6. Lilian
Lilian
A Few Weeks Later
T he chandelier light makes everyone look washed out, like ghosts haunting a ballroom rather than the most charitable of Oakmount’s elite. I’ve lost track of how many events I’ve attended. Mother’s charity functions have started to blur together—save the children, save the oceans, save the reputation of wealthy families with too much money and not enough guilt.
Same shit, different event.
I do my best not to show my growing hate for these things. A year ago, life was different. In my mind, it felt like I had something to look forward to with school coming up, even if it was small. Aries ignores my existence or pretends to which make things awkward when we see each other, but I know he feels the same as I do. It didn’t matter how many times he told me, in what language, or if he screamed it at the top of his lungs. His body refused to ignore his feelings, even if his brain did.
I knew he felt my presence when I walked into a room, knew he wanted me with the same intensity that I wanted him. Even if he was too chickenshit to admit it. Or hell, to even follow through when we were both face-to-face with the evidence, physically and mentally.
A tiny part of me wonders if I should just give up. Meet someone new. Put distance between myself and my overprotective family for good.
My mind twists back to Aries, as it always does. At least we were at Oakmount, together. As pathetic as it is, I can usually watch him from wherever I station myself and obsess over him from afar. He’s seen me several times on campus but never speaks to me.
Never seeks me out. That’s fine. I’ll get over this crush eventually? Right?
Now, though I don’t even know if he’s going to show up tonight. I don’t know what the hell is going on with him. His whereabouts shouldn’t concern me, but they always do, no matter how many times I tell myself I don’t care.
He’s a liar, a despicable liar, and I’m done trying. I’ve told myself so many times I don’t care about him— to stop caring —but my brain refuses to accept that decree. If anything, I’ve just grown more worried as time passes. It’s like Aries has fallen off the face of the earth lately. Even when I hunt for him around campus, he’s been absent. Has he been hiding from me?
He hasn’t been returning phone calls or text messages. Not that he ever does from me. He’s barely attended family dinners, and even though he came by the house that single time before I started school, he didn’t join my stepfather’s business, as Mother predicted. At least, not yet. I overheard Mother and Richard arguing about it before I moved out.
They wanted him there badly, but I couldn’t figure out why they felt such urgency. As usual, they’re hiding things. Or maybe it feels that way since I’ve always been the one who walks into a room and everyone stops talking. They never want to burden me.
Not that it’s a business so much as an extended timeline of political machinations resulting in our family being as close to the top as possible.
If my stepfather had his way, Aries would be the next president. President Hayes sounds like an apocalypse waiting to fucking happen.
Which is not disturbing at all .
I check the time on my diamond-encrusted watch, a gift from Mother.
Gift , meaning the obligation I’m prescribed to wear when we attend these stupid events.
Forty-three more minutes until my duties for the Hayes family are complete. Then, if I choose, I can make a graceful exit without hearing over a call or text tomorrow morning how much of a disgrace and embarrassment I am to the family. I’ve become an expert at calculating exactly how long I have to stay before slipping away without consequences.
The string quartet transitions to something classical and melancholy. It matches my mood perfectly. I shift against the wall, trying to be invisible while sipping the sparkling water the waitstaff keeps offering me between pity-filled glances.
No champagne for Lilian and her delicate constitution. No sweets or coffee. No physical activity that isn’t truly needed.
Why am I even alive?
You know what? Fuck this. I snag a glass of brown liquor off a passing tray. The server freezes, a look of fear on his face, before he scampers off under the patented Hayes cold glare. I might not use it often, but I’ve seen it enough that I know how to wield it efficiently.
Drink in hand, I scan the crowd of designer gowns and bespoke suits. So many people, all of them wearing fake masks and pretty feathers to hide their true selves.
I smooth a hand down my pale blue dress, chosen specifically to enhance my innocence and fragility—the perfect poster child for whatever cause has these socialites opening their checkbooks tonight. Bonus if I catch the eye of a rich old man who can further the Hayes’s interests.
This is the price I’m paying to attend Oakmount. Freedom purchased with occasional captivity in tulle and discomfort. Two more parties this month, then blessed academic exile for the rest of the season. I can survive this. God knows I’ve survived worse. The liquor burns going down, and damn, it hurts so good. To feel something. Anything is worth it.
People keep giving me worried sidelong glances, and I know it won’t be long until my mother notices that what I’m drinking isn’t water. I’m the girl with the faulty wiring—that’s how I think of my heart when doctors aren’t calling it a congenital structural anomaly in hushed tones. Twenty years of being treated like spun glass has taught me how to disappear while standing in plain sight.
Mother parades me around at these functions like her personal charity case. Look at brave Lilian, surviving despite the odds. Please donate generously. I’ve perfected the art of the fragile smile and grateful nod. The fragile little pawn...too bad for Mother. I know pawns are born to be sacrificed and I don’t intend to give up that easily.
