Beautiful Illusions Read online

  “No.” Caleb shakes his head at the idea. “Just something off the record. Do you have an excuse to visit? Maybe collect some of your old things? That way I could feel her out.”

  The ground sways beneath my feet. I glance up at the evergreens as their fingerlike braches claw toward me with the wind. Nora always makes the world feel like a dangerous place. Those pink walls form around me like an alternate dimension, and my chest clamps tight as a straight jacket. It takes a second to catch my breath.

  “Do you think that’s the best strategy?” If he says yes, I’ll do it.

  “I’m pretty sure your stepmother has built a steel fortress around herself. Sometimes the only way to take down Goliath is with a simple stone.”

  “Simple stone,” I repeat. That’s the same analogy I tied to Gavin just this afternoon. Maybe that’s a sign? Maybe Caleb is the stone we need. I try to keep my knees from buckling. “I’ll do it.”

  Gavin cinches his arms around my waist. He’s holding me from freefalling into the past.

  “Do you need her number to set this up?” I’m already looking for an out. “I’m not sure I have it anymore.”

  “No. We’ll do a few drive-bys and try to catch her at home. If we can’t pin her down or she refuses to open the door, I’ll go ahead and file the docs as soon as possible.” His features grow serious. “You should pray we catch her off guard. We’re going to need a miracle. Are you still in?”

  I look up at Gavin, at the man whose family was blown apart by my adolescent angst and give a bleak smile. The fact Gavin and I found each other—that we fell in love—that is a miracle. I have a feeling I’ve used up any special favors God is willing to throw my way. With Gavin in my life, maybe I don’t need any part of the mill? My stomach turns at the idea because every cell in my body knows I do. That damn mill belonged to my father. It’s the only part of him I have left.

  I give Caleb a peaceable smile. “I’m still in.”

  Nora blinks through my mind like a seizure.

  It’s time to nail that bitch to a wall.

  Gavin

  Demi and I leave the party early. Things got uncomfortable as three different girls approached me with that have-we-fucked? look in their eye. The scary part is that we might have. It was more than a probability—the statistics were against us all. I never said I was an angel. But there’s no use in rubbing it in Demi’s face, so we head back to the cabin hand-in-hand.

  “I can’t get over how many stars you can see here at night.” She dips her fingers into the back of my jeans as I unlock the door.

  “Maybe tomorrow night we can camp out at the falls?” I’ve got other plans for tonight, much more immediate plans that require my naked body next to hers in approximately two minutes. I scoop her into my arms and carry her over the threshold. Her beautiful face glows against the dark room like a gardenia. My mother had gardenia bushes that lined the length of our tiny home, and after she died, they seemed to die with her. But I never forgot how they glowed in the night like paper butterflies with their feet rooted to the leaves. I thought they were magic. I bury a kiss into Demi’s hair. “This place hasn’t felt like home without you.”

  “I have a secret.” She curls her finger, beckoning my mouth closer to hers. “Since my father died—this is the only place that has ever felt like home.”

  Before I can say a word or acknowledge her heartbreaking sentiment a wild thumping sound emits from Zoey’s bedroom.

  “What the—” I gently land Demi on her feet and speed over as the noise continues in a steady rhythm. I haven’t taken two steps before I figure out what that headboard wallop means. A series of grunts and groans comes from behind the closed door, and I lose it.

  My hand reaches for the knob, and Demi catches me by the wrist.

  “Gavin, no.” She tries to pull me away. “You’ll both regret this for the rest of your lives.”

  “You’re right, but she’s wasted as shit. Zoey doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.” I burst through the door to find some idiot’s bare ass grinding over my sister, and I flick on and off the lights. “Get the hell out!” I’d go after him, but not one part of me wants to touch that.

  A mad scramble ensues with him covering his dick with a pillow and Zoey pulling the sheets to her neck. It’s Warren, her old standby. Just shit.

  “Get out,” I roar, kicking the side of the bed as if it were his face. “And don’t let me catch you here again, or I’ll beat your head in until it comes out of your hairy ass.”

  Warren collects his things and ducks out of the room without so much as an apology, not that I expected one.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey hurls a picture frame at me, and it grazes my temple.

  “You could have taken an eye out!”

  “I’m not your kid!” She jumps up in my face, wrapping the sheet around her body like a toga. “I’m nineteen-fucking-years-old, and I’m sick and tired of you treating me like a baby!” She gropes for her things in the dark. “I hope you and your whore live a happy life because I don’t plan on being a part of it!” She spikes up in my face again. “I’m sick of you!” Her voice pierces through to my bones as she hightails it the hell out of here.

  “That went well,” Demi whispers.

  “Zoey?” I follow her to the open door of the cabin. Zoey glows like a ghost as she takes off toward the McCarthy estate. “Crap.”

