Saints: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Pawns of Patience Book 2) Page 12

  “Paperwork to have you emancipated. I had Grant Harrington draw it up for us, but don’t worry, he’ll be discreet. We don’t want anyone else to catch wind of this until everything is finalized. That way no one can raise any concerns.” I know she thinks she’s doing what’s best, but this feels like a slap in the face. I don’t want to be emancipated, I just want to get to know the one family member I have left before it’s too late. And I don’t understand why she can’t just let me have that. I never needed this house or her money, but I needed a family. A real one. So, of course, that’s the one thing I still can’t seem to get.

  “This isn’t what I want.” I slide the papers away, only for her to slide them back.

  She gives me a soft smile, the closest thing to a maternal gesture she’s offered me since I got here. “I know, and I could never begin to apologize enough for that. If I could stop dying, I would.” She cracks a smile, but it doesn’t last when she realizes I’m not amused in the slightest.

  “It’s all too much. Can’t we take a breather and think about this?” But I already know the answer. She has thought about this. It’s probably all she’s thought about. I love Pearl as much as anyone could love a great aunt that took them in but that they’ve barely gotten to know. I love her enough to know that this house and this family mean everything to her. If she’s really dying, the least I can do is honor her wishes. I don’t wait for her to answer my question. “Do you have a pen?”

  She returns to the same drawer as before and retrieves one. The weight of it feels heavy in my hand. Partially because it’s a fancy fountain pen, but partially just because of the weight of what we’re doing.

  I barely skim the paperwork. It’s not like I have anything to lose if something in here is designed to screw me over somehow. Not that I think that’s the case, anyway. I never imagined I would be seventeen and asking to be declared legally responsible for myself, but in a way it makes a lot of sense. I grew up taking care of myself, so this just feels like I’ve come full circle. I’m still taking care of myself, now I’m just getting legal recognition for it.

  I sign my name to all the highlighted spots, then look up. “Now what?” I ask, handing her back the pen.

  “Now Mr. Harrington will take our case in front of a judge, and hopefully the judge will decide in our favor. He said you won’t need to be present for the initial hearing, but that you might be asked to come in front of the judge if he asked for an additional hearing for more evidence.” Pearl tucks the papers under her arm, looking far more triumphant now that she knows she’s won. “If it helps, he seemed to think our case would be airtight. Particularly since I’m releasing your inheritance to you early.”

  “My inheritance?” The words feel foreign coming out of my mouth.

  “Yes, your parents had an account set up for you when you were born. After they died, Hollis arranged for everything they left behind to go into an account for you. He sold off assets, like the houses and some company shares your father owned, but the money he ensured was left for you. He was always certain you’d somehow find your way back, and he was right. Technically, you weren’t supposed to have access until you were eighteen, but because I’m the executor of the estate, I’m able to choose to let you have the money early. It will help convince the judge you’re capable of caring for yourself.”

  I nod dumbly like I have any idea what she’s talking about. I never considered that my parents would have left behind money for me. I guess I just assumed that all went to someone else or I don’t know, vanished into thin air or something. This is the first time I’ve had to consider things like inheritances and wills and emancipations.

  It’s too much. I put a hand to my throbbing head. “Do you think I could go lay down for a while before we talk about this anymore? I need to think about all of this.” Not that it matters much, considering no matter what I think about any of it, the course has already been charted. Pearl decided my fate before I could ever have a say in it, and now I’m just along for the ride.

  “Of course, dear.” She puts her arms out to me as I stand up, and for just a brief second we’re hugging. It doesn’t last long, but it offers some much needed comfort that I’ve been missing from her ever since I got here.

  “I’m sorry that I won’t be around to see it, but I hope you’ll come to appreciate the things I’ve done to help make you strong.” The words are cryptic, and I’m not entirely sure what she means or what kind of things she’s done. I don’t even have the energy to ask.

  I look at her, trying to memorize her face since I now know there’s no telling how much time we’ll have left together. I want to offer her some small comfort like she’s offered me, and I have a small idea of how I might do that. I have to fight to get the words out as emotion clogs my throat again, but I need to say this just as much as she needs to hear it. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  For only the second time since I got here, Pearl leaves Lexington Estate. The first time, it was to be with me at the police station. This time it’s for her health. She fought tooth and nail not to do it, but her doctors insisted. They want to run real tests, and they can’t do that from the comfort of her own home. They had to take her to the fancy hospital two towns over. It means she has to be gone for the whole day. It also means I get a stern talking to about staying home and keeping an eye on things.

  It’s not much of a hardship to me, considering it means I get to spend most of the day in my pajamas lounging around the house. By afternoon, though, I start to get bored. I’m not much for television, and even though there’s about a gazillion books in this house, I can’t find a single one that holds my interest.

  Well, that’s not quite true. There is still one book I’m very interested in. Which is how Smith ends up cooped up in Hollis’ old office with me with a box of pizza between us as we sit sprawled on the floor.

  I carefully chew the bite I just took, skimming the pages of the book Smith gave me a couple months ago that’s supposed to help me understand Moby Dick. I’ve read it more than once now, but nothing about the book stands out in particular besides that one quote. It is not down on any map; true places never are.

