27. Gemma
Chapter twenty-seven
Gemma
Rule #27: If Rook's family calls, ignore them.
T here was a certain, poetic irony to the fact that I was meeting Sylvia on Halloween day to go over invitations for a wedding that was more fake than a sheet ghost costume. Knox had wanted to come, but he had surgeries all day, and I assured him that I could handle his DNA donor for a few hours. It was just paper, after all. If I had to endure a few more in-person meetings with the witch to secure Knox his apartment, then so be it.
She asked me to meet her at some sort of boutique in Portland, asserting that the only place to get invitations was Jolie. I Googled it, and it was a posh, little boutique where I imagined all the paper was handmade by aesthetic cottage-core women in floral dresses with handkerchiefs in their hair. My suspicions were only confirmed when I walked through the stained-glass door to find twinkle lights everywhere, silver and white autumn decorations, and an employee who looked like she belonged on an Instagram page rather than in a stationery boutique. She had curly hair styled in pigtails, a flowy, long-sleeved dress, and a megawatt smile that would easily charm… whoever actually bought overpriced stationery.
She greeted me as I entered, making her way past displays with cards and paper art to blind me with her perfect smile. "Hi there! You must be our bride, Gemma. Sylvia told me all about you."
Well, that boded well. "Hi," I replied with a wan smile and a wave. "Yes, I'm here to meet Sylvia to go over invitations." The store smelled like pumpkin spice, and as the employee led me past the tables and artfully decorated displays, I found Sylvia at the back of the small boutique. She sat at a farm-style, wooden table surrounded by boxes and a scattering of wedding invitations that had been tossed over the surface.
The employee gestured to the table. "Please take a seat. My name is Clementine, and I'll be here to assist you as you make your choice. I know this is a really big decision, so please let me know how I can help. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Coffee?"
A straight shot of vodka? I thought, taking in Sylvia's pinched smile. The woman was dressed in all black from her turtleneck to her high-heel boots, and I had the strong impression that I had just entered Dracula's mother's lair. I held up a hand to Clementine—was that an actual name?—and said, "No, I'm fine, thanks."
I fiddled nervously with the hem of my light blue, crop top sweater, wondering what the hell I was doing, as if this plan would work. I was genuinely happy with the way things were going with Knox, but I simply couldn't see how this witch of a woman would care one iota about giving her son an entire house when she barely appeared to give him the time of day unless it directly benefitted her. It was categorically insane to me that a mother , however detached, would force her son into a marriage and hold a house over his head to ensure that he went through with it. Were they some kind of royal family who needed to continue their lineage?
Sylvia didn't even bother standing from her chair when I met her at the table. Her eyes stayed glued to the assortment of white and cream invitations, and as I took a seat catty-corner to her, I realized that the floral and pumpkin spice scent had gotten almost unbearably strong here in the back of the store. Then I saw the shelves of handmade candles behind her, and funny enough, several of them had been lit. Strange choice for a store filled primarily with paper.
I let my eyes rove over the many samples of stationery across the table. Some of them had flowers pressed into the pulp, others had a thin veil of vellum over elegant script, and the rest were mostly plain cardstock with embossed lettering, that quite frankly would have bored the hell out of me if I were really here to decide on a wedding invitation.
Why did we insist on making weddings a white, personality-free affair? I'd want color. I'd want paint splashes and glitter and fanfare. I'd want to announce to the world with pure joy that I'd managed to make someone fall in love with me so soundly that they actually wanted to stay with me for the rest of the journey. Was there anything more beautiful than that?
"Shall we get started?" Sylvia asked, like this was the most normal, wonderful thing that we could be doing together. Like she hadn't forced her son to choose a bride or else . Part of me wondered what she really thought of me, but if she was forcing Knox to go through with this, then it was best not to dwell too much on what this hammerhead shark of a woman thought about me. That could only end in hurt.
I gave her a robotic smile. "Sure. Let's… do this thing."
Sylvia's smile stretched out like a strained rubber band. "Wonderful."
Off to a great start. Sylvia picked up a plain white piece of cardstock embossed with a frilly design across the top and said, "I'm quite partial to this. What do you think?"
I gave it a once-over. It was genuinely the dullest piece of paper I'd seen in some time. And I used printer paper daily. "It's… nice."
Sylvia's frozen smile went almost manic. "Well, we have other options."
I was saved from being shown the other monochromatic choices when the front doorbell rang through the enclosed space, and the employee sang out, "Welcome to Jolie's! How can I help you?"
