Chapter 12 A Dozen Doors
a dozen doors
Dolly Beckett
Though I can leave my rooms now, it’s not in my nature to go snooping through other people’s houses.
Or at least not in my training to have manners and respect others’ privacy.
Besides, the rooms Preston gave me are so nice it’s easy to forget the rest of the house exists.
He made me my own little heaven, and I feel guilty as well as grateful.
It’s hard to remember why I wanted to leave so badly in the first place, when I can sleep in and wake up in the warmest bed I’ve ever felt, have a fancy breakfast delivered, then spend the day listening to records and playing with Peanut.
In the afternoon, I watch Magnolia sing in the studio with her voice coach for a while before going to work out in the main room. I’m halfway through a clumsy routine when I see someone outside. I stop and approach the window, and then I wish I hadn’t.
Mrs. Potter said he was out when I asked on my first day, and after that, I haven’t asked. I assumed Preston had estate business to take care of or… Something.
Something that didn’t include another girl.
I watch them standing in the garden talking.
They’re too close for me to think she’s a new gardener or someone hired to work on the property.
She takes out her phone and steps to his side, so they’re both facing away from me.
He glances up toward the window, then rests a hand on her lower back, bending to see whatever she’s showing him.
Like Mrs. Potter, she’s my complete opposite in the looks department, only reaching up to his shoulder instead of being nearly his height.
Unlike the house manager, this girl’s curvy on the bottom half, and her dark hair is piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head instead of being neat and put-together.
From the way Preston’s touching her, I can tell they’re intimately acquainted.
That little shit’s trying to make me jealous after locking me up so I can’t even talk to anyone else.
Guess this is the start of him parading girls in front of me, just like I said he would.
Well, fuck that. I’m not going to just sit up here like some lovelorn princess in a tower waiting for my Prince Charming to come rescue me.
I dated a Prince Charming in high school, and he acted like my love was a burden he was happy to shrug off as soon as I freed him of it. Now I get the villain, the beast I need to be rescued from. Where’s the nice, normal guy in the middle?
Lacking that, I decide to rescue my own damn self.
I stomp into the bedroom and throw open the closet.
Once I’ve changed out of my workout clothes and freshened up, I leave the bedroom just as Magnolia emerges from the hallway beyond with her voice coach.
Remembering what Preston said, I lock the door behind them and then start across the room.
“Where are you going?” Magnolia asks.
“I thought I’d go pay my respects to your cousin’s guest,” I say, holding myself tall. “Peanut could probably use a little walk, anyway.”
“Ooh, who’s here?” Magnolia asks, skipping over to the windows.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Apparently he’s not planning to introduce us.”
“Harper,” she cries, clapping and bouncing on her toes. “Yay! I’ll come with you. I haven’t seen her in ages. You’ll love her. She’s so cool.”
I give her some side eye as we start down the stairs, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s going on about not having seen Harper since the funeral, which was literally less than a month ago. If that’s ages, I wonder how much she was around before. Did she live here with him?
We leave through the back door and make our way along the rock trail leading off to one side, where the garden lies just outside the east wing of the house.
I expect Magnolia to go running ahead to throw herself at Harper, since she seems so overjoyed to have a visitor.
Instead, she stays with me until we reach the garden, where most of the plants are trimmed back or dead for the winter.
A row of frilly purple and white plants line the path on either side, though, and a few red and pink ones of similar varieties sit further back.
Preston looks up when we approach, but I can’t read his expression behind the mask. I set Peanut down to explore and do her business before I march over to where Preston’s standing with his ex. “Hi, I’m Dolly,” I say, my brightest smile in place. “You must be Harper. I’ve heard so much about you.”
She arches a brow at Preston and then tips her chin at me. “Hey, what’s up?”
I stand there, not sure what to make of this girl.
She’s not at all what I pictured, nothing like the girls Preston hooked up with in high school.
She’s in expensive jeans with distressed spots up the front of each thigh, revealing tattoos through a few of the holes, and a vintage Guns N’ Roses t-shirt under a green utility jacket.
Her accent is more redneck than refined, and her whole manner is standoffish and aggressive at once.
It strikes me that she must be a Faulkner High kid, maybe even a gang member.
She exudes toughness, from the way she stands to the unflinching, flat stare.
