16. Rowan
ROWAN
We’ve finished eating breakfast, my stomach almost uncomfortably full, when Cade leans over to speak to Samson. He talks quietly, but I hear the words nonetheless. “Wylder wants a meeting.”
Samson sighs as Cade turns toward Ansel, giving him a look. I suddenly feel like I’m intruding, but then Ansel stands up and moves toward the fridge. This time, Cade lets him walk. Aside from a very slight limp, Ansel seems fine.
“How about a mimosa and I’ll show you around?” That question is directed at me as Ansel grabs a bottle of champagne from an industrial-sized fridge, along with what looks like a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.
My lips twitch as I join him. “Is this going to be the best mimosa I’ve ever had?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes. It’s ridiculous, really. All of this is, but you get used to it.”
I don’t know why he thinks I need to get used to anything. Samson and I have something we’ve connected over, but it’s nothing more than that. Pretty soon it will be gone, and he’ll move on to something else.
Rich men always do.
Scratch that, all people move on in one way or another. From me, at least.
The loud pop of the champagne being opened has me jumping slightly. I turn to glance at Samson, finding him watching me intently. My cheeks warm, and I know I’m blushing as Ansel sets down two large mugs on the counter.
“Do you want something fancy? I’d rather have an excess than a pretty flute.”
I shrug, liking Ansel more and more each minute we’re together. I think we could be friends if I stick around. “I agree.”
He grins. “Good, and I think you’ll need it after I take you around. If you think this kitchen is ridiculous, wait until you see the armory.”
My mouth parts at that as someone appears beside me, almost materializing like a ghost. “Hello. You’re new.”
“He’s Samson’s.” Ansel waggles his eyebrows at the small blue-haired guy who is assessing me. He’s cute in a messy kind of way, his unironed shirt buttoned up wrong, his hair standing up as if he’s been running his hands through it.
“I know. Saw him on the cameras and wanted to meet the infamous Rowan in person.”
“Oh.” I peek over at Samson, wondering if he told his family about me, because how else would he know my name? Unless the cameras have sound and he saw me being introduced. “Well, hello. Nice to meet you…”
My voice trails off, and the guy continues to stare at me, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Ansel clears his throat. “This is Neo, my best friend and Wylder’s partner. Ignore him, he’s contrary. Neo, do you want a glass?”
Ah. The man responsible for decorating the foyer.
Neo turns his gaze from me and nods. “Yes, but just a breeze of orange juice. I’ve been up most of the night.”
“Half and half for Rowan,” Samson interjects. “He had a rough night and may feel a little sick still.”
“I’m fine.”
Samson gives me a look, and I sigh. “Okay, he’s probably right.”
Ansel nods, fills up our mugs, and puts a splash of orange juice into each one.
“I hope you’re okay,” Ansel says softly as Neo takes a large gulp of his drink.
I bob my head, feeling my throat close slightly. “I’ll be good. I always am.”
Ansel stares at me intently as Neo lets out a small burp before speaking. “Right, well that’s cryptic. But anyway, where are we going? Are we going to show him Samson’s dancing shed?”
“Fuck off,” Samson growls.
My eyes widen. “A dancing shed?”
“Yep,” Neo says, finishing off his mug and filling it once more. He doesn’t even bother with the orange juice this time. “Has his axes and everything. It’s great. I have video too, if you want to see it.”
Samson growls, the chair he’s sitting on scraping against the floor as he moves.
Cade places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, stopping him from getting up. “Careful, brother. You know Wylder would lose his shit if Neo ever got hurt. It’s harmless.”
Samson narrows his eyes at Neo, who smiles back at him.
It makes a laugh erupt out of me before I sip from my full mug to stifle it.
Samson’s not done. “I won’t hurt him. But who says I can’t scare him?”
Neo rolls his eyes. “Like you could scare me, you big butthole.”
Samson growls, and Cade lets out a loud laugh. “All right, we have to go to a meeting. Butterfly, you take care of him?” Ansel nods and then Cade points to Neo. “You’re coming with me.”
“Ugh, do I have to?”
“Yeah, Wylder’s orders.”
“He’s such a bossy bitch.”
Ansel lets out a small laugh and then nods toward the door leading into the hallway. “Shall we?”
I can do nothing but follow, turning my gaze over my shoulder and catching Samson watching me. Nervous flutters erupt in my stomach as I turn and can no longer see him.
As we walk through the hallways, I take it all in—the warm paintings on the walls, the flowers sitting in vases on different hall tables.
Ansel shoots me an apologetic glance. “Sorry about Neo. He likes to antagonize everyone. He’s a world-class troll.”
I think of how Adam and I used to tease each other, the banter that probably sounded bitchy from the outside, but showed the level of trust we had in one another.
I suspect Ansel and Neo are the same.
It makes my chest ache more than I’ll ever admit.
“I like him,” I reply finally.
