42. rich people love ambience
CHAPTER 42
RICH PEOPLE LOVE AMBIENCE
IVY
The Bradbury grounds and estate emerge with the saturation turned all the way up. Even with sunglasses on, I shield my eyes, the sun so bright it’s burned the blue out of the sky.
I’ve seen enough Real Housewives to know that the bigger the house, the bigger the ego. Deacon’s ego must have contributed to global warming with how big it is.
You could land a small plane in the driveway. There’s a botanical garden filled with carved statues and a fountain that probably charges for entry. And I can’t believe I’m about to walk into it wearing flared blue jeans and scuffed sneakers.
There’s a tennis court, a stable (empty, to my bitter disappointment), and an excess of gold on the outside. It’s monstrous and epically gaudy.
I’m in heaven.
Despite my excitement, I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Lincoln and his siblings being stuck here every summer. The nearest neighbor is miles away. Whole school populations couldn’t fill this place.
I feel lonely just looking at it.
“The upkeep on this place must be wild,” I say as Lincoln parks out front. If he tells me I need to start bowing and memorizing thirty types of forks, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.
For the past fifteen minutes, he’s been the kind of quiet I’m starting to hate on him. The one that says he’s stuffing himself into the shape of someone he isn’t. On second thought, coming here might have been a terrible idea.
I take a collective breath and follow him out of the car.
“You came!” Darcy calls out, stepping gracefully out of the entrance and making her way over to us.
The extent of my fashion knowledge starts and ends with the floral-patterned leggings I used to wear as a freewheeling toddler— which I kinda miss, if I’m honest— but her flowing brown skirt and off-the-shoulder top suit the aesthetic. Her hair falls perfectly straight, shining a glimmering, soft gold in the afternoon sun.
I ready myself for a weekend of being underdressed.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say.
“You won’t be saying that by morning,” she promises. But it doesn’t matter, because what I told Lincoln is the truth. I’m here for him, and I’m not going anywhere until this weekend is over.
As Lincoln collects our bags, two older figures step out of the house, their expressions blank enough that it’s either arrogance or cosmetic.
Considering these are Kyle’s parents we’re talking about, I feel good saying it’s the first.
“Lincoln,” Richard says, the word a greeting and a warning. He doesn’t bother looking at me.
Gotta say, having met their demon of a son, I was expecting worse. More… pizzazz. There’s a patch of hair the size of a quarter left at the tip of his widow’s peak, and it must be clinging for dear life because it’s all that’s left on the wasteland that is his scalp.
Beside him, Helen applies a smile, as though she just now remembered it’s a thing humans do. Her dark hair is trimmed into a bob so thick it reminds me of the hedges that line the top of the driveway. They’re both dressed in head-to-toe summer beige, and honestly, I could kick myself for even being surprised. All that’s missing is a small dog and a Stetson.
We all turn at the arrival of several cars.
Kyle arrives first, in a car that looks like a piece of coal mated with a spaceship. It’s big and loud, and I can see the ozone layer deteriorating before my eyes as he skids to a stop.
He bypasses us with a snide grin, shaking his own father’s hand before going for a hug with Helen. The only person who gets a real reaction from her is, of course, her son. I did not need the evidence to tell me that Kyle has a mommy complex, but ew, there it is. In all its lip kissing glory.
Several doors slam, and Sally waves a hand in passing that is either her saying hello or telling us to fuck off, and actually, from the way she pushes past her husband, her nose pointed in the air, I’m guessing it’s both. Neither her husband nor her sons say a word to us as they head inside.
“I’m starting to think I should be offended,” I whisper.
Darcy leans in. “It’s just the breeding, love. Lots of sketchy cousins. Don’t take it personally.”
I snort loudly. I can think of one in particular.
The last arrival is the dreaded Judy.
As she steps out of a silver sports car in a loose linen shirt and capris, her straw-colored hair falls around her face and shoulders as though she demanded it stay in line or else. The thump of her car door (a surprisingly humble white Honda) echoes as she faces off against Richard. And if I see one tumbleweed, I’m getting straight back in the car.
“Hayden is visiting his father. You get me instead.”
Her eyes slowly take us all in, pausing long enough on me that I feel my stomach bottom out. I’m sure if I looked down, I’d find it shriveled between my beat-up sneakers. Her expression is inscrutable.
“I feel like she’s looking into my soul, discovering I failed at cursive, and will never forgive me,” I whisper in Darcy’s direction.
I can hear the smile in Lincoln’s voice when he leans in to reply. “Aunt J’s okay if she likes you.”
“Oh, great,” I whisper. How the hell am I going to make that happen?
We’re informed (only because Judy actually asks) that Betty is napping and Joe is walking in the gardens with Art. Judy excuses herself in that direction without another word.
Okay, then.
Looking so bored I’m half worried he’s having a stroke, Richard finally spares a look in my direction, taking in my outfit before saying, “Please remember to dress appropriately this weekend. You may lounge in whatever you like at home, but consider the impression you’re giving while you’re here.”
He sighs heavily and heads back inside without another word.
“Don’t take it personally,” Darcy says when it’s just the three of us again. “He’s like that with everyone.”
It is personal. But the joke’s on him, because I just pulled a fresh batch of grudges out of the oven, and I’m feeling generous.
Lincoln’s choice to stay with his father for so long makes so much more sense now. Like a flashing billboard warning that I really shouldn’t have waved off as many times as I did.
“Is it too late to turn around?” I ask.
“Never,” he answers, but I know as long as he’s here, so am I.