  “Aren’t you going after her?” Demi rocks her body against mine. Her soft scent wraps itself around me, and I’m leashed to her. I’m not moving an inch.

  “Nope.” I watch as my sister screams and cusses her way along the shoreline. “I’m done. If Zoey wants to act like a child, she can deal with the consequences.” I spin into Demi with a sardonic grin. “It seems the women in my life like to take off once in a while.” I take a soft, slow bite from her bottom lip. “But you’re back, right where you belong, in my arms.”

  “I’m not taking off ever again, Gavin.” Her lips find mine and offer a smooth, meandering kiss. “I’m staying put, whether you like it or not.”

  “Oh, honey, there’s not a thing about that I don’t like.” We step back inside, and I close the door and bolt it. There’s no way I’m letting my batshit sister ruin another minute of this night. She knows where the boathouse is, but, realistically, I know that’s not where she’ll be laying her head later.

  I press Demi up against the door with her long curls fanning out around her. Demi is drowning in hair and beauty. She’s finally safe, right here with me. Her perfect full lips open, and I run my finger along them. “One of the first things I noticed about you was your mouth.” It’s true—right after her tits quit campaigning for my attention in that maid’s getup—her lips pouted for me to notice them. “I thought damn, those lips are meant for kissing.”

  “And I’m glad you’re the one kissing them.” Her hands glide up my shirt and work the buttons until it’s evicted right off my body.

  I dig into my pocket and pull out a condom, holding it up for her approval. I didn’t know she’d have her own stash last night so I came packing.

  “Smooth.” She takes it from me with her teeth.

  I pull the shirt from her body—peel off her jeans while never breaking our gaze. Demi’s eyes pierce through the dim light, clear and bright as honey.

  Her lips expand in a smile. I pluck the condom from her and let her watch as I roll it on. Her breathing picks up as her fingers tremble toward me.

  Demi pulls me in by the back of the neck and pauses before our mouths fuse together.

  “You feel like home, Gavin.” Her eyes sparkle, each their own cluster of stars. “Only you.”

  My mouth crashes over hers, and I unleash six months of wanting, dreaming—trading in those hand jobs in the shower for the real deal, Demi. She’s all I’ve thought about. She’s all I ever think about anymore, and I love that. I love everything about her.

  I pull her hips over mine as she settles herself over me, slow—so fuckin
g tight. I wince half-afraid I’m hurting her. Demi gives a soft moan straight into my ear, and I lose it. I run my fingers over her soft tits before impaling her body onto mine hard and fast. I take her at the door, on the floor, in the hall, over the table. Demi and I baptize this tiny cabin with our love, making it ours, owning it in the most formidable way. I wasn’t fucking some sorority girl from Yeats. In fact, I was far from the person I was last summer. This is a different version of me, one that demands more out of life, more from my heart, and Demi is meeting me right there. Nope. This wasn’t some faceless sorority girl who might come to me with a question in her eyes at a party only to have me waver. This is the love of my life. The girl I plan to marry.

  I carry her to the bedroom and lay her carefully over the mattress. Demi smolders with her mascara slightly smudged, her hair rumpled and looking sexy as hell. My heart races, my body fires up for another round.

  Here she is, Demi in my bed at last.

  This is the woman I’m going to make my wife.

  In the morning, I shoot Zoey a text making sure she’s still breathing. I know for certain she has her phone with her because no matter how wasted she might have been she would never leave home without it.

  And as if proving my point, she texts right back.

  Die asshole!

  A dull laugh huffs from me. Nice to know you’re alive. Mind telling me where you’re at?

  No response.

  I’ll take what I can get for now.

  Demi and I hop in the truck and pick up Caleb. We drive down toward Hayworth hoping to catch her stepmother sipping tea on the porch or whatever it is the rich and the restless do on a Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure what I’ll do if her stepbrother is there—probably bash his skull in with the teakettle. He’s nothing more than worm shit. I’m pretty sure I’ll be up on assault charges by the end of the day if we happen to cross paths.

  I can’t shake the feeling this is going to be a big mistake. It sounds too easy, too pie-in-the-sky for us to simply drive down there and get the golden egg we’ll need to win back her father’s company. Nope. I doubt even if we squeeze the shit out of her stepmother that she’ll gift us a gilded stone. A nagging feeling coats me, heavy as tar.

  “Make a left here.” Demi’s voice shakes as we head down another long stretch of supersized houses rising from the ground like out of place hotels. You’d think I was used to seeing them the way they’re seeded all over the lake, but, for some reason, here out in the hills, they look far more intimidating. The lake acts as the great equalizer. Ace and I never cared too much that we weren’t sporting designer clothes or driving Ferraris—well, maybe the Ferrari part is a bit off.

