Sacrifice of Love (The Grey Wolves #7)(60)

I sighed just a little bit before leaving the bathroom, knowing that Mette and my Mom would fawn over me. I looked in the mirror a second too long, trying to figure out a way to get out of this. Even if I said it was too small, my mom would insist I show her anyway. Best to get it over with. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to see my mom dance around with excitement again. The door clicked open, and I stood there, eyes closed, waiting for it to come.
“Oh, Joclyn,” my mom said, “it’s beautiful.” I didn’t need to have my eyes closed, I could hear the soles of her non-slip shoes squeak against the floor as she danced in joy.
“Mom, don’t...” I pleaded, but I knew it was useless.
“That color... with your hair... Oh please wear it to dinner tonight - without that darn sweatshirt,” she added. I could feel her tug on the hoodie, but I hung on for dear life.
“Mom. No.” My eyes snapped open in my attempt to retort, and I froze. Ryland stood right in front of me, a huge grin on his face. My jaw dropped as my heart went into overdrive.
Ryland LaRue was the son of my mother’s boss. Ry was two years older than me and stood a good head taller. We had been friends since my mother first started this job when I was five, playing together in the kitchen and hiding on the grounds of the estate. Ryland would always be my very best friend, but lately it was hard to see past his dark curly hair, crystalline blue eyes and “private school Rugby muscles” without feeling like my heart was getting restarted. This heart slamming was for a different reason though: he hadn’t seen me wear anything other than a hoodie since I hit puberty. I felt uncomfortable, and Ryland’s appreciative grin wasn’t helping matters much.
Mette and my mother broke out into huge bouts of laughter at their little joke. The look of surprise on my face must have been hysterical. Rather than join along, as part of me wished to, I squeaked and moved to put my hoodie back on. I slid into it as quickly as I could without revealing my scar. I had kept it hidden from Ryland for this long, thanks to Band-Aids and carefully placed hoods or hair. I didn’t need him seeing it now. It would only give him a reason to run away.
“Ah, come on, Jos... It’s pretty,” Ryland pleaded.
“No.” I spoke as sternly as I could, turning to repeat the word to my mother who was in stitches with Mette against the confection mixer. My mother’s laughter stopped.
“Joclyn, you have to wear it tonight,” she pleaded. “Your grandmother bought you a matching skirt.”
“Skirt?” I gasped. There was no way they were getting me into a skirt. But I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that I was trapped. My birthday dinner was the only time of the year I saw my father’s parents; it would break their heart if I said no.
“Ugh. Fine. Fine!” I snapped, ignoring my mother’s look of triumph before rounding on Ryland, one finger pointed in his face. “One word of this to anyone, even mentioning it to me, Ry, and I will kill you.”“Uh huh,” he laughed, his blue eyes rolling. “What are you going to do, Jos? Hide from me? It does look very pretty on you, you know.”
“Ryland LaRue, so help me...”
“Yeah, yeah, I got ya,” he smiled, grabbing my hand that pointed in his face. “Come on. I’ll have her back in an hour, Mrs. Despain.”
“Better make it two, Ryland. I don’t need her moping around while I try to get the chicken broiled.” My mother smiled so brightly that I could have almost guessed what was on her mind. More gifts.
“No problem, Mrs. D.”
“Oh, and Joclyn,” my mom’s voice called after us. I turned back to her, halting Ryland’s departure. “Please try to avoid Edmund and Timothy. I think my job has been threatened enough for one week.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. She was always the first to get in trouble over my friendship with Ryland. I nodded in understanding before Ry pulled me out of the kitchen and into the servants’ quarters. We gained the usual snickers and side-glances as we scampered past the many rooms occupied by the live-in staff, heading to the back corridors that the servants used to move around the massive house.