I turned to see who had come, if only to give myself some kind of escape from this encounter and found a beautiful young woman coming through the stained-glass entryway. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her head like a headband as she shook out her short, bubblegum pink curls before looking around the room. "I'm here for Mrs. Rook. And a bride. Apparently."
I frowned. Had Sylvia invited someone else? Clementine gushed immediately. "Oh, yes! They're back here. Come right this way. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?"
"Iced coffee, no creamer, two stevia," she replied briskly with all the confidence of a woman used to getting what she wanted. The closer she came, the more I realized that she absolutely had to be a Rook. Her face was thin, as was her body, and she had a lithe kind of grace I recognized in Knox. If I had to guess, I'd have said that her hair had been platinum before she had dyed it that adorable shade of pink, and the piercing blue of her eyes found us with detached disinterest.
Yes, definitely a Rook, that one.
She clacked across the wooden floor in a pair of dusky rose heels, and her burgundy peplum top gave her tall frame the illusion of curves. When she reached us, she ignored me and gave her mother an irritated glower. "You summoned me?"
I couldn't help myself. I allowed a grin to crack across my features. That had been the most Knox question ever. Sylvia's back straightened, and her lips pressed into a prim line before she said, "Arabella, darling. I'm glad you could make it. Arabella, this is Gemma, your brother's fiancée. Gemma, I'm pleased to introduce my daughter, Arabella."
I stood and held out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Arabella. Knox mentioned he had a sister, but he doesn't keep pictures of actual people around, so this is the first I've seen you."
Arabella surveyed me with suspicion but took my hand. "Good to meet you. What did Mother threaten you with to make the wedding happen? Unreasonable loans? Nationwide scandal?"
I pulled in my lips to keep from smiling. I loved this chick already. "Eviction, kind of," I replied blandly.
Sylvia made a scandalized, wordless sound, and Arabella let a smile spread across her frosty, stunning features. "Ah, the obvious one. Sorry to hear about it." She gave her mother a cold look. "So, we're choosing invitations for this charade?"
Sylvia appeared to struggle to maintain her composure. "Yes. We were just perusing our options."
"Okay, well," Arabella checked her smartwatch, which in contrast to her refined appearance, had a worn leather band I'd expect to see on a man, and its surface had been cracked and still had dirt particles on it. "We all know you're just going to choose the one you like, so why don't you save us some time and tell us both what you want." She spared me an apologetic glance. "Sorry, but you don't get to pick. Just roll over and let the woman have her way."
I coughed out a laugh, and Sylvia slapped the invitation she'd been holding down on the table. "Arabella Rose, you are out of line. I invited you to be part of the wedding party and participate as the maid of honor. Have you no shame?"
"Maid of honor?" I asked, giving Arabella a questioning glance.
"Apparently," she muttered, her gaze projecting certain death for her mother. "Was I not your first choice? Shocking."
So. Neither Knox nor his sister were fans of their mother. Interesting. "Okay," I replied slowly. Trying to marginally smooth things over for Knox's sake, I said to Sylvia, "I truly am alright with whatever you like. Is that your favorite style?" I pointed to the white bread equivalent of a wedding invitation.
Sylvia smoothed a well-manicured hand over its surface. "Well, yes. I did get here an hour before you. I thoroughly inspected the selection, and this is both elegant and understa—"
"Perfect." Arabella cut off her mother and put her sunglasses back on her nose. "I feel accomplished. Do you feel accomplished, Gemma? Let's get some lunch."
"Arabella, really," Sylvia scolded, standing stiffly.
Arabella scrolled through her phone indolently. "Where do you want lunch, Mother? I wouldn't dream of choosing anything for you."
I rolled my lips between my teeth. My God. Knox's sister was even more ruthless than he was, if that was possible. Was it genes or had they grown up so disgusted with their parents, they'd both lost patience with them years ago? I had to suppose it was a combination of the two. But if that was the case, why had Arabella shown up here at all? I smelled a story.
"Fontine's, thank you," Silvia clipped out. She gathered her purse and black peacoat, her demeanor clearly huffy. "I will order these and meet you both at the restaurant."
"I'll ride with you," Arabella said to me carelessly, still swiping through her phone.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't often I found someone more bold than I was. Fucking Rooks. Finally, I gave her a squinty-eyed look. "You're not going to fall in love with me, are you? The last time I was forced into a small space with a Rook, he fell for me."
Arabella looked up from her phone and gave me an appraising once-over. A spark of admiration warmed her icy eyes. "You're not my type, Shortie."
