“You can’t do that,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gathered her fresh clothes and toothbrush to her chest. She loved her family so much. Especially Rosie. “They work for your parents, not you. They wouldn’t cave to their moody teenage son.” Emilia was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.
“They wouldn’t?” My eyebrows jumped as I feigned surprise. “When’s the last time they even bothered being here? Let’s test your theory. I’ll call my dad right now.”
To everyone else, it seemed like I’d always had Baron Senior by the balls. Even though he was too busy doing the New York-Cabo-wherever-the-fuck-Jo-wanted-to-sunbathe route to actually be a parent, he rarely denied me.
I assumed it was because of the guilt that plagued him from what he’d done to my mom.
“Hey, Dad, it’s me.” I spoke into the phone, swinging my legs up on her bed and crossing my feet at the ankles. I was still wearing my muddy sneakers. My phone was on speaker.
“What do you want, Baron?” There was no mistaking the impatience in his tone.
Help’s mouth opened slightly.
I popped my minty gum in boredom, sighing. “Just so we’re all on the same page, since you guys are barely at the house anymore, am I correct to assume the staff is under my supervision? Meaning I can hire and fire if someone isn’t meeting my needs?”
I heard the splashes of the waves against my father’s yacht—Marie, after my mom—and ice clink in a glass. Scotch was my guess.
“Yes,” he said. “You assume correctly. Why? What’s wrong? Somebody giving you trouble?”
I nodded with a triumphant smile even though he couldn’t see me. She could, though.
Help’s face whitened beneath her golden tan. Upset. Horrified. I was sending her packing at eighteen, with no prospects and no place to go, and I’d threatened to fire her family if she wouldn’t leave.
“No, everything’s good,” I said, still watching her. “Speak soon, Dad.” I hung up on the fucker—he and Jo and Daryl were going to pay, but they were a problem for a different day. I snapped my gaze to meet hers.
She tilted her chin up. The contempt she held for me was rolling off her rigid posture in waves.
The silence was suffocating and so was the idea that I was essentially ruining her life. I was choosing myself over Emilia, my feelings over hers, and it wasn’t noble or honorable, but it was who I was.
“Can I finish out the school year, at least?” she asked so quietly it took me a few seconds to decipher her request. She was perfectly composed. Proud.
Fuck, she was beautiful when she was strong. I was doing the right thing getting rid of her.
I nodded.
“Leave the week after school ends,” I instructed, getting up from her bed. I already missed it. “And it goes without fucking saying that you and Dean are done. This is the second and last time I’m telling—not asking—you to stop this shit. Tell him you’re leaving because you’ve met someone else online. Insist that he never contact you again. One glitch, Emilia, and I promise you, your family won’t just lose this job. I’ll make sure they don’t find another one.”
She didn’t answer, but I knew she got the message. She wasn’t the kind of girl to puss out when it came to her loved ones. Her family was her everything.
When I walked out of the servants’ apartment for the very last time, I asked myself if there was a chance Emilia would ever forgive me.
I wondered how much groveling I’d need to do if I ever wanted to get back in her life.
No. The price was too high. We were done.
But so were she and Dean.
The Present
I WASN’T GONNA DO IT.
At this point, I didn’t even care about the money. I’d never cared too much for it anyway. Sure, I wanted to survive, maybe take a breather from chasing overdrafts, but at what cost?
Nope, I wasn’t going to ruin anyone else’s life with a lie. Ever. I wasn’t Vicious.
I spent my night lying in bed, thinking and analyzing the last few hours. There was a lot to take in. Vicious wanted me to lie and tell Jo straight to her face that if it came down to it, I would testify against her, telling the court he’d told me things he never had.
I was a horrible liar. But a little voice inside me kept asking—and what if it is the truth? The answer was always the same—even if it was the truth, it wasn’t my truth. There were other ways Vicious could get what he wanted without dragging me into his war.
At four in the morning, I finally kicked off my blanket and slipped into my flip-flops. I knew there was no chance I was going to fall asleep after deciding I wouldn’t help him, so I might as well just read. I remembered the library I’d always wanted to visit over the years.