  Moby Dick is the only book in Hollis’ entire collection with writing in it. That feels like reason enough to believe there’s some kind of significance. But after a couple of hours of pouring over every single object in this office, we’re no closer to figuring out what that might be. And with no word from Pearl about exactly what time she’ll get back, we can’t just keep searching indefinitely.

  I look up from address book I’d been looking through for the third or fourth time to find Smith staring at me. “What?” I ask, swiping at my face in case I’ve got pizza sauce on me or something.

  Smith slowly slides the pizza box to the side, opening up the space between us. He kneels into the empty spot, his intentions becoming far more clear when his eyes drop down to my mouth. I meet him partway when I realize he’s leaning in to kiss me.

  His lips are warm as he coaxes all of my lingering anxiety away. This has been a hard day, and even though I was super vague with Smith about what was going on, I’m sure he’s noticed that I’ve been a little off all night. He puts his hand on my calf and pulls my legs apart, pushing them to either side so that he’s situated between them. I start to ask him what he’s doing, but he silences me with a second kiss, deepening this one further than the first. I can feel tingling all the way down to my toes as he takes his time languidly exploring the depths of my mouth with his sweeping tongue.

  The longer we kiss, the more he leans into me, until sometime later I hazily realize we’re spread out on the floor with Smith laying half on top of me and half between my legs. I glance up at him as we both take a much needed breath.

  It’s easy to get lost in things with Smith because I’ve started to really trust him. There are still things I’m not sure about, like how every once in a while I still catch him lighting up a joint when someth
ing’s making him anxious. Or how he’s gotten defensive the few times I’ve mentioned old memories with Jake. Things aren’t perfect, but they are good.

  We still haven’t figured things out after that argument over Patrick, though. Neither one of us has brought it up, and any time there’s any mention of Patrick and me, Smith seems fine. It’s strange to me, how he can act so jealous about my old memories with Jake, but not react at all even the few times when Patrick has straight up flirted with me right in front of him. I don’t understand it at all, but I don’t question it either because for the past couple weeks at least, everything has been calm.

  It might be the calm before a storm, I’m not so naive to think otherwise, but I’m willing to take the calm while I’ve got it. I’m just hoping the eventual fallout won’t destroy the people I’ve come to love.

  Uh, not love. Like a lot. Love would be crazy. Especially when I’m not talking about one person—I’m talking about two.

  Eventually, I am going to have to choose. I’ve already heard rumors starting, though some of those are still being fueled by this insane idea that Cece and I both slept with Jax. Apparently, everyone thinks Cece is jealous because I’m dating all three boys: Smith, Patrick, and Jax, too. And it’s not exactly like I have room to correct them. Oh, no, I’m not dating three boys, just the two.

  Patrick’s even more popular with the ladies than Jax is, so I stay far away from anything resembling confirmation that there’s something going on with me and him. I’m too scared one of his lingering groupies might take one of my eyes out or something.

  He swears they’re harmless, but I have my doubts. One of them cornered me in the bathroom one day just to spend a full minute staring at my breasts because she, “can’t understand why he doesn’t want a bigger size.” And of course, she herself was several cups sizes bigger than me and spilling out of her top so badly that I was surprised she didn’t get written up for abusing the dress code.

  “Where’d you go?” Smith asks, pushing himself up so that he’s hovering over me instead of pinning me to the ground. “You looked like you were a million miles away there for a minute. Do you want to stop?” He lifts up another couple inches.

  “No,” I reassure him, wrapping my hands around his biceps to pull him down again. Smith is good to me. The last thing I’m going to admit is that I’m thinking about Patrick seconds after he’s kissed the hell out of me.

  I let myself get lost in the moment again, pushing all those other worries out of my mind so that I can focus on how good it feels to have Smith grinding against me. It feels a little inappropriate that we’re basically dry-humping on what I’m pretty sure is an antique rug, but I don’t trust us getting comfortable in my bedroom without taking a big step that I know I’m still not ready for. So, my dead grandfather’s office it is.

  Okay, no, this is too weird. I pull back, letting the back of my head hit the floor with a thud. Smith winces, “That sounded like it hurt.”

  “A little,” I agree.

  He scrambles up off of me and offers me a hand to help me to my feet. I’ve fully ruined the moment now, which is probably for the best. If these office walls could talk—they’d probably be horrified with me right about now. In fact, I glance towards the decades only family portrait over the mantle and I’m pretty damn sure my great, great grandparents are judging me from beyond the grave. Their eyes are definitely more judgmental than usual.

  Smith looks over at the mantle like maybe he’s realizing the same thing, but then I notice he’s not looking away. “Juliet,” he says, “look.”

