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“It’s a text,” he says, slowly, like he’s not sure if I understand.
Swiping the screen, I tap into the message app.
“I thought that old Nokia was your only cell phone?”
“It was…why?”
“Then how do you know how to use an iPhone?”
Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. “I chose not to have a fancy cell phone. That doesn’t mean I’m technologically inept. I’ve had a smartphone before, I just enjoyed the simplicity of my old cell. It made me harder to contact.”
His expression shutters and he closes his eyes for a second, shaking his head while he mutters something too quietly for me to hear.
While he’s distracted, I take a moment to appreciate how beautiful he really is. Classically handsome with a square jaw and dark features, he’s gorgeous, rich, and popular. I’m not entirely sure how we went from blackmail to naked sleepovers, but despite how much I’m enjoying being with him, a part of me feels like I should be keeping him at arm’s length, because despite everything he’s said and done for me, a niggling voice at the back of my head still doesn’t really trust him.
The first time I met Gulliver, he didn’t hide the fact that he hates my sister and family. He was so willing to use me, he orchestrated an elaborate fake engagement plot to avoid being tied to my sister and used as a pawn in a political marriage. So why now is he telling me he’s not pretending anymore? Why is he treating me like I’m actually his fiancée?
I know that part of his willingness to play along is because he feels responsible for my parents’ attack on me. But he could have helped me without us getting attached.
Everything he says about wanting me and exploring the connection between us feels real, but no matter what else we mean to each other, I’m still his “get out of jail free” card. If he’s engaged to me, he can’t be forced into marrying my sister, and until that becomes a nonissue, how can I ever really believe his motives?
Yesterday, he assured me that he and the guys weren’t pretending to be friends with me. More than once, they’ve told me I’m one of them, but I don’t know if I can trust that either. I’ve never had friends. Apart from the affection I feel for my driver, Mark, I don’t think I’ve ever really cared for anyone outside of the toxic relationships I have with my family. But somehow Gulliver and the guys have managed to sneak past my defenses, even though the four of them are really the last people I want to care about.
If my plan works and, by forcing my sister to actually live her own life, she fails to meet one of the will’s stipulations, Gulliver won’t need me anymore, and I won’t need him either. We’ll have no reason to use each other, and then the only ties that will be left are the honest and real ones. Until that day comes, I refuse to fully let my barriers down.
“Are you going to read that text, or do you plan on staring at me a little longer?” he asks with a teasing smile.
“It’s from my mom. I should ignore it. Whatever it says, it won’t be the word sorry. It won’t be her begging me to come home because she misses me.”
“You can delete it and block all of their numbers if that’s what you want to do, but it might be worth knowing how they’re going to play this before we get to school tomorrow. I can read it if you want? If it’s hateful, I’ll just delete it, and you never have to see it,” Gulliver offers, sitting up and pulling me into his lap.
Inhaling slowly, I open the text.
Mom – You’re a Rhodes, and that means you have an obligation to play your part in this family. This childish tantrum is over, and we expect things to be as normal on Monday morning.
A bark of bitter laughter falls from my lips as I read. Not a single word of apology, nothing acknowledging that both she and my dad attacked me, just a reminder that, as a Rhodes, I have a role to play.
Dropping my cell to the comforter, I climb out of Gulliver’s lap and pad naked to the bathroom. I should probably feel self-conscious, but I don’t. Gulliver’s seen, touched, and licked my naked body, so it seems pointless to act shy now. Turning on the shower, I step under the spray and scream into it, letting the water wash the noise away as it rushes into the drain at my feet.
A part of me is expecting it when Gulliver turns me around and pulls me into his chest. In the week since I ran from my home, I’ve refused to cry, but now I want to sob and scream and cry and destroy everything because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that my family is horrible. It’s not fair that they attacked me. It’s not fair that they’re not better people. It’s just not fair, and I don’t want to be strong and pragmatic about it. I want to behave like a child and be sad, mad, and heartbroken about their rejection.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Izzy. We’ll make them pay, then when we’re done, we’ll toast their ruin with a bottle of champagne, and then we’ll forget they exist,” he tells me, holding me tightly to his chest as his body shelters and protects me.
“Promise?” I ask, falling back into the pretense that I’m starting to hope is actually real.
“I promise,” he says without a hint of hesitation.
By the time we get dressed and make our way downstairs, it’s late afternoon, and my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten since dinner last night. “When’s your dad back?” I ask Gulliver as we lounge on the couch in the den.
“His flight lands at four, so he’ll be back just after five.”
“Does he know I’m here?” I ask, wondering if I need to leave. Should I go back to the hotel, or even go and look at that house I told the guys I’d found but had completely forgotten about? It dawns on me that I’ve gotten comfortable living here with all of them like a weird Brady Bunch dysfunctional family.
“Of course he knows you’re here. I had to promise him I wasn’t going to make him a grandpa before the wedding, just so he didn’t come home early.” He laughs, dragging me closer to him.
“Your dad is worried about me getting pregnant?” I gasp, pulling out of his hold and suddenly wondering why I’m not more worried about that. Gulliver and I haven’t exactly been careful. Thankfully, I’m on the birth control shot, but he doesn’t know that because we’ve been too busy ripping each other’s clothes off to talk about it.
“To be honest, I think he’d quite like to be a young grandpa, but maybe not until after we finish college.”