I bubbled out a laugh. "That's what Knox said about Spencer."
"Oh, well," she rolled her eyes and slid her phone into her beat-up, brown leather purse. "Theo isn't anyone's type. That boy is insufferable."
We made our way out of the boutique as Sylvia spoke with the employee about placing an order for the invitations, and I slid a sideways look Arabella's way. "Spencer seemed pretty nice to me… until he played me to get back at Knox."
"That's exactly why he's a pain in the ass," Arabella replied, clearly warming up to me faster than I'd initially suspected she might. Maybe it was just her mother she disliked, and to everyone else, she was perfectly nice. "He can't ever take anything seriously. And if he likes you?" She slid her glasses down her nose to give me a pointed look. "You're fucked. And not in the fun way."
"Yeah, I can see what you mean," I agreed, bobbing my head in thought. "You know a lot about him. Have he and Knox been friends for a while?"
"For life, more like," she grumbled. She pushed open the door and held it for me. "They've been friends since high school."
"What? I had no idea. Knox acts annoyed by him all the time." I zipped up my white winter jacket to ward off the chill of the day, and we exited onto a main street, walking past Jack-o’-lanterns and bales of hay that decorated the charming shops.
"Probably because he's more of a brother to Knox than anything. Trust me. Knox gets hella annoyed with me on the regular." She ran her hand through her pink curls, sighing. "And on that note, I'm sorry you're clearly being forced to join the family. Condolences."
I placed a hand over my heart. "I appreciate that. Truly. It's been a trial."
"Do you at least like my brother? He's easy to fuck, from what I've been told, but not so much to like."
I snorted. "I do like him. He's selfless and caring. And he has enough patience to put up with my shit."
Arabella gave me a searching look, halting on the sidewalk. "Shit, you sound serious."
I shrugged. "It's hard to guess what Knox Rook is thinking, but where we're at right now as a couple… it's good. We're good."
Arabella's up-tilted, captivating eyes seemed to look straight through me. "Well, I'll be damned. You're straight smitten, Shortie. I would have never guessed that a fiancée of my brothers might be… well… real." I started to correct her, but she looped her arm through mine and pulled me down the sidewalk. "This is my apology. If you're happy and he's happy, then all the better. I'm on your side, yeah? I'll get you through the hell of wedding planning. You have my word."
And then I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. I couldn't admit that Rook was not smitten with me, and this marriage was anything but real. We were initially doing it to get away from each other, which the more I thought about it, the less it made sense now. Maybe going along with this plan had been almost logical when we had wanted to get our own places and disentangle ourselves from each other. But if memory served me right—and it did because I replayed it hourly—Knox had very effectively tied me in knots, and we had very much enjoyed it.
Maybe we could just live together for two years, fuck each other silly, and then when the lease was over, we could re-evaluate. Before we'd given in to our attraction to each other, that hadn't seemed possible, but now? Well, Knox had made it clear that he wanted me to stay. Maybe I should accept it.
I led Arabella to my little white sedan that I had decorated with fuzzy dice and a weird dancing fairy in the dash, and she seemed happy to ask me questions about how Knox and I had met. I did my best to avoid the whole fake everything scenario, giving her vague answers that she didn't seem to question.
The restaurant was close by, so when I pulled into the parking lot, it was only a few minutes later. As we exited the car and into the frigid autumn day, I asked her, "So, do you live nearby?"
"Oh, not even remotely," she replied blithely. "I live in Park City in Utah."
" What ?" I gave her a look like she was crazy. "Like… fulltime? What are you doing here?"
Arabella held out her arms, and it was only then I realized she wasn't wearing a coat. "I was summoned for wedding planning. When my mother calls, I come."
I frowned as we walked up the front steps of the brick restaurant. "But… why?"
Arabella gave me a look like it should be obvious. "Why are you marrying my brother?"
Sylvia had something on her. On her own daughter . But then again, what had I expected? She was clearly trying to control her son in the same way. "So, she made you fly out here? Did she at least pay?"
"No," Arabella scoffed. We walked into the busy restaurant decorated with muted reds and mahogany tones. "I'm a vet and farrier for the ranchers around Park City, but I do alright. I can afford to bow and scrape to my jailer now and then." I mouthed the word, "Farrier," trying to pluck it out of my memory, but nothing came to mind. Arabella took pity on me with a sideways grin. "I take care of horses. I'm a veterinarian, but I prefer shoeing them to anything else."