“I do too.” Ansel smiles softly. “Neo’s my best friend. A troll, like I said, but my best friend.”
The darkness pinches at my edges again.
“What’s the meeting about?” I ask, trying to distract myself as we turn into yet another hallway.
“Oh, just family stuff. Neo’s right; it is boring.” He makes his way up the winding stairs, and I follow, slightly lost when he arrives at the landing and makes several more turns. “You want to see where Samson sleeps when he’s here?”
I nod my head. “Yeah. I’d actually love that.” I’d love to see where this guy sleeps, where he spends some of his time. He’s a little bit of a mystery to me.
I really don’t understand him at all. Maybe this will help give me a little glimpse into his life.
“Figured you’d like that. It’s the first place I’d want to go if I were you. And when we’re done looking around, I’ll show you his dance shed.”
I’m so intrigued by this. “Does he really dance in a shed?”
“Yeah. We had no idea he enjoyed doing that until Neo took a video of it. He doesn’t look like the type.”
My mind flicks to images of Samson, his bare chest flexing as he hovers over me, his cock tunneling in and out of my hole, his gaze focused, his pupils dilated. Thank fuck his lack of rhythm on the dance floor doesn’t translate into the bedroom. “Yeah, he doesn’t.”
“But I heard you’re a dancer?”
I eye him. “Has Samson told you everything about me?”
“I just know enough. He’s very private. It’s like pulling teeth.” He grins at me, friendly and kind, and then he stops in front of a door, one with a large gash in the frame. It’s almost like something sharp landed there. “Ah, here we are.”
Ansel pushes the door open and steps through.
I smile as I step in after him. The space looks almost purposefully rugged, with dark walls and heavy materials.
It’s large enough to fit a huge bed on one side, directly across from a large stone fireplace.
On the walls is an axe collection, and on an end table is a collection of hunting knives.
“Well, this is exactly what I expected,” I say as I trail a hand along a whiskey decanter on a sideboard.
“It is very Samson.”
“It is.”
“I guess he has an affinity for knives.”
“And axes. That’s his favorite weapon of choice.”
I stop and pick a knife up off the table. The hilt is ornately decorated, kind of like the one he carries around. “Do all rich people have weapons of choice?”
Ansel laughs once more. “Yeah, I know. It’s so weird. Cade loves medieval torture devices. It’s a whole thing.”
“Is it because they’re bored and have nothing else to do?”
His eyes meet mine, and an emotion I can’t place moves through them. “Something like that.”
Opening a drawer, I see a stack of pictures inside, most turning sepia and curled around the edges. I can’t help but reach for the top one, one that features six young boys, each wearing freshly pressed school uniforms—ones you’d expect to see on kids who attend a private or boarding school.
I lift it higher and clock Samson almost immediately. He’s not smiling. Well, none of them are. They’re all serious, each standing facing the camera, lips in thin lines, hands against their sides. To the side is an older man standing there, looking just as stoic.
“Oh, wow.” Ansel is peering over my shoulder, reaching for the photo. “God, they’re so young.”
“This the brothers?”
“Yeah.” He holds it a little closer and then points to a boy on the right, one corner of his lip pulled up to the side. His hand is at his side, but as we peer closer, I see that he’s flipping the bird. It’s not directed at the camera, but the sentiment is there.
“That’s Cade,” Ansel says with a laugh. “Always a menace. Always rebelling.”
“They don’t look happy.” I don’t like that. No child should be as sad as these boys are.
Ansel sighs. “They weren’t. Their dad was…he was terrible.”
“Samson said as much.”
“How much has he told you?” Ansel asks, returning the picture to the drawer.
“Not a lot. I don’t really know much about Samson at all. He just keeps…showing up.”
Ansel laughs. “They all have a habit of doing that.”
He reaches inside and pulls the rest of the pictures out, and the two of us flip through them. Most are pictures of benign things, like different kinds of knives, bugs, and a few flowers. But there are other pictures with his brothers scattered in there. And one of a woman who has a kind smile.
“That was their mom. She died. That’s when everything changed.” He rolls his lips through his teeth. “I’m not sure how much to tell you, but just know that they haven’t had it easy. It explains a lot.”
Before seeing that first photo, I might’ve found that hard to believe, given their wealth. But then again, sometimes things look nice on the outside and are chaotic within. I’m not in a place to judge.
When we’ve gone through the stack, Ansel takes it from me and places it back in the drawer, closing it softly. Then he nods toward the door. “We probably shouldn’t have done that, but I’m nosy.”
I would feel guilty, but I remember how Samson was in my place. How he combed through everything of mine without bothering to ask permission. “Yeah. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He mimics zipping his lips and then smiles at me. “They’re very private, like I said, but once they let you in, you’re all in. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do to protect you.”
My throat constricts around a lump as I follow Ansel out into the hallway.
“Come on, let me show you the shed, and as we go, we can make a few stops along the way. I think you’ll like the conservatory.”