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“Shall we?” he asks coldly, offering me his arm.
I want to look away, but the hostility in his gaze keeps me hostage, forcing me to hold his eye and let him look his fill. He’s pissed, but I don’t know if it’s because our parents are planning his wedding to my sister without involving him or because he knows I’m not Penelope and is furious that his real future wife sent her clone to dinner in her place.
Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I curl my fingers carefully around his arm and let him lead me from the room. Those years of private elocution and etiquette tuition have paid off, because even though my heart is racing and my mind is reeling, I can still at least behave like a lady.
The fabric of his navy-blue suit is smooth and soft as it rubs against my arm. Given how hostile his looks have been all night, I’m loathe to admit how stunningly attractive he looks in the slim fit, navy-blue suit, but it’s impossible to ignore. His hair was damp and slicked back when he first arrived, but now it’s slightly disheveled, only adding to his darkly intimidating aura. The hint of black ink curling up the side of his neck from beneath his collar is a vivid contrast against his crisp white shirt and hints that he’s more than just a typical prep school boy
Gulliver Winslow intrigues me. You can learn a lot at a school like ours when you’re invisible, so I’ve seen my fair share of rich boy antics. But there’s something about this particular rich boy that sets him apart. Maybe it’s the tattoo or the darkness that is lurking just below his polished exterior. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so used to being ignored that I’m losing my mind.
My lips part, and I start to ask him what his tattoo is of, then I snap them shut again. If he and my sister really do have some kind of real relationship, she’d already know. Scoffing a little louder than I intended, I imagine how horrified she was when she found out her future husband had blemished his skin with something so low-class as a tattoo. I bet she’s already arranged for him to have it removed.
Turning at the sound, Gulliver sneers down at me, his eyes becoming heavy with condemnation as we follow a few paces behind our parents. Once we’re inside the awful white room, I expect Gulliver to put as much space between us as he can, but before he can free his arm, our parents turn to look at us with enthusiastic, conspiratorial smiles on their faces.
Once again, I wonder if my sister has to deal with this kind of obvious matchmaking all the time. Mom and Dad clearly want Gulliver Winslow as a son-in-law, and Mr. Winslow isn’t hiding the fact that he wants Penelope—or more likely her money and businesses—as a daughter-in-law.
I feel Gulliver tense beneath my arm when his dad flashes him a pointed look. “Perhaps Penelope would enjoy a stroll around the estate. It must be awful for you young people to be cooped up with us stuffy adults.”
Still clinging to Mr. Winslow’s arm, Mom’s smile is so wide I think she’s actually on the verge of hopping up and down and clapping with excitement. “Oh, what a lovely idea. Penelope would love that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”
The word no clings to my tongue, but there’s no way I can say it. So instead, I force a brittle smile to my lips and hope no one sees the fear and trepidation in my eyes.
Gulliver’s smile is almost as fake as my own, but he doesn’t argue, he just guides me through the large French doors and out onto a terrace. Unhooking my hand from his arm, he places his palm on the base of my spine, leading me down the steps and onto a paved path.
We walk through the garden in stilted silence until the terrace and our parents’ prying eyes are behind us. The moment we turn a corner, his entire demeanor changes. Dropping his hand from my back, he takes a step away from me and groans dramatically. “Longest fucking dinner ever.”
Turning away, he unbuttons his jacket, dips his hand into his breast pocket, and pulls out a silver case. Moments later, I hear the click of a lighter, then his soft exhale as a plume of smoke appears in front of him.
The smell of the tobacco tickles my nose, but I don’t protest, because perhaps Penelope knows that Gulliver is a smoker; maybe she is too. Tonight has shown me just how little I know about my sister. But does Gulliver know her better? Could she have confided all of her secrets to this boy? Somehow, I don’t think so.
Darkness folds in around me, swallowing the world until the only living thing left is the beautiful dark boy who’s smoking and pretending I’m not ever here. The quiet doesn’t bother me, I’m used to silence, but it’s rare that I’m quiet with someone else, and instead of his soundless company being peaceful, I find it disquieting.
Glancing at my wrist, I sigh when I find it empty. If my mother had allowed me to wear a watch with this god-awful dress, at least I’d be able to keep track of how long we’ve been standing here. Instead, it just feels like forever.
Unsure what to do, I wait, listening to the soft sounds of him drawing in the pungent smoke and exhaling again a second later. Eventually, he drops the glowing cigarette to the floor and stubs it out with his foot, flicking the end into the flower bed beside the path. Then, without looking back at me, he walks away.
I don’t know what to make of his behavior. Apart from the scathing looks, he was the perfect gentleman during dinner, but the moment we were alone, he made it very clear that he’s uninterested in my company.
Glancing back in the direction we just came from, I consider making my way back to the living room and our parents, but how would I explain Gulliver’s absence or why I returned early from our walk?
I’d rather deal with his cold, dismissive silence than be forced to face an inquisition from my parents about what I did to ruin my sister’s future. Following a few paces behind him, I take the opportunity to watch him. Each of his steps is confident and self-assured. He knows exactly who he is, and his poise is oddly intimidating.
I think as a child I was comfortable in my own skin, but the last few years have taken a toll on me, and honestly, I don’t remember the last time I felt anything but constricted by my life. Everything about me is a lie, and it’s exhausting. But if tonight has shown me anything, it’s that Gulliver might be just as trapped as I am and is being forced into a future he doesn’t want to appease his dad. Yet somehow, despite his polished manners, nothing about Gulliver feels artificial.
Striding forward, he keeps moving, not slowing down, even though he must hear how fast I’m having to walk in heels to keep up with him. His broad shoulders are tense, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. But my eyes keep coming back to the tantalizing hint of a tattoo at his collar.
There’s no denying it: Gulliver Winslow is hot, and maybe if I was a different person and this was a different life, I’d enjoy watching his tight ass move in his perfectly tailored pants. But this isn’t a fantasy, and in reality, no matter how good-looking he is, he’s still just a spoiled rich boy doing what his daddy tells him so his rich family can become even richer.
In the dark of the night, I don’t see the white fretwork bench sitting beside the path until Gulliver pauses and sits down on it, spreading his long legs out ahead of him and pulling another cigarette from his case.
Scanning the path, I search for something recognizable, but we’ve been walking for ten minutes, and I’m in unfamiliar gardens, in an unfamiliar house in the dark. I can’t carry on walking or go back without him, so without another choice, I hold my skirt down over my butt and sit down on the bench next to him.
4
GULLIVER
What a fucking awful night. Clicking my lighter, I bring it up to the cigarette between my lips and inhale. The comforting taste of tobacco hits my throat as the nicotine soothes some of my ragged anger.
I don’t want to be here. My dad knows I have no intention of marrying this girl, yet both he and her family are determined that it’s going to happen. For the last three years, Penelope has been paraded out at every single fucking party, like a whore whose life you can buy just by having the right fucking bloodline.
