AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I do it too,” Izzy says with a shrug. “I’m putting it down to the fact that we’ve been deprived of nice food and stuff, so just ignore them. Have you had pizza yet?”
“I can’t eat pizza, I’m gluten and dairy intolerant,” Penelope reels off without thought.
“No, you’re not,” Izzy says.
Penelope tenses, and I press a kiss to her neck, hoping that my touch will make her relax a little.
“You can eat whatever the fuck you want,” Izzy shouts. “We both can. In fact, that should be the first thing we do as the start of our revenge on them. We’ll take a picture of us both stuffing our faces with some gourmet pizza and tag both Mom and Dad in it,” she cries, jumping out of Gulliver’s lap and grabbing one of the pastries, taking an aggressively large bite from it.
She’s angry, and I get that. The more I learn about everything their parents have done, the way both girls have suffered, the angrier I get on their behalf. I’m just not sure what my Princess will do in response to her sister’s anger. What I’m not expecting is for her to crawl out of my lap, put her cup on the table, and then grab a Danish with a trembling hand.
I feel every one of my muscles tense as she brings it to her lips and takes a bite. No one except me has any idea how much of a big deal it is that she’s eating right now. They didn’t see the way she became catatonic this morning, whimpering and crying, lost to the monsters in her mind. They didn’t see the terrified, harrowed look in her eyes when she finally opened them.
An overwhelming feeling of pride explodes inside of me. To most people, eating a pastry wouldn’t be a protest, but to Penelope, it’s her standing up and fighting in solidarity with her twin.
Grabbing my cell, I jump up, pull up the camera app and turn it to the girls. “Say ‘fuck you.’ I’m going to post it directly onto your mom’s Facebook wall.”
Izzy drapes her arm around Penelope, and they press their identical faces together as they take bites of their sticky, sugary treat, smiling maniacally at the camera.
“Fucking perfect,” I say, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat.
The moment I lower my cell, Princess takes a step toward me and hands the rest of the pastry to me. There’s a slightly frenzied look in her eyes, but I’ll take her crazy over beatdown any day of the week. Capturing my girl around her waist, I sit back down and pull her into my lap, swallowing back the three words that are desperately trying to form on my lips.
26
PENELOPE
Hawthorn’s arms around me are the only things keeping me from losing my shit. I’m elated and terrified and manic and horny, and it feels like I’m teetering on the edge of hysteria and it’s all because I just ate a pastry. This morning I had a complete meltdown over a single bite of an omelet, and yet I’m on my second cup of the most delicious coffee I’ve ever drunk, liberally laced with full-fat creamer, after stuffing my face with a sugary pastry, and I’m okay. Well, maybe not okay.
I can hear my mom’s voice in my mind, I can smell the acrid scent of vomit, and I can feel the burning in my throat from her fingers, but it’s muffled by my own anger. Somehow, seeing my sister’s fury ignited my own, and it’s loud enough to drown out my memories and the conditioned life I’ve lived for so long.
I’m sure I’ll hate myself later. The guilt and fear won’t just fade away, but for right now, surrounded by Hawthorn and buoyed by Izzy, my mom can’t get to me. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, but I like it.
“Okay, the food porn and pictures are done,” Davis announces, curling his lip and sneering at me like I’m the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. “Are we plotting some revenge or what?”
Leaning back into Hawthorn’s chest, I sag against him, letting him hold me up as I drink my ten-thousand-calorie drink.
“Does anyone have a pad and a pen?” Izabella asks.
“No, Miss Nineteen-Eighty, I don’t have a pad and pen, but I do have an iPad and my finger,” Kip jeers playfully.
“Fine, whatever, a pen and paper would work just as well,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Penelope, this is your baby, did you have anything specific in mind? I have a few ideas, just stupid stuff to piss them off, but every bit of revenge is worth it. Right?”
“I…” I pause, glancing at the mixed bag of expressions on the faces of the people around me. Hawthorn is stoically supportive, my sister is excited, Gulliver is pensive, Kip is amused, and Davis is scowling. “I thought we could leak it to the press that they’re dead.”
There’s complete silence for a minute, then Davis snickers. “Well, fuck, I wasn’t expecting that. That’s a hell of a fucking start.”
“What do you mean exactly?” Kip asks thoughtfully.
Leaning forward a little, I place my cup on the coffee table, then curl my shaking hands into my lap. “I thought that we could leak it to the press that they were killed in a yachting accident out at sea or a helicopter crash in Egypt or something. It doesn’t really matter what we say, it’s more about people thinking that they’re dead so that we can low-key fuck with their lives.”
“Won’t they just announce it’s not true?” Gulliver asks.
“I mean eventually, yes, but I don’t even know where they are right now,” I say with a shrug. “All their new housekeeper said was that they were overseas and had no plans to come back to Green Acres this year. The worst-case scenario is that after a few days, they see the news and they have the hassle of proving they’re still alive. Best case, it’s months before they find out, and we contact their bank and close all of their accounts and cancel their credit cards. Izabella and I could release a statement saying that although we were estranged from our parents, we’re still saddened by their loss.” I giggle.
“I love it,” Davis says. “The tabloids love fake news, hell, we might even be able to get into the house to get your stuff.”
“If we could get into the house, we could do an estate clearance and sell off everything—all the art, the furniture, everything—and you girls have complete plausible deniability,” Gulliver says with a sinister smirk. “When they show back up, all the money will have been donated to charity.”
