This is WAR (7 page)

“Here,” James said, removing his jacket and reading her
mind. “You’re freezing.” He’d wrapped the coat around her shoulders, and she shrugged into the warmth he left behind, breathing in the oddly appealing scent of soap and gasoline.

“Thanks,” was all she had said and even then, she said it more to the ground than to him.

“You don’t have to hide out here, you know. At least you didn’t fall all the way
down
the stairs.”

“Easy for you to say. I flashed the entire club. There’s no way I’m going back in there.” Her voice shook a little in the beginning, unsteady at first. She usually only talked to people at the Club who wore a nametag.

“Trust me when I say it could have been worse.” One of the corners of James’s mouth had lifted, and his right cheek flashed a dimple that made Rose slightly weak in the knees.

“Too bad I don’t trust you at all.” After she said the words it occurred to her that she was flirting with James Gregory. What the hell was she doing?

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust the guy who was so wasted he fell
down
the entire staircase and into his grandfather’s birthday cake either.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did.” He snorted, shaking his head. Rose couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“You fell into his cake?”

“Like I said, life of the party, which is why I stick to caffeine, the safer drug.” He had raised his glass, and Rose couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. It was funny how different her perception had been of James, how quickly it could change, even during one short conversation. He actually wasn’t so bad.

“Guess that’s the point of rehab,” he mumbled.

His confession made Rose feel better somehow. She didn’t need any reminder how imperfect she was; it was just nice to know that other people felt the same way about themselves.

A loud knock at
her bedroom door shook her from the beginning of the summer, a few papers fluttering off the bed as she startled. “Rose! I’ve called you three times. Dinner’s ready, no thanks to you.” Her mom stomped back down the stairs as Rose gathered the papers, skimming James’s section one last time before shoving the pile beneath her pillow.

There was absolutely no reference to a stint in rehab, no drug or alcohol-related infractions anywhere in his file. He had no reason to lie about his history, especially to her.

Either her dad was worse with paperwork than she thought or the Gregorys really were above the law.

Chapter 8

Rose liked to play a game during family dinners where she challenged herself to speak fewer than ten words the entire meal. It started out as a power thing. Some girls took to starvation when they wanted to bug the shit out of their mothers, but Rose liked food too much. Besides, there was nothing that upset Pilar McCaan more than awkward silence. The average dinner conversation word count fell somewhere between nine and twenty, but one time last winter she successfully made it through an entire meal mumbling only three words. (Granted, her parents were fighting about putting a new roof on the house the entire time, but Rose still considered it an accomplishment.)

“I happened to overhear that you and James Gregory had quite the run in at the Club today,” her mom commented, piling Rose’s plate with lasagna.

Rose took a huge bite. The good old chew-and-shrug, a classic maneuver …

“What have I told you about the Gregorys? They’re trouble.”

Rose felt like replying with, “You’re a hypocrite,” but didn’t want to waste three words. Besides, her mouth was full.

“Your mother is right. Be careful with the Gregorys.”

To this day, Rose could never tell if her dad simply parroted whatever her mom said or if he knew more than he let on. Neither garnered much respect. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She managed to slide it onto her lap while barely moving, another one of her many talents.

War meeting in 20. Same place.

She quickly choked down the rest of her lasagna and cleared her plate.

“What’s the rush, Rosie?” She hated her dad’s nickname for her. The only people named Rosie were chubby three-year-olds and overweight comedians.

“Meeting some friends.” Three words. She was still in this.

“What friends? Where are you going? Pilar, did you know about this?” Her dad looked at her mom, but she was busy on her own phone, her full lips turned up in a half smile. Rose knew that smile, and she couldn’t unknow it. No matter how many times she tried. That smile gave Rose a pit in her stomach, like she’d barged in on her mom in the shower, singing for no reason Rose or her dad could imagine.

“What?” Her mom’s cheeks flushed. “I mean, of course. Whatever. Just don’t be late, okay Rose?”

“Okay.” Four words total. Almost her record. Her dad waved her out the door, his dark eyes fixed on her mom as she sat at the table hunched over her phone.

Rose had a feeling there was another argument brewing, something more complicated than a new roof. But she
couldn’t worry about that now. She grabbed a sweatshirt and stuffed the Gregorys’ files back in her satchel before heading out the front door. If she walked fast she could get there in ten minutes.

The sun was making its final descent along the horizon, the surrounding sky grey and pink in its wake. A breeze shifted leaves on the trees hugging the sidewalk, and Rose quickened her steps, wondering if it would rain. She finally felt like she could breathe again without the heat wrapping its sticky fingers around her neck. Maybe she’d even start sleeping like a normal person again.

The smell of freshly cut grass and lush magnolias made her sneeze exactly ten times, her cue that she was getting close to the Club. Rose was a serial sneezer, and nothing brought it on quite like Hawthorne Lake’s carefully manicured lawns.

After she pulled open the Club’s impressive double doors, she kept her eyes trained on the floor and raced in the direction of the parlor. She’d need the room to be empty so she could access the hidden entrance. Of course, she heard a muffled voice trailing out from behind the door. A man she’d never seen before stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, a phone gripped to his ear, his voice clipped and strained. He glanced at her irritably. After a few awkward moments, he rolled his eyes at her and left in a huff. When she finally scrambled up to the attic, she was sweating like a tourist, all pit stains and pleated shorts. Honestly, she didn’t even blame the girls for the disgust on their faces. Plus, she was late and they’d been busy. The attic was lit with at least thirty candles and they had old yearbooks and newspapers scattered all over the floor.