It makes sense when I think about it. The Dolces chased Preston away from Willow Heights, so the only people he’s allowed to consort with are probably the rougher kids from the other side of town.
But this chick is Royal’s girlfriend?
I can’t see it—unless he just wanted her so he could take her from Preston.
I glance at Preston, but he’s staring down at me with hooded eyes, his expression unreadable.
Magnolia strolls up to join us, having taken her sweet time to walk over while I marched right into battle.
“Hey, Harper,” she says, all casual and indifferent, the furthest thing from the girl skipping around clapping when she saw Harper was here.
“I didn’t know you were coming over. Glad you got to meet my friend Dolly. ”
I give her a look, then reaffix my smile and aim it at Harper. “Yes, what brings you by?”
“Just heard Preston was back in town,” she says. “I didn’t know you were here.”
We both turn to Preston at once.
I narrow my eyes. “Well, isn’t that convenient?”
“I knew it was her,” Harper says to him, smiling for the first time. “I can’t believe you really did it. Damn. I’m impressed.”
“You told your ex you were bringing me here?” I demand.
“Oh, I’m not—I wouldn’t call myself that,” she says quickly, holding up a hand.
“Bless your heart, I didn’t say ex-girlfriend,” I point out. “Preston doesn’t do those. I’m sure ex fuck-toy would be more accurate. Don’t feel bad, sweetie. We’ve all been there.”
A moment of crackling silence falls, and I think I’m about to get my extensions ripped out. I may know how to choose my words, but this chick looks like the kind who would throw down in the middle of the hall at school without a second thought.
“Yeah, that sounds like my cue to leave,” she says, hooking her thumb toward the garage, where a glimmering blackish-red Escalade sits on the gravel outside the doors. “I don’t fight bitches for free, and I sure as hell don’t do it for a man.”
“You’d do it for Royal,” Preston grumbles.
I gape at him in indignation. Is that what this is really about? He’s not trying to make me jealous. He’s trying to make her jealous.
“You know, I think that’s my cue to leave, too,” I say. “I’ll get my things together. Since you won’t give me a ride home, maybe your girlfriend can.”
I turn on my heel and stomp off toward the house, which is hard to do when you’re wearing heels on a stone path. But if there’s one thing a southern lady knows how to do almost as well as using words as weapons, it’s walking in heels.
“Dolly,” Preston calls.
I ignore him and keep walking, but he hurries to catch up, grabbing my wrist and spinning me to face him. “What the hell was that about?”
“If you wanted to make me jealous, mission accomplished,” I snap, yanking my hand away.
“Or is all this for her benefit, Preston? She’s more your type, after all.
A little less confrontational than I expected, but you’ve really got that look nailed down, don’t you?
Just like your pervy old Grampa with his ‘exotic’ housekeepers. ”
“You’re overreacting,” he grits out. “She’s a friend, that’s it.”
“Why would I believe you?” I demand. “Why would I believe anything you say?”
“Because I love you,” he says simply, his fingers sliding down my wrist to grip my hand firmly. “I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this.”
“There is no this,” I say, yanking my hand away. “And when has love ever factored into the equation when it comes to you? You didn’t even like most of the girls you fucked in high school.”
“No,” he agrees. “How could I, when I already loved you?”
I stare at him a second, then shake my head. “When are you going to admit that this doesn’t work, Preston?” I ask. “All we do is fight.”
“You’re worth fighting for.”
Harper’s car starts up, and our attention is pulled that way.
I call Peanut over and pick her up and watch Magnolia jump up to hang on Harper’s window like Preston’s lovestruck fangirls used to do in high school, trying to keep the car there one more minute while they cast their bids for a spot in his bed that night.
“No,” I say, shaking my head when Preston’s gaze meets mine again. “I’m not.”
I turn and hurry up the steps, letting the door fall closed behind me. I hear the thud of rapid footsteps somewhere overhead, and I blink in the dimness of the back hall, trying to get my eyes to adjust, sure that as soon as they do, I’ll see someone standing there.
But when my vision fills in, there’s no one there. At least not in the hall.
I set Peanut down and hurry to the stairs, but just as I reach them, I see the maid starting up the west staircase, her arms laden with a stack of folded linens. In my fury, I’m just mad enough to disobey Preston. What’s he hiding up there, anyway?