13. Kingsley
Kingsley
Something soft bops me on the head, pulling me out of my peaceful sleep. I groan and pull the duvet over myself, already knowing who it is.
“Wake up, Kingsley.” It’s Aralynn’s nagging voice in my ear as she shakes me. “You’ve been asleep all day.”
I flip onto my back and pull the blanket down so my sisters can see me. “I haven’t.”
Ara and Odie surround me, all sporting judgmental looks. Odie checks her phone. “It’s four p.m., and you’re way past using the hungover excuse anymore.”
Sadly, she’s right. The hungover excuse gets old after a long week of using it.
Aralynn’s back from Italy, where the Crowncrest had her busy for the past few months.
She and Odette been catching up big time, acting like they haven’t seen each other in ages, and they keep inviting me, but I haven’t gone.
Sorry, but trailing behind them as I hold their millions of heavy shopping bags doesn’t sound fun.
Besides, I’ve been too busy with Rip and Thomas.
I huff. “What’s up?”
“Dad told us to be ready for dinner,” Odette says as she sits on the edge of my bed. “And he invited the Wrights since they‘d never celebrated Thanksgiving before.”
Shit, Thanksgiving is today? How long did I sleep?
Spending countless hours with Shawn trying to figure out who’s ratting us out is messing with my brain.
It’s more difficult than I figured because you can’t let any potential suspect—which is the entire Crowncrest—know you’re onto them, so you have to go slow.
Today is the only day my family dinners aren’t all about fancy clothes and boring business chats. Instead, we get to behave like a semi-normal American family. You know, ones that don’t raise their children on finding the best ways to force information out of their enemies without killing them.
“Dad really likes them,” Ara says. “They’re doing well for the hotel.”
Yeah, Dad may like them a little too much, especially if they aren’t who they say they are.
Shawn and the rest of the guards didn’t find any trace of Rip or Thomas at the club. He even sent someone to their room, pretending to ask about hot water heaters, to check if they were actually there. Lo and behold, Rip opened the front door.
I’m not as confident he and Thomas are the spies anymore—it doesn’t add up for them to be.
Also, I don’t want to let my guard down, thinking I caught them when the actual culprit could still be hiding in plain sight.
So, I’ll keep a close eye on the Wright boys and continue to search until I find the asshole who is trying to take us down from the inside out.
Odette lays a gentle hand on my leg. “We want this dinner to go nicely, King. Will you be on your best behavior?”
I blink. “When am I not?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. Not only will the Wrights be there, but my boyfriend is coming too. The guy from the club, remember?”
What guy from the club is she… oh. The only person who comes to mind is that dude she met when we were heading out, who asked for her number. The same night I met Rip.
Aralynn throws an arm around her sister. “They made it official two weeks ago.”
“This will be his first time meeting everyone, and I need him to think we’re a somewhat normal family. At least in the beginning,” Odie explains. “That means you can’t be your usual broody, off-putting self. I need you to give more than two-word replies when people speak to you.”
“And try not to look so miserable, like you’re about to end it all,” Aralynn adds.
Sweet. I would rather be anywhere else than dinner—we have, like, five gathered dinners a week. Now I have to pretend to be some jolly fool for my sister’s boyfriend when I don’t have a jolly bone in my body.
“I know he’ll eventually have to learn about who we are and… what we do.” With a sigh, she swings her braids to the other side. “But I’m hoping a good first impression of all of us will soften the blow later, so I need you to be normal.”
Normal?
I know I’m not the most inviting person in the room—more so now than ever—but to act like that makes me the abnormal one of the family is a joke. When did I become the one who needs fixing?
We’ve all been damaged goods from the start, but I’m the only one who’s expected to put on a show because I’ve finally cracked under the pressure. Meanwhile, all they’ve done over the years is suffocate under the weight of their problems, yet no one ever asked them to put on a new face for others.
“Soften the blow of who our family is? Or your coke addiction?” I ask, not truly hearing the words coming out of my mouth.
Odie’s jaw drops so low it almost hits the floor, and my chest tightens. Shit, I should not have said that.
Aralynn’s stare is so sharp it’s burning a hole through me. “Way to be a dick.”
I don’t argue. She’s right: it was a dick move. Odette had a drug problem a few years back, and she’s been clean since, but it’s something she will never want her boyfriend to know. Past or not.
I may be a shitty brother for throwing that in her face, but my capacity to filter my sentences these days is nonexistent.
A sharp, powerful slap lands on my cheek. With my stinging face cradled in my hands, I groan.
“Go to hell, Kingsley,” Odette berates me.
Those are all the words she spares before she and Aralynn storm out of my bedroom.
Drama like this wouldn’t happen if I lived on my own, and as time continues to pass, I entertain the idea of moving out more and more.
I’m twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. They’ve had me stay home so I can continue to be under Dad’s wing, but I can probably convince them to buy me an apartment with a little more effort.
Maybe after I catch the mole.
The tension between my sisters and me doesn’t die down by the time dinner is ready. If anything, it worsened—and everyone can feel it.
Mom, knowing us, keeps asking what is up, but we all stay quiet. Dad grumbles that we’re still acting like little kids and tells us to behave for the dinner Zara’s prepared for us.
Odette’s boyfriend arrives early, all dressed up and holding flowers. He hands them to my sister, and she lights up like a firework, which no doubt gains her new man twenty brownie points from my dad.
The girls, petty as usual, make sure we sit with a buffer person between each of us. It’s how I end up at the table between Uncle Santiago and Rip.
While Mom, Dad, and my uncle try to make up for my sisters’ and my lack of conversation, I’m focusing on keeping my head upright. Since I woke up, I’ve felt like a puppet in my own body, fighting to take control but failing miserably. Dinner isn’t helping.
The smell of turkey, potato salad, and mushy green beans wafts into my nose. I stare at it all, but none of it is appealing, at least not now. Maybe later, when I’m not in front of everyone.
Since this isn’t a business dinner where I have to be professional, I don’t have my parents breathing down my neck. Everyone is all about Rip, Thomas, and Odie’s boyfriend, Paul, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
“I’m still in shock,” Paul says. “When Odie said her family has money… I didn’t think she meant like this. I won’t lie. I feel a little underdressed right now.”
“You’ve never heard of the Beaumonts?” My uncle asks as he cuts a piece of his turkey.
He shakes his head. “No. I moved to the city a few months ago, so I’m not familiar with all the big names.”
“Wow, Rip and Thomas aren’t from here either,” Mom says.
Paul turns to the brothers. “Where are you from?”
“Manchester,” Thomas replies.
“Damn, that’s a long way away. No Thanksgiving over there, yeah?”
“This is our first,” Rip says, covering his mouth as he chews. “And it’s amazing.”
Odette giggles and wraps an arm around Paul’s bicep. “Tell them where you’re from, Paul.”
I wish I could say I caught Paul’s words, but I’ve tuned everyone out when a wave of lightheadedness passes over me. Leaning back in the chair, I bite down and try to ground myself. The dizzy spells are at their peak today. If I were still asleep, or at least in my bedroom, it wouldn’t be this bad.
The mashed potatoes lathered with butter or the sweet potatoes overloaded with sugar before me sure don’t help. I need to find something I’ll be able to stomach before I keel over.
When the world steadies itself again, I sense a pair of blue eyes on me. Rip’s openly staring, no attempt to hide it. He’s got his fork in hand, raises an eyebrow, and gives me a once-over. I may as well be a glass window with how easily he’s seeing right through me.
I have to get away from this table.
I push off the table and stand up, causing an abrupt end to the conversation. Uncle Santiago clears his throat. “Where are you headed?”
“The restroom,” I reply.
Uncle Santiago nods, and it’s silent, save for my loud footsteps heading for the bathroom down the hall.
I lazily push the door shut behind me, but it remains slightly ajar.
Too tired to give a shit, I hit the faucet and splash water on my face.
Maybe the sudden cold will spark me back to life until I can get Zara to make me something my mind will allow me to swallow comfortably.
I don’t know how long I was slumped against the sink, willing my body to hold out for a little while longer. My stomach is twisting, and for a second, I wonder why I do this to myself.
I take a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Now would be a terrible time to pass out.
“Kingsley?” a voice calls from down the hall.
My grip on the edge of the sink tightens. Rip shows up a second later, peeking through the door’s gap. Eyes landing on me, he shoves it open.
It’s quiet as I wait for him to open his mouth. Then, all he says is, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I murmur. “I’m fine. You can go back.”
He moves closer. “I never said you weren’t fine.”
I side-eye him. “Okay. Then leave.”
“I never said you weren’t fine, but clearly you aren’t.”
I can barely keep myself upright, and he’s playing fucking word games.