No one sees the rage beneath my carefully applied makeup. I adjusted the necklace Mother made me wear tonight. She’s already adjusted it ten or so times this evening herself. Like she’s displaying my scar for all her rich friends to see.
A battle wound to inspire generosity is what she called it.
I call it what it really is: manipulation .
I fill my lungs with shallow breaths to keep my heart rate steady. Not because I need to—my condition isn’t quite as precarious as everyone believes—but because it’s expected. Fragile Lilian can’t get herself worked up. Even worse if I were to do it in public.
The fragile heart patient conserving her energy. Playing the role of victim is so easy, even my own mother believes it.
Just a little while longer, just a few more events.
Every new event makes me feel like a living, breathing reminder of mortality that makes the wealthy uncomfortable enough to write checks.
This is the circus, and I’m the clown they show up to see.
Another performance, another check signed.
I slowly cross the room and place my glass of water on a table. Mother and my stepfather are nowhere in sight, but that means nothing. They’re always watching. And if they aren’t one of their friends are, waiting to tattle the second they see me doing something unbecoming. My gaze skims the crowd, searching. For what? I haven’t seen Aries. And I don’t have any friends in this crowd. My best friend Emery hasn’t come to one of these things in years. Last time I had to bribe her. Maybe I should have tonight.
“Fancy a dance with me?” His cologne hits me before his words do—expensive, overpowering, exactly what you’d expect from someone who thinks designer labels are a personality type. Adam flashes in my mind, and I shove the thought away.
Aries got rid of Adam very effectively; I don’t need to worry about him anymore. And I haven’t seen him since that party.
I look up from the glass of whiskey and directly into Harrison Wells’s eyes. Son of my stepfather’s business partner and my most persistent suitor at these functions. I’ve declined him so many times. He knows I’m not interested in him; he just doesn’t care.
“No, thank you.”
“Come on, Lilian. One dance won’t kill you.”
He laughs at his own joke—the same tasteless heart condition humor I’ve heard a thousand times. Fuck this prick.
“Do you ever get tired of asking the same question, knowing the result will be the same?” I purse my lips and narrow my eyes. I give him the cold glare that usually sends people scampering, but he seems immune, or hell, maybe he’s not because he’s staring at my rack instead of my face. He leans in, his presence trapping me. I’d like to dig my stiletto into his thigh, and twist, but propriety traps me even more effectively.
His breath hits me, stale and alcohol-laced. “No, because I know the result. One day, in due time, you’ll be mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if our parents weren’t drawing up the marriage contract right this second.”
“My mother would never allow that to happen,” I lie, knowing all too well that the day will come when I’m forced to marry some rich asshole for the benefit of my parents’ business.
“Speaking of your mother, she mentioned that you’re attending Oakmount. I’m also attending. Maybe we can get…better acquainted…with one another.” His fingers brush the bare skin of my arm.
I glance down at his fingers. I’m not sure how, but I resist the urge to recoil. I’d rather get better acquainted with poison ivy than spend a second longer in his presence. Unfortunately, my disinterest in him only makes him believe he should try harder.
Harrison’s smile widens, taking my silence for acceptance, most likely. “I can give you a sneak peek…” his words cut off, and his expression shifts to fear in an instant—eyes widening at something he’s caught sight of behind me. Seconds later, a warm hand slides around my waist. Panic bubbles at the surface. I’ve never been touched by a man like this, with such possession .
Don’t freak out. I tell myself, even as my breath catches—and definitely not because of my heart condition. No, this has to do with the sudden bolt of electricity zipping along my spine.
“Hello, Little Sister,” a familiar voice greets us, an undercurrent of danger in his tone. “Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing hide-and-seek?”
Aries. Even saying his name in my head causes a bodily response I refuse to acknowledge. His touch brings with it a reminder of my feelings for him. The ones I’ve chosen to bury, right along with all the rejection and heartache he caused me. He doesn’t want me.
I don’t know how many times he has to say it, or how many times I have to remind myself of that fact to get it through my skull. Repeating the reminder to myself doesn’t seem to make it stick. My stomach flutters with anticipation when I turn around to face him. Fuck. I’m supposed to be getting over this. Forgetting him and the way he makes my body hum when he’s near. Damn, he looks good. Even if he did cut off his beautiful shoulder-length hair to a more professionally acceptable style. It just means I can see so much more of his face.
His deeply-angled jaw and his razor-sharp cheekbones. His hazel eyes bore into mine. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and while he looks the same, there’s something... different about him. Something I can’t quite place.
His arm stays locked around my waist, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress in a way that is beyond brotherly.
What happened to stay away from me?
I breathe through my nose, inhaling his unique scent. His familiar cologne is there, the same woodsy scent caressing me, but there’s a subtle change to it. Spicier. It’s not bad. If anything it’s more intoxicating.
Harrison turns on his heel and scurries away like a scared puppy.