trounced off, shaking her head and telling other guests that Sabrina was too clumsy to have this job. I was close enough to catch her snobbish bitching after she’d caused that fall.
But by the time I got to Sabrina, she was already on her feet, rushing away.
Determined to reach her, I followed without pause. Weaving around tables and dodging past guests, she rushed toward the kitchen of the old conservatory venue.
And even then, I didn’t slow once.
“Sabrina.”
“No.” Her long chestnut ponytail shook as she pushed open another door to a smaller room beside the kitchen. “Leave me alone.”
I can’t.
I was obsessed with the idea of having her. I was addicted to this nonstop craving to explore with her.
“Sabrina, wait.”
I slammed my hand against the second door before she could close it on me. Entering the room, I frowned at the sight of blood where she’d touched the wooden surface. Frosted glass offered some light in here, which seemed to be an old kitchen prep room that was now more of a pantry or storage unit.
“Are you hurt?”
She sniffed once, furrowing her brow before she gave me her back. “Leave me alone, Nick. Please.”
“I can’t.” I didn’t mean to be that honest with her—yet. It just slipped out. My concern for her wasn’t something I could shut off.
Walking around her, I grabbed her forearm and lifted it to see the damage. “Fuck. Fuck that damn bitch.”
“Nick, stop.” She weakly tried to pull her arm free from my grasp, but I wasn’t having it.
“No.” Anger filled me, boiling hot and too intense to keep in. But as I urged her toward the metal utility sinks to rinse off where she was cut, I aimed to be gentle.
“Nick, for the last time.” She hissed as I stuck her hand under the running water. “Leave me alone.”
I frowned, concentrating on tugging out the shard of broken glass that had sliced her soft skin. “And also for the last time, no .”
“I get it, all right?”
I glanced up at her watching me tend to her bloody wound. “You get what?”
“You’re her brother.”
I groaned, shaking my head slightly. “No. Step brother, Sabrina. And even that doesn’t count. Mom and I are more like roommates than family members.”
“Still.” She shrugged, only moving the shoulder of the arm I wasn’t keeping in place. Keeping her head facing down, she was almost hiding her face from me with her disheveled ponytail loose and falling apart. “The only reason you entered my life was to taunt me and bully me, just like she does.”
“No—”
“Yes.” She tried—and failed—to pull her hand free. “Don’t lie. Don’t play games with me. I’m not that stupid. I was, but not anymore.”
“That’s not?—”
“Don’t lie to me!” She yanked her hand free this time, glaring at me with too much vulnerability in her eyes for me to speak up again. “You’re related to her. And from day one of this program, she’s claimed it her personal mission to make me miserable. From your association with her, I can’t trust a single word out of your mouth.”
I gazed at her, letting myself sink under the intensity of having her attention on me so directly like this. It was magic, and a curse, how she could make it seem like it was just me and her. Like reality could fall back and all that could matter was our being together.
“I’m not lying,” I said carefully as I took her hand again. She let me, watching me so cautiously, and I took it as a good sign that she hadn’t run. “I am related to her. And she is nothing but a fucking bitch to you.”
She huffed, lowering her gaze. “That’s putting it mildly.”
After I got the piece of glass out, I smoothed my fingertip over her skin to make sure nothing else was in there. If helping her with this cut was all she’d let me do, fine. Her putting me in my place wasn’t a humbling moment. It was a point in time that I couldn’t argue and win.
She was right.
She had no reason to trust me because I was related to Tiffany. I hadn’t tried to earn her trust in the first place, treating her so cruelly.
But that was then.
Now, I had to do all I could to convince her that it didn’t have to stay that way, with us as enemies.
“I wish things could be different,” I admitted as I shut off the water and used a paper towel to compress the cut and hold it over the gash.
“They’re not. Nothing can change the fact that you’re associated with her,” she said bluntly.
“But I wish?—”
“What’s the point of wishing, Nick?” She cut me off as I opened a first-aid box with questionably old contents. The thin strip of gauze in the container would hold up, though, and I wrapped it around her hand while I tried to find an answer for her. Wishing was pointless. I learned that when my dad was sick, then when he died. I was relearning it again as I came to my senses and realized that I might be falling too fast and hard for this brave law student, this stubborn good girl.
“If you want change, you make it happen.” Slipping out of my hold, she freed her hand and took a step back. “And I know better than to expect you or your stepsister to change. You’ve shown your true colors. Neither of you gives a shit about anyone but yourselves.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stood up straighter, ready to chase after her as she continued to retreat across the room. “Sabrina. You don’t know?—”
She shook her head, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. Turning to run, she let out a whimper and began to flee.