“Nice of you to join us.” Madge nodded toward the empty seat next to her. “The yearbooks and newspapers are courtesy
of some sorry excuse for a first-year who was entirely too easy to pay off. So far we’ve learned that Trip was voted Class Clown, huge shocker there, while James was elected Darcy-In-Training. I suppose his air of asshole made him quite the object of affection at Pemberly Brown.”

Rose sat in the chair across from her.

“Right, so our current plan is to destroy them using a hilarious, modern-day Elizabeth Bennet,” Lina added. “Surely their heads will explode.” She rolled her eyes and examined an old issue of a school newspaper.

“Um, didn’t Willa kind of already do that?” Sloane’s tone was innocent. Clearly she didn’t mean to be an insensitive moron, but the fire in Madge’s eyes was enough to force Rose into tipping her hand.

“I’ve got something,” she offered. The girls turned to her. What if they thought her idea was ridiculous? Or what if she’d misread the papers in the file? This was going to end in disaster, she just knew it. And who the hell had decided that candles were a good idea for an attic at the end of July?

“Spit it out, Rose,” Lina grumbled. “You’re not paying dues like the rest of us, so you better have something good.”

Rose swallowed and forced herself to speak. “Their trust fund has this weird morality clause where they lose their inheritance if they don’t conduct themselves to the Captain’s standards. If they’re convicted of a felony or even if they so much as get a speeding ticket, they’re totally cut off.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Lina’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at Madge. Sloane started shaking her head.

“No, really, it’s all right here.” Rose placed the papers in the center of the circle.

All three girls crawled forward, their heads nearly touching
in the flickering candlelight. Rose held her breath. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

“She’s right,” Madge whispered, sitting back on her heels. “It actually kind of makes sense now. That’s why everyone turns the other way. If they mess up they lose everything.” She smiled, a glint in her eyes. “This could work.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Rose said. She chewed her lip. “It might be kind of hard to get them disinherited. This is a whole new level.” The image of James weeks ago at the pool house flashed in her mind. He didn’t seem like a murderer then. As if they sensed her inner turmoil, the girls all began talking at once.

“This will be nothing compared to what he did to Willa,” Sloane chirped.

Lina nodded sagely. “To a Gregory, the only thing worse than being dead is being poor.”

“You’re a genius, Rose.” Madge grabbed Rose’s hand, pressing something small and hard into her palm. When she pulled away and opened her fingers, she saw a long gold chain with a tiny key attached. Her heart began to pound.

“What the hell, Madge?” Lina barked. “We talked about this. You can’t give her that key. We don’t know anything about her.”

Rose should have been used to being talked about like she wasn’t in the room, but she wasn’t. Maybe that was one of those things you never got used to.

“She’s proven herself.” Madge narrowed her eyes at Lina. “I trust her.”

Rose’s head was spinning. She had proved herself worthy of the War. She might not have money, but she had information, and Rose was beginning to believe that real power came with knowledge, not a checking account.

Rose had never been on a boat so big that you didn’t even notice the gentle rocking of the water. The deck floor gleamed in the clear moonlight, waxed and shiny. A low mumble of voices mixed with the thump of distant music poured from every direction. Clusters of people hung along the perimeter, chatting, sipping, laughing. If they noticed her, she probably would have just turned around and left. She was sure if anyone actually looked at her they would have laughed at her outfit or feigned sympathy for the lost expression permanently creasing her brow
.

But as usual, Rose was invisible, and tonight, she was glad for it
.

Tonight invisibility gave her a chance to figure out which direction to go. Up, down, around? The yacht was so large that the options seemed endless. In truth, she was terrified. She’d lied to her parents about going to some lame church
festival with school acquaintances because she knew they’d never let her within twenty thousand feet of the
S.S. Gregory.
Yes, the Gregorys actually named their yacht after themselves without even the slightest hint of irony. Well, all of them except James anyway
.

Wasn’t that what brought her here? The thrill of James, and the time they’d spent together in secret? The way they’d laughed about how ridiculous his self-involved family really was? The look on his face when Rose told him about her parents’ fights? The way his lips grazed hers lightly whenever he said goodbye, a whisper against hers, like a promise he intended to keep? James had begged her to come. His family’s annual Fourth of July bash was his own personal hell. Last year he’d fallen off the wagon. It was almost impossible to avoid the temptations aboard the ship. But if he had someone to escape with, someone like Rose, then maybe this year would be different
.

Rose yanked her dress down to cover her butt as she climbed the stairs to the main deck. She was deeply appreciative of Willa’s impromptu makeover, but she was also 99% sure that it was going to result in another massive, ass-baring wardrobe malfunction
.

Maybe the generous expanse of leg on display tonight would finally be enough to tempt James into doing more than just kissing her. They’d snuck off into hidden corners of the Club every chance they had since the night of the Swing. But he never tried anything besides kissing, and Rose was too shy to let her hands roam anywhere south of his chest. Tonight was the night. It had to be. Rose shook her head. Even thinking about being with James made it feel too much like a jinx
.

She stretched her neck to the right, evaluating the clusters of people in the moonlight. The music she’d heard when she
walked aboard had all but disappeared, replaced by the drone of conversation. Diamonds sparkled on necks and ears and fingers. She watched as an older woman laughed, raking her manicured nails down the arm of a man who eyed her hungrily despite being nearly surgically attached to the woman on his other arm. The adult section of the party: exactly where she didn’t want to be. If anyone from the Club recognized her, it would get back to her mom, and she couldn’t imagine what might happen after that. She turned the other way. The stairwell to the bottom deck of the ship was blocked by velvet rope. A bouncer in a tux held a basket of cell phones in one hand, embossed cards in the other. He bowed as Rose approached. “Welcome aboard, Miss. Please take a phone.”