"Oh," I said, remembering then that farriers were the specialists who put horseshoes on the horses. "That must be a cool job." I looked her over with a more critical eye. She was dressed primly with her high-necked blouse and form-fitting, but not obscenely tight slacks, but her watch was one giveaway that she worked either outdoors or with her hands a lot. And then I noticed the callouses on her hands, the chipped, unpainted nails, and the obvious strength in her arms and legs that I thought had been from a robust workout regimen.
"I love it," she admitted. The hostess greeted us, then Arabella said, "Table for three."
"I'll meet you in a second," I said, veering away. "I need to use the restroom."
Arabella nodded and followed the hostess, and I made my way through the beautiful restaurant that smelled like fried fish and fresh vegetables, my mind trying to sort all the information I'd gotten this afternoon into understandable boxes.
Knox's sister was pretty cool, so that was a surprise. But also, she had a horrible relationship with her mother, and I had to wonder what the she-monster had done to her own children to make things turn out this way. And why? What drove some people to control the ones they were meant to protect? My own mother had done something similar, preferring to guilt me into obeying by reminding me that she needed me. She loved me. I was her everything. But also, if I stepped out of line, I was literally killing her.
Sylvia was controlling her children through blackmail and who knew what else. Coercive control was no substitute for a loving connection. Children will move heaven and earth for the parents they truly love. It wasn't a difficult concept. And yet here we were—having lunch with a twenty-something young woman who had been strong-armed into spending time with her mother, and the would-be daughter-in-law bribed into cooperating just for the safety of a place to live.
It made me sick.
When I had finished in the bathroom, I made my way around the back of the establishment, curving around the bar area and looking around for where Arabella had been seated. Clinking silverware and hushed conversation filled the space, and I found it difficult to look at faces because the restaurant had been laid out with high-backed booths and cubby-like areas for privacy. As I walked along a row of partially enclosed spaces, Arabella's voice reached my ears behind me.
"… not a game, Mom. She really loves him."
I froze, and despite my moral misgivings, I didn't turn around and make my presence known. It sounded like Arabella was in a closed-off booth behind me, and I'd walked by them.
Sylvia's voice barked out a derisive laugh. " Loves him ? Don't be absurd. That little tramp isn't meant to actually marry your brother. Have you lost your mind?" Every instinct warned me to speak up, to stop this conversation before it could find its bloody end, but I couldn't. I had to hear the words for myself.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Arabella asked incredulously.
"I am teaching Knox a lesson. It is nothing more than that," Sylvia spat. "And before you become a champion of justice, as you are wont to do, I will inform you that Knox is well aware of how I feel. He's bluffing. It's a charade on his part to rebel against my wishes. He’s using her like a pawn just as much as I am, but I think he’ll find that in the end, I am always the victor."
"Wait." Arabella's voice had gone hard and uncompromising. "Are you telling me this entire thing is a power move?"
"It's a childish game of chicken," Sylvia hissed. "He never intended to marry that whore, and he told me so himself. He wants that apartment and that is it . And I'll happily sign the place over to him," she added more placidly. The sound of ice being stirred against a glass cut through the frigid conversation. "Just as soon as he admits his folly and drops that horrid girl back in the trash where she belongs."
The blood drained from my face. There was no way I had been played by this many people at once. Knox was… using me? To get back at his mother? That didn’t sound like him.
Arabella released a hollow, mirthless laugh. "Wow, you two are rich . Holy fuck. So, let me get this straight. You're holding his house over his head, and when he agrees to do what you want, you'll give it to him?"
"Yes," Sylvia replied emphatically.
"But not if he actually marries Gemma?"
"He's not going to marry Gemma," Sylvia snapped. "He's bluffing. And he's up against an opponent he can't beat. Sooner or later, he will realize that thing in his bed is a mistake. She is nothing. She's no one. She's a toy, and he'll throw her aside once he thinks he's made his point to me."
She is nothing. She's no one.
My heart went wild-rabbit fast, pumping painfully in my chest and stealing my breath. She had to be lying. Knox would never say that. He wouldn't. He wasn't playing me… was he?
"You’re lying," Arabella said, and I could hear the sneer in her voice. "And I hope to God he proves it."
Sylvia laughed. "Arabella, you are here because you lost our game, did you not? Knox will follow suit. You'll see."
I stumbled forward, all thoughts of continuing this farce of a plan gone. My memories of Knox's gentle hands and soothing words clashed painfully against Sylvia's words.
She is nothing. She's no one.
Breathing hard and fighting a blind panic I didn't understand, I stumbled out of the restaurant.