“Don’t you dare leave me here alone,” Darcy says, grabbing my hand and striding confidently toward the house. “You’re the only reason I’ve been looking forward to this weekend.”
Our room isn’t a room. I mean, technically it’s a room, with four walls, a coffered ceiling, marble floors, and a connected bathroom (not to mention the giant four-poster bed that I definitely can’t look directly at without thinking about the last time Lincoln and I slept next to each other).
But it’s so far from any other room I’ve been in. For one, it’s the size of my entire apartment. There’s a working fireplace with a gray chaise facing it, matching gray curtains over floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the empty stable, and a huge white rug that must be a bitch to clean.
Glossy white side tables and a dresser sit at odds with the historical foundations, a stark reminder that money doesn’t equal taste.
I miss the warmth and color of Lincoln’s apartment. I miss squeezing onto my ratty sofa watching Too Hot To Handle while he works— until he gets so invested he puts his laptop away, and I finally get to curl up under his arm.
I’ll miss it all more when it’s gone.
Darcy perches on the end of the bed I’m avoiding, rolling her eyes when Lincoln shoos her off it again. “They had you in the terrace room right next to Kyle, so I moved you here. If you need me, I’m right across the hall.” She strides over, giving me another hug before disappearing through the door.
The only other mansion I’ve set foot in was Emma’s parents’ old place next door, which is a ridiculous term to use for a building located miles away. “You really must have hated it here to walk all the way to the Conways.”
Lincoln’s standing at the dresser, unpacking. “I think you answered your own question. Although technically I only went to keep an eye on Darcy.” He sets a pair of dress shoes on the floor. “We were given free rein while we were here, but it was lonely. Our friends were an ocean and a time zone away, so we spent a lot of time escaping when we could or haunting this place when we couldn’t.”
“I can’t imagine being here as a kid.” There are marks carved into the edge of the mantel; the kind I remember doodling in the corners of textbooks in school. I trail my fingers over the grooves. “This place is more mausoleum than home.”
“That was Deacon for you. More myth than man,” he says, hanging up his dinner jacket. It’s all very civilized for a guy who works topless most of the time. “He didn’t really know how to talk to children, so he wouldn’t. Mum was always his favorite, but he never approved of Dad, and he never hid how happy he was when they split. I expected him to leave everything to her, to be honest.”
I can’t imagine anything Astrid would hate more. “Do you think Reed asked for it? To keep it from going to anyone else?” I can only imagine the damage if it had gone to Richard instead. Reed can be a stick-in-the-mud, but it doesn’t feel like a stretch for him to swoop in and rescue the company away from greedier hands.
Lincoln only sighs. “I’m not sure what to think, but I can tell you it’s caused nothing but problems.”
Once I finally give in, I can’t stop staring at the bed. It looks sturdy, like it could handle itself if, say, two people were to really go at it. Not that I’m imaging such a thing. Or wanting to test it out.
I’m definitely not picturing Lincoln hovering over me in a white mask, wearing nothing but a smile.
“Darling?”
I snap myself out of it, dropping onto the chaise so I can’t see the bed anymore. “I’ve been thinking,” I say, and he stops unpacking to face me, crossing his ankles and leaning casually against the dresser. I don’t know when it happened, but the top two buttons of his shirt have come undone. My heart skips a beat.
“Maybe if we got some dirt on Kyle, we could counteract his blackmail. A guy like that definitely has skeletons in his closet. If we can get something big enough, we can turn the tables on him.”
He considers it while I make eye contact with the snake on his collarbone. “I’m not convinced it would matter. Kyle’s fuck-ups are a badly kept secret. He won’t care if anyone knows about his skeletons. But he knows I do.”
“This is bullshit,” I say, slipping out of my sneakers and socks. I need to change before dinner, even if I’d rather see if I can make Richard’s veins pop by showing up in jeans.
“You won’t find an argument here,” Lincoln says, and when I look up, he’s pulled his shirt out of his pants, revealing more of his toned body with each button he pops open. The sight of it is wreaking havoc on my nervous system. “I should pay him off. I don’t know what amount will satisfy him, but it’s an option.”
It’s enough to get me off my ass and in Lincoln’s business, pressing my finger to his chest (and if I happen to notice how hot and firm it is while I’m there, it’s just a bonus). “You can’t pay him off. Then he’ll win. And even if you don’t care about that— which you should— he’ll never stop. As soon as he knows he can get money out of you, he’ll keep coming back for more. The only way to beat him is to either destroy the leverage he has over you by telling Reed about the job yourself or find something Kyle wants more than the money.”
He smooths his hands down my arms. “Then I suppose we’re shit out of luck, because there is nothing Kyle cares about more than that, and Reed will never go for it. I’ve already tried.”
It’s enough to make a girl scream. “So you’re just going to give up?” I don’t know who I’m angrier at right now, Lincoln for rolling over, or Kyle for generally being the worst. Scratch that, it’s more like The Worst (?).
“I’m not giving up,” he says with the edge I’ve been waiting for, the one I remember from that night. Finally.
“I could key his car. It won’t change anything, but it’ll make me feel better.”
My pulse skips when his eyes drop to my lips. Then again when he licks his own. There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight. “That’s not very sporting of you.”
I step away, fishing a dress out of my bag for tonight and willing the heat out of my cheeks. “I think we passed sporting a few miles back. Somewhere around blackmail boulevard?”
“Fair point, darling.” He catches my wrist before I can slip into the bathroom and kisses my cheek. “Let’s call that plan B.”