Prologue #2
I shot him a look that encompassed how ridiculous it was to think my twin sister would help me with anything. As identical as we were in appearance, we were the complete opposite in every other way. 'She’ll dance a jig if I’m late and make sure my dad knows by exactly how many minutes.'
'How your sister is such a bitch is beyond me,' he muttered.
Maverick might not understand it, but I did. My dad grew it in her, nurtured it with his own cruelty. And because I could see that, I could never bring myself to hate her. If anything, I felt sorry for her.
A ding sounded, and I worried it might be Dad even now, checking on my whereabouts. But my phone screen was empty.
Mav swiped up his cell, unlocking it. 'It’s Sean. Wants to know where I am.'
'See?' I said softly. 'You have places to be, too.' Another night, another party. The thought of it twisted my stomach, especially when there was so much unsaid between us.
Maverick dropped his phone, his hands coming up to frame my face. 'The only place I want to be is with you.'
My heart gave a riotous tumble and twirl. 'Okay.'
He stretched up, brushing his lips against mine. 'Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.'
My pulse thrummed, making blood whoosh in my ears. Would that be a good talk? Or a this-was-a-mistake talk? It had to be the former. That organ in the center of my chest did another dip and roll. 'Tomorrow,' I promised.
Maverick pressed his forehead to mine. 'Let’s get you home.'
I climbed off Mav’s lap, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. 'I’m gonna take the shortcut,' I said as I slid off the tailgate of his truck.
He moved to follow me. 'Rebel, it’s pitch-black. Let me drive you.'
I made a face. 'It’s right next door.'
Twisted Oak Ranch, home to the Archers, butted up against my grandfather’s ranch, Moonridge Meadow.
The place that had always been my refuge—except for the ten acres he’d given my father and the ostentatious house Christian Carrington had built, which didn’t fit with the rest of the place.
The house that had never felt like a home.
Maverick frowned. 'He’ll be mad if I drop you off.'
It wasn’t a question. It was a sad reality. Still, I offered, 'Two more months, and we’re at college. Two more months, and it won’t matter.'
Mav’s fingers wove through mine. 'Two more months.'
His words felt like a vow, and I held on to them with everything I had.
My phone sent out another reminder.
'I gotta go.'
'Text me when you get home. I want to know you got there safe.'
He always did.
I simply nodded as I jogged to the fence, hopping over it and onto the bike I’d left there.
I took the makeshift trail across Moonridge Meadow Ranch.
The horses were in for the night, but I could still make out the silhouettes of the cattle illuminated by the moonlight.
It was comforting somehow, knowing I wasn’t alone, even in the darkness.
My hair flew behind me as I pedaled harder, trying to channel the energy of all the reckless mountain biking and rock climbing Mav favored. I raced past two massive barns, the bunkhouse, the foreman’s house, a few guesthouses, and Granddad’s sprawling place that somehow still felt homey.
In a matter of minutes, I saw the glow of the Victorian-style house Dad had built. Everything about it was fancy and ornate—but somehow fake, too. Because it wasn’t actually old with character and endless stories. Nothing about it said family ranch. It was all formal stiltedness.
I jumped off my bike, hurrying to store it in the equally ornate garage. I had two minutes to spare. I quickly typed out a text.
Me: Home.
The reply was instant.
Maverick: Miss you already.
My body warmed as I headed into the house. Not even the coldness of this place could chill me now. I moved as quietly as possible. It was better not to be noticed. Flying under the radar was always better.
It had gotten easier over the past few months, as my parents spent more time in Santa Barbara, where my dad had opened a financial planning office. It was the perfect job for him, helping the rich get richer. Now, he was rarely in Starlight Grove.
But whenever he was, it felt like an infinite number of invisible mines had been placed under the floorboards of the house. One wrong move, and everything would detonate.
I crept through the kitchen, listening for something, anything. There was no crackle of a fire in the fireplace, no hum of some news program on the TV, no clink of glasses. I let out a breath.
But I shouldn’t have.
'Aster.'
His voice cracked like a whip, making my spine snap straight and every muscle in my body turn to stone.
I forced myself to swallow, to breathe. Turning slowly, I took in the man sitting in the near-dark of the library. There was only the glow of a reading lamp, illuminating a newspaper and a lowball of bourbon sitting on the side table by the leather chair.
Sometimes, I felt like I didn’t recognize the man who’d raised me: the dark hair gone silver at the temples, the lines bracketing his mouth, the glasses that did nothing to hide the coldness in his eyes.
Nothing about our appearance was the similar.
His hair was so dark it was almost midnight.
Mine, a pale blond. His eyes were amber, and mine were so pale blue they were nearly translucent.
Even Camilla’s were darker than mine—still light blue but more pigmented.
She always said mine were like zombie eyes.
But most of our shared appearance came from our mother.
We had none of our father’s dark features.
My throat constricted as he rose from his chair. 'Sir,' I greeted, using the address he preferred. No Dad or Daddy. Not even Father.
His gaze scanned my face, then the rest of me, as if looking for evidence. 'Where were you?'
My pulse thrummed in my neck. 'Riding my bike.'
Not a lie. That was the key. Never give an untruth. He could read them.
He scoffed. 'In the dark.'
I shrugged. 'The moon’s nearly full, and it’s finally cool.'
My father’s gaze narrowed. 'Why do I feel like you’re lying, Aster?'
My airway tightened, making it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone speak.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. 'I know where she was.'
There was such glee in my sister’s voice- pure joy at giving our father every piece of ammunition he needed.
Maybe it was that she was still making up for the stunt she’d pulled junior year, running off to LA for a month and getting caught up with a rough crowd.
She’d done thirty days in rehab before she was allowed home.
And our father had been solely focused on her misery for months after. He and my mother had made up a story about an eating disorder, but even that had cost them. As if they couldn’t stand the thought of any child of theirs being less than perfect.
'She was with Maverick Archer,' Camilla finished, the joy in her words only intensifying.
Panic set in. My forearms cramped to the point of pain as my hands curled into fists.
My father’s head swiveled slowly, away from my sister and toward me. There was nothing on his face. No fury or disappointment. Only emptiness. And that scared me more than rage ever would.
But Camilla? She grinned. Maybe facing so much of our father’s cruelty had made her this way. Perhaps it was because she so badly wanted a break from his focus that she reveled in the times when I caught it.
It could’ve been because I was usually so good at flying under the radar. A 4.1 GPA. Always completed my chores. Never missed a curfew. Bit my tongue so hard it bled when I wanted to speak out.
Maverick was my only weakness.
And now, it had caught up with me.
'Is that true?' Dad’s voice was deceptively calm. But I knew better than to lie to him.
'Yes.'
A muscle fluttered beneath his eye. The only tell.
'Camilla, leave us.'
My twin’s smile only widened. 'Of course, sir. Can I get ice cream with Edison?'
The last thing she was going to do with her boyfriend was get ice cream at ten o’clock at night, but I swallowed my words like always.