At first our friendship had been tolerated by Edmund, but a few years ago that had started to change. For a year or so, it had been labeled unacceptable, and then last year, we were told we were not supposed to be friends at all. Ryland had been warned and threatened by his father to stay away from me, while my mother had been under constant “warning” of losing her job. I wasn’t surprised. To King Edmund, I was nothing more than a dirty peasant. We probably should have taken it seriously, but Ryland insisted everything was okay, so my mother and I followed his lead.
We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an unusually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm to move me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.
Timothy Vincent was the Vice President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their trillions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved toward us quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable – even on his best days.
“Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing. A heavier gait entered the hall and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depths of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as the polar icecaps. They always cut into me with a frigid poisonous edge that made my insides repulse. 
I sank into Ryland’s back, my face pressing against his polo shirt in an attempt to hide. His muscles were tensed and strained. Ryland’s hand reached back and found the tips of my fingers that stuck out from the cuff of my hoodie. He squeezed my fingers between his in an attempt to reassure me. As always, his touch warmed my body, the tingling warmth shooting right to my stomach.
“Ryland! I am so glad we found you. I would like to move our lesson to an hour after dinner.” Edmund’s voice was laced with a false endearment that shook my bones. His statement was not a question but a command. Ryland had been taking lessons with his father since he was twelve. Ry had always insisted it was some fencing thing, but the way they talked about it always made it seem so sinister - like they were going to take over the world. Who knows? Maybe they were. Corporate drama is a little out of my league.
“Yes, Father, that’s fine. I will meet you in the court.” Ryland’s voice was distant and diplomatic. When he talked like this, he reminded me of the heir to the multi-million dollar company he was, not my energetic, fun-loving best friend.
“Ryland,” Timothy spoke slowly, dragging out his syllables, and I knew he was going to address our friendship. I shifted my weight, cursing the dark hoodie that stuck out from behind my hiding place. “I am so glad to see you have taken our advice about your choice of friends.”
Timothy’s voice seemed hopeful, odd, seeing as how I stood right here. I cursed my oversized hoodie and attempted to draw the fabric closer to my body. Being so close to both of them made me almost, dare I say it, scared.
“I have expressed my opinion on this multiple times, Timothy. Please do not make me repeat it.” Ryland stood a little straighter as he attempted to end the conversation.
“Now, now, Ryland. We don’t need any of that.” Edmund’s voice lacked any warmth. “After all I would hate for your attitude to be the cause of a downfall.”
I cringed; was he talking about me or about my mother? Edmund had never before said anything so bold when I was within earshot; it was almost like he couldn’t see me. That, in itself, was a ridiculous thought; Ryland wasn’t enough to hide behind, even with all his muscle.
“You know my terms in regards to that, Father.” I could see Edmund’s expensive penny loafers slide against the white carpet; I shifted my weight, scared he was moving to get a better look at me.
“So it would seem. Well, at least now, I won’t have to dismiss her mother, or worse. We just can’t have anything spoiling my perfect son, now, can we?” I saw his body shift as if he were moving closer; Ryland’s fingers pressed harder against my own.
“No, Father.” There was a pause and then Edmund’s shiny leather shoes stepped away from us down the hall. Timothy’s shoes followed Edmund’s hesitantly, like they were waiting for something else to happen before he turned the corner.
We moved the last few steps quickly, darting into Ryland’s spacious room before either of them had a chance to return.
Ryland’s bedroom was roughly the size of my entire apartment. The giant rectangular space was separated down the middle, on the left side, by a long wall that housed a kitchenette on one side and Ryland’s massive entertainment system on the other. The right side of the room contained his oversized bed that still sported the colored blankets we had used to make forts when we were little kids; the entrance to his bathroom lay beyond the bed. Behind it all was a closet the size of a small motor home, containing far too many clothes for someone who went to a school that required uniforms.I went to the high cabinet next to the entertainment center where he kept the chocolate before plopping down on his bed to enjoy a Mounds Bar. Ryland locked the door behind him, just in case his father or the servants decided to get nosey, and turned on some brainless TV show as he went.