  He abruptly rushes closer to the fireplace, which looks like it hasn’t been used in some time. He touches the front of the fireplace for a minute, running his hand over the stones—and then pulls one out. I’m just about to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing when he reaches into the gap he’s just created and pulls something out. A very, very dusty key.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe out. I move closer to get a better look. It’s just a generic looking key, like a house key, maybe. “What do you think this goes to? You don’t think it’s just a house key for here, do you?” It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, since the one thing I’ve learned about Hollis is that he really seemed to enjoy driving people crazy. I wouldn’t put it past him to have hidden something completely ordinary as if it meant something. That’s what I’m starting to think he did with that quote in Moby Dick. Maybe none of it means anything.

  “Let’s go try it and see,” Smith offers, handing the key to me.

  The key doesn’t end up fitting any door at the house. Not the front, or the back, or the office, or even the wine cellar downstairs that I honestly had no idea we even had until today. We try every lock in the whole damned house just to be sure. The longer we go without finding a lock it fits, the more my chest rumbles with excitement. Maybe this does actually mean something.

  Smith and I lock eyes, standing in the front of the house wordlessly as we both think about what this could mean. Whatever this key unlocks, there’s a good chance it has something to do with Hollis’ treasure. Or maybe it unlocks Hollis’ treasure itself. Part of me had started to think again that maybe Brock Forrester was right and there was no treasure, but if that was the case why would Hollis have hidden a key in the fireplace?

  The front door opens and in a panic, I tuck the key into the waistband of my pants. Damn me for not wearing pants with pockets. I feel over my waistband carefully, making sure the key won’t go anywhere as Pearl enters.

  She looks from me to Smith with suspicion in her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I chirp cheerfully. I regret going over the top with my voice when Pearl narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Smith stopped by, but I was just showing him out.” I keep my smile plastered on as I widen my eyes just slightly at him, enough so that Pearl won’t notice.

  Now that she’s home, we won’t be able to search anywhere else here without raising some serious red flags. I think both of us could use a break anyway, though. I’m not ready to give the search up, but I do need a minute to take a step back and try to think about what this key really might go to. Trying it in every lock I come across doesn’t seem like the best use of my time. Not when Pearl is getting worse and there’s a million other things on my mind, too.

  Smith lets me walk him to the door. “I’ll call you later,” he tells me quietly as we say our goodbyes. I wait until Pearl’s back is turned and plant a quick kiss on him. I’d like to do a hell of a lot more than that as a thank you to him for finding the key in its hiding spot—which I’m not sure I ever would have noticed on my own—but that’ll have to be a thank you for another time.

  I need to find out what the doctors told Pearl. It’s fun and exciting trying to solve this long-standing family mystery, but some things are still more important.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Okay, I know I said I wanted to see where it happened, but this is creepier than I expected it to be.” Salma looks out across the view with obvious discomfort written all over her face. I shiver as a rush of cold air washes over me.

  Salma’s morbid curiosity got the best of her. This is the first time she’s been in my house with me, and she begged to see where Kathryn fell from. It was such a weird request that I had trouble saying no. Now that we’re here though, I’m thinking I probably should have said no. This has the same eery feel that I imagine people get when they disturb a gravesite.

  When I say now that we’re here, I actually mostly mean Salma. She climbed through the window out onto the roof, but I refused to go any further than sticking my head out the window. I haven’t quite forgotten Patrick’s earlier warnings. If someone did kill Kathryn because they thought she was onto something, then I can’t risk someone deciding to finish the job with me.

  Not that I suspect Salma of anything. She wasn’t even here when it happened. But still, I’ve heard the warnings that some people would do anything to solve the mystery Hollis left behind.

&nbs
p; I’ll keep my feet on solid ground, thank you very much. Just to be safe.

  I step back as Salma climbs back through the third-floor window. “Do you think Sadie Harrington still hangs out on the roof at her place?” When Salma asked about the roof, I also told her about how Sadie was the first person to show me you could get out there. Now she seems to have an awful lot of questions about it, which makes me a little uneasy.

  I’m opening my mouth to answer when Salma looks past me and her jaw drops open. “Holy shit, is that Pearl?” She crosses to the other side of the hall, her eyes zeroed in on a painting of her that’s hung in the dark corner as if Pearl couldn’t bear not to display it but also didn’t want it to be seen.

  “Yeah, that’s her,” I confirm. It’s old enough that young Pearl is dressed in her swimsuit as she stands on a beach with a cute cottage style house behind her. She’s laughing like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and her hair juts out behind her in crazy waves that remind me of how my own hair looks after it’s gotten wet.

  Salma points to the house behind her. “That’s a cute little place. It doesn’t really look like somewhere a Lexington would be vacationing, though.” She raises her eyebrows with a quick laugh, obviously amused by her own little observation.

  But she is right. “They probably just added it in to the painting to look cute. There’s a family beach house, but it’s like a multi-million dollar place, definitely not a cottage.” I now know all about that since Pearl’s been overloading me with information about what I’m set to inherit now, and what I’ll finish inheriting when she dies. You know, just fun dinner table talk for wealthy people, apparently. I nearly choked when she told me we owned a beach home worth that much. Especially since Pearl then went on to tell me she hadn’t visited the place since Hollis died.

  It’s weird, realizing that these people with money seem to buy up real estate and then treat the properties like trading cards. I could never imagine keeping beachfront property when I wasn’t using it.