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A knowing smirk curves the edge of her lips. ‘I see. You’re the infamous Ash I’ve heard so much about.’
A jolt runs through me. Bryn’s talked about me? I don’t know what she’s said, or how much, but the idea that my name exists in her world even when I’m not there makes me feel warm. I feel oddly exposed, like I’ve been seen from a distance without knowing it.
Isla is intimidating. Not so much to me – I’ve dealt with much worse – but I can see why Bryn feels the way she does around her. She has the kind of presence that fills a room. The sort of confidence that makes people gravitate to her. She carries it effortlessly, as if she’s always known she belongs at the centre of things. The way she stands there, relaxed and self-assured, makes me realise how growing up beside someone like that would make anyone feel smaller, even someone like Bryn, who shines in quieter ways. Isla has the type of energy that tries to overshadow people – or at least that’s how Bryn feels, and just from this brief encounter, I don’t blame her for feeling that way.
I understand why Bryn second-guesses herself, why she sometimes shrinks when her sister steps into the room, but standing here now, seeing Isla closely and through my own eyes, I know something Bryn doesn’t always believe. Power like this can be loud and overwhelming, but that’s not something I find attractive in a person. I love Bryn’s gentle, quiet presence, and the way she lights up in her own way. That’s what pulled me toward her in the first place.
‘I didn’t realise you were here,’ I admit. ‘I thought you left to go to the markets with everyone else.’
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. ‘Couldn’t think of a worse way to spend my Saturday.’
‘Free samples of food, fresh air, music?’ I shrug. ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’
Her brows lift again, surprise flashing across her face before she smooths it over with that same effortless confidence. She wasn’t expecting pushback. I can tell that she’s used to people bending to her. Well, she hasn’t met me before.
She drifts closer, clearly entertained, her smile edged with condescension. ‘I imagine a boy like you wouldn’t be hard to impress.’
I let the silence sit for a second longer than necessary, just to watch the confidence on her face flicker before I bark a short, dry laugh.
‘Maybe,’ I say, shrugging. ‘But you’re trying a bit too hard for someone who acts like they don’t give a shit about anything.’
Her smile falters, showing her irritation. ‘Oh, is that right?’
I straighten, finally meeting her gaze properly. ‘Bryn acts like the sun shines out of your ass, but personally, I don’t think you’re all that.’
For a split second, she looks genuinely caught off guard. Then she recovers and lifts her chin, her eyes glinting with something between irritation and intrigue.
‘You’ve got a mouth on you,’ she says.
‘So I’ve been told,’ I reply. ‘Usually by people who don’t like being challenged.’
She studies me now, in an assessing, critical way. I can tell she’s enjoying this, even if my words offend her. Being denied the upper hand isn’t something she experiences often. Somewhere beneath the bravado, I catch a flash of something human. She is a damaged girl, and I’m reminded of my suspicions about what’s been happening to her, making me feel guilty about speaking to her like that. I can’t deny she can be conniving, and doesn’t treat Bryn how she should, but there is definitely something going on between her and Grant – something that has fundamentally changed her – and I think she’s acting this way to protect herself. I get it. I’ve seen and experienced some fucked-up things. It messes with you.
I think, not for the first time, that Bryn has spent too long believing she lives in her sister’s shadow.
‘So, what, you snuck in here?’ she asks. ‘How often do you do this, Ash?’
She says my name like it’s a dirty word, deliberately. I can tell she’s trying to pull a reaction out of me.
I arch a brow. ‘Why do you care?’
Her lips twitch, annoyed that I didn’t offer her the answer she wanted. She straightens, folding her arms as though regrouping. She looks calculating, and a bit too interested in me for my liking.
‘I have a right to know if a poor boy from the streets is sneaking around my house. God knows what you might have gotten up to if I didn’t catch you down here.’
I stare at her for a second.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Because I was seconds away from robbing the place blind. Caught red-handed eating a banana. Real criminal mastermind stuff going on here.’
Her eyes flash in annoyance; she clearly doesn’t find my response very humorous.
‘Relax. I’m not here for your house. Or your things.’
Her chin lifts. ‘Then what are you here for? A bed to sleep in? A hot shower?’
I don’t hesitate, ignoring her constant jabs and accusations that I’m homeless. I have a home, just a shit one. ‘Bryn, obviously.’
Something flickers across her face. Surprise, irritation, maybe even a hint of jealousy, and I see it clearly then. Isla likes having control over Bryn, and the satisfaction of getting what – and who – she wants. She likes having the ability to take things from others, especially when they don’t belong to her.
