Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Daphne
Who would’ve thought the White House would be boring as shit?
I sat cross-legged on Brooks’s bed, twirling my tiara between my fingers.
I’d found it while rifling through his bag to pass the time.
Given he’d left me unattended and phoneless, he should’ve known I’d play Dora the Explorer.
Sitting quietly with my own thoughts had never been one of my talents.
So far, my snooping had been productive.
I’d found my tiara. A box of Pleasure Pack condoms.
I’d stolen a few of those, shoving them into my pocket.
A kidnapping tax, if you will.
And then I’d found the real treasure. Brooks’s journal.
It currently sat open beside my white-socked feet.
Normally, I respected boundaries. I wouldn’t read someone’s journal. Brooks didn’t respect a single one of mine, so those rules didn’t apply to him.
I set my tiara beside me and flipped open the journal.
The first entry matched his handwriting.
I read it.
Then the second.
Then the next. And the next.
Him keeping a journal was reckless as hell. Anyone could steal this thing and sell it to the media for enough money to flee the country.
Yet Brooks casually traveled around with enough Byron family secrets to fund TMZ for a decade.
I tucked one leg under me and kept reading.
He wrote about his family. His father. Politics. The things people said behind closed doors.
According to Brooks, his father would lie, cheat, and steal if it meant staying in power.
No shocker there.
I wasn’t a fan of the president for many reasons.
The entries about his mom were different. Softer.
I slowed down while reading one about celebrating her birthday in the Caribbean.
He’d been happy when he’d written the beginning of it. I could almost hear the version of Brooks in every sentence.
Then his father had stood her up.
He made sure to write how pissed off that made him.
I flipped another page.
Adelina came up plenty too. In one entry, Brooks had overheard his parents arguing about whether she should attend Saint Vale. His mom was terrified she’d become a Fawn.
That was when I learned something new.
A Saint Vale student could reject Haven status.
His mom was worried Adelina would give hers up to fit in.
Adelina would be crazy to do that. As a Haven, she had it made.
No Initiation. No crazies in masks chasing you through the woods with chainsaws. No cleaning up a dead professor’s blood off concrete.
Keep your Haven status, bestie.
I kept going, reading about donor secrets and money laundering. So much political dirt.
Then I turned another page.
I stopped.
Daphne.
I read the line again.
My name was in Brooks’s journal.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so bored anymore.
Adelina has this friend, Daphne. Since I’m rarely at home, I never paid her much attention, but she came with us on our summer yacht trip.
She was wearing a yellow bikini with these little white strings.
I didn’t get anything done because all I wanted to do was untie those strings.
My father caught me staring and told me to put my eyes elsewhere.
My mouth fell open.
I remembered that bikini.
I also remembered Brooks on that yacht. He’d barely spoken to me the entire trip. Half the time, I’d assumed he hadn’t even noticed I was there.
I guess he’d noticed the shit out of me.
I flipped the page. Four entries later, there I was again.
I just stupidly drank too much and texted Daphne. I think it was a mistake.
I smiled at that.
My Bashful Brooksy.
That night came rushing back. Lying in bed with my phone inches from my face, torturing him because I’d known almost immediately how easy it was to get under his skin.
I hadn’t known he’d been nervous.
I kept reading.
Pretty sure I want to fuck my sister’s best friend.
Well, I thought I just wanted to fuck her, but the girl is funny as shit.
I’ve never met someone who gives me attitude like she does.
It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t look at you like they know they’ll get something in return for their friendliness.
My smile faded as I reread it.
I ran my thumb over the edge of the page.
There was something strange about reading about myself through Brooks’s eyes. He’d seen things in me I’d never known mattered to him.
Twenty-three more times.
That was how many times he’d written about me.
He wrote about our texts. Our secret FaceTimes. Stupid things I’d said that hadn’t been stupid enough for him to forget. He’d even written about me admitting I was nervous Adelina would find out about us.
Then I reached the one from the night before the White House State Dinner.
I’ll see Daphne tonight. I can’t wait. She’s been distant with me lately. Giving me one-word responses, like she’s mad at me for something. I need to talk to her about it. I think tonight is the night I want to talk to her about making it official.
My breathing turned labored.
Making it official.
The words blurred.
I turned the page.
He’d written again after the dinner.
Holy fucking shit! I just had sex with Daphne in the Oval Office.
It was so surreal. I don’t even know how to describe it.
We talked, and she said she wasn’t mad at me.
Seeing her in person, sneaking away and talking, made me realize that I didn’t just want to sleep with this girl.
It isn’t a simple crush. She’s completely taken me over. I’m falling in love with her.
My vision blurred.
I blinked hard and read the last sentence again.
I’m falling in love with her.
I’d been falling in love with him too.
I pressed my lips together and turned the page, searching for more. There wasn’t any.
Not the next day. Or the day after that.
Brooks didn’t write again for a week.
When he did, everything about his handwriting looked different. It was angrier and messier.
I curled my fingers around the edge of the journal and read.
Everything in my life is dead. I’ve never felt so angry, and I don’t know how to release it all. Last night, someone shot my father. They wanted him dead. While they arrested the guy who pulled the trigger, there are more people involved.
The guy is ratting out everyone, and I can’t wait to watch all those fuckers pay for what they did.
I know they wouldn’t have stopped at ending my father’s life.
Deep down, I knew all of us were names on their hit lists, like we don’t have beating hearts inside our bodies, like we’re not fucking breathing humans!
They see us as nothing but people who either further their agenda or need to go down.
I don’t trust anyone anymore.
I’ll make sure anyone who knew about this suffers for the rest of their lives.
When I become a Night Son, that’s my new mission.
Take them all down!
Every last one of them!
I hadn’t known about the plan to shoot his father. That didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilt about it.
Brooks had been right in his entry. I’d become distant because of what I’d found out about his father. I wanted the president to pay for what he’d done to my family.
I’d wanted a scandal. Impeachment. His name dragged through the mud until the entire country hated him.
The Nixon kind of removal.
Not the Kennedy.
I’d never wanted anyone dead.
I loved Adelina. I loved her mother.
And back then, even if I’d been too afraid to admit it, I loved Brooks.
My father and his yuppies had used me as a pawn in a game I hadn’t even understood I was playing.
And Brooks paid for it.
We both did.
My fingers trembled as I flipped to the next page. Part of me already knew what would be there.
I prayed I was wrong.
The words were barely readable. Letters slanted into each other. Ink blotted across the page. One sentence had been scratched over so violently that I couldn’t make it out.
Near the bottom was a small hole in the paper.
I brushed my finger over the tear.
He’d pressed the pen down hard enough to rip straight through the page.
My stomach dropped.
This one will be about me.
Conrad Fucking Kenward!
That’s the motherfucker who helped plan the assassination attempt on my father, along with five other men in Congress and the Senate.
The man who wanted my entire fucking family slaughtered.
The man who, only weeks ago, shook my hand, who had dinner with my family, who I thought maybe, just fucking maybe, would be my father-in-law one day if I kept falling for his daughter.
My family trusted hers with our lives.
I trusted Daphne with mine. With my sister’s.
Did she know?
No. No fucking way.
She’d never do that to Adelina or me.
Conrad was just questioned and said Daphne nor her mom were involved. I believe it. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever trust her again. That I ever want to see her again. Daphne Kenward is dead to me.
She might not have pulled the trigger. Nor did her pussy-ass father, who paid someone else to do it. But she’s a Kenward, and anyone with that blood in them cannot be trusted.
And what would people think if I did take anything further with her?
I’d look like a fool, fraternizing with the enemy. Career fucking suicide.
Never again will I risk anything for a girl. Having sex with her in The Oval Office could’ve screwed me for the rest of my life, but I didn’t care because I wanted her so damn bad.
That lust is over now. I’m glad hatred has taken it over.
If I had it my way, every Kenward would be shot, taken out, just like her father wanted to happen to my family.
This was it.
The moment the boy I’d fallen for became the man who hated me.
I checked the date even though I already knew it.
The same day my father had been arrested.
Brooks’s fear had been fresh. His anger even fresher.
I understood that. It still didn’t make Daphne Kenward is dead to me hurt any less.
He’d believed I was innocent. That somehow made it worse.
He’d known I’d never intentionally hurt him or Adelina, but my last name was enough for him to hate me anyway.
I’ll never forgive myself for betraying him and Adelina.
The door suddenly opened.
I slammed the journal shut and shoved it behind my back.
Brooks slipped through the narrow opening, locked the door behind him, then let his back hit the wood.
His head followed with a quiet thud.
I stayed still.
Partly because I was sitting on evidence of my snooping.
Partly because something about him was off.
He stayed against the door for another second, tugged at his bow tie, then yanked it loose like it’d been choking him all night.
There it is.
Him dismantling the polished Brooks when he’d had enough pretending.
Whatever happened tonight had pissed him off.
Something inside me softened.
For maybe three seconds.
Until I saw my tiara.
I shook off the urge to comfort him and noticed the plastic bag in his hand. Something dark was shoved inside.
I squinted.
Is that … hair?
“What’s that?” I craned my head for a better look and gasped. “Did you cut off someone’s head?”
I quickly scooted backward, conveniently sitting on top of the journal.
Brooks glanced at the bag like he’d forgotten he was carrying it. “What?”
I pointed at the bag.
“This?” He lifted it.
“Yes, that. The bag of human remains you casually brought in here.”
“This is your ticket to the after-party.”
“After-party?” I stretched out my legs in front of me. “No thanks.”
“You don’t have a say in it.” He tossed the bag onto the bed.
I discreetly shoved the journal under the pillow before crawling toward the bag and opening it. Inside was a brunette wig.
I pinched it between two fingers and lifted it out. “I’m a hostage here. You said it yourself. If I’m caught, my ass is grass, and your father is the lawnmower.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You have such a classy way with words.”
I perked up, running my fingers through the long strands. “No matter how classy I say it, if I’m caught here, I’m dead.”
“That’s why you’re wearing the wig.”
“No thanks. I’m better as a blond.”
“Tonight, you’re a brunette.”
I pulled the wig over my hair and attempted to tuck everything underneath it. One side hung lower than the other.
I struck a pose. “See? Not cute. I look like I’m fifteen and about to go trick-or-treating.”
“Get your ass in the bathroom and make it look good then.” Brooks checked his watch before removing his cuff links.
I dragged the wig off. “There’s no making this look good without the necessary products.”
“I don’t care. Do your best.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one risking prison time in a Party City wig.” I tossed it onto the bed. “And what am I supposed to wear it with?”
I gestured down at my black yoga pants and loose SVU tee. I’d changed before Brooks stuffed me into the suitcase. Comfort had seemed more important than fashion while crammed inside one.
Brooks walked to the other side of the room and opened the bottom drawer of the antique dresser.
Well, shit.
That was one of the drawers I hadn’t gotten around to snooping through.
He pulled out a stack of clothes and tossed them onto the bed. “There.”
I picked up the stack, unfolding the first piece to find one of my pink dresses. I held it up by the straps. “What the hell?” I shrieked. “You stole this from my closet?”
“I didn’t steal it. I brought it for you.”
“Taking something without permission is the literal definition of stealing.”
“Your makeup bag and heels are in there too. Get yourself together. I’m showering.”
He started unbuttoning his tux shirt, exposing a strip of skin with every button.
I dropped the dress in my lap. “Where are we going?”
“Oval Office Club.”
A shiver nipped at my spine. “Absolutely fucking not. People will recognize me, wig or not.”
“It’ll be dark in the club.” He undid another button. “I’ll tell them you’re a hooker I hired for the night.”
I threw the wig at him. It whacked him in the shoulder before dropping beside his Tom Ford loafers. “Joke’s on you for being the guy who had to hire a hooker.”
“True. Why would I pay someone to choke on my cock when I can have you do it for free?”
I curled my lip. “Next time, I won’t choke on it. I’ll bite the fucking thing off.”
He finished another button like me threatening to bite off his dick wasn’t out of the ordinary.
When it came to us, it really wasn’t.
“Go make yourself into a stranger.” He jerked his chin toward the bathroom. “You have ten minutes.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll do your hair and makeup for you. Trust me, I won’t make it look good.”