  “That’s it on the end.” She points to an ivy-covered arch. There’s a wrought iron gate in front that might as well be welded shut.

  “Pull up,” she instructs. “If they haven’t changed it, I know the code.”

  I do as she says and Demi helps me input four numbers into the system. Lo and behold the gates spread open like a pair of fishnet stockings. Someone is going to get fucked all right. My blood boils as we reach the end of the long winding driveway. A towering estate sprawls out before us with a cultivated rose garden surrounding the premises like a moat. A pair of marbled lions roar out a silent welcome on either side of the entry.

  “Let’s do this.” Caleb places his hand over Demi’s shoulder. “Remember, we’re working off the element of surprise. We need to stick to our story. We’re just here to get a few things. In and out. While you’re up and about, I’ll see what I can get from her.”

  Demi’s face peaks with color as she nods into the sprawling estate. It was the home she shared with her father. It’s no wonder she looks so tragically grieved. She’s looking right at her past, her father, the life they shared here, and it’s thrown her into mourning all over again.

  “Hey”—I rub my thumb over her cheek—“if this is too hard, we can split.”

  “No.” The muscles in her jaw tighten. Revenge percolates in her eyes. “I’m ready.”

  Demi leads us up the steps and gives a light knock on the door.

  A pair of heels clatter in this direction. It’s happening. Demi is about to have a head-on collision with her past.

  Head-on. That’s exactly how our parents died.

  Shit.

  There’s not one bad thing I’m letting happen to Demi today.

  But I just can’t shake this feeling.

  10

  Pretty Little Lies

  Demi

  When I was a little girl, my father told me nothing could stop him from loving me. He branded the sentiment in nightly whispers until those words were ironed onto my soul. It wasn’t a trivial phrase spoken in passing or a banal statement like good morning. It was an urgent bulletin, a frenetic directive hammered into my heart. There were no barriers to his undying affection—no heights nor depth that could overcome how he felt for me. Then Nora slashed her way into our lives and presented a challenge to his words. Shortly thereafter, I sent him to his death, and my father took his words and his love into eternity with him.

  Winter Haven is frozen in time. Thick ivy shrouds the façade, fat and layered in bright shades of jade with leaves as wide as hands. The entry still holds the heady scent of dogwood in the spring. Perfume of the gods my father would call it, and now the gods have all left Winter Haven and only the demons remain.

  A face presses to the blurred glass a moment, and the door opens without hesitation.

  Nora.

  My heart jumps into my throat and locks off any words that might have escaped. Her dark hair sits over her head like a well-coifed helmet. Her face has a few more lines than I remember, her eyes crinkled in a mixture of disbelief and hatred.

  I can’t breathe or move, or think straight. Here she is, her frame much smaller than I remember. Her face is pulled back to a fault, and I’m tempted to inspect her hairline for pin tucks. Her eyes are heavily made up with shadow spread thick, the color of algae, her lips painted the color of fresh blood. My list of regrets is a mile long, but hesitating to smother Nora in the night is in the top three.

  “Demitria.” She takes a step back and inspects me with my muscular bookends. “You look—well.” Her lips pucker, surrounding themselves with a thousand finger-like wrinkles that dip toward her mouth like claws.

  I look well? I’m sure the nicety was intended for mixed company. She has other choice words she used to favor like disgusting, whore, trash, and my all time favorite, nothing but a shame to your dead father.

  “Thank you.” My voice wobbles, and I burn with anger that my body is betraying me. Be strong! I shout so loud in my mind, I’m sure the words are about to pour from my nose, my throat, my ears. So many times I’ve played out this exact scenario, albeit sans the two buff men by my side. Usually my fantasies morph into a killing spree with Nora’s windpipe twisted around my fingers. “I came to see if you still have my things. If not, I want to retrieve a few of my father’s mementos.” My mother’s pearl necklace but I decide not to mention it for now.

  Her eyes steady over mine. They look jaundiced, tired. There are some things plastic surgery can’t disguise like prunish hands, the thick cords that string out from her neck, the sagging skin that clusters together like extra fabric at her cleavage. Time had come after Nora and clawed away her youth like a savage beast. Youth was just God’s way of bringing to life the verse, taste and see that the Lord is good. We could taste the fruit of heaven during our prime, but we had to commit to his son in order to clothe ourselves in the immortal delicacy of eternal youth. I’m betting Nora’s best years are well behind her. The only thing the afterlife holds for her is the promise of a spit rotating in flames.

  “Come in.” She gives a tight-lipped smile, but her eyes say you’ll pay for this. “By all means bring your guests.” She pulls her hand back, and we hesitantly file inside. Even her voice sounds haggard, not frail and lovely like you might expect an older woman to sound. She’s no cute granny
. Nora is beastly in every way, and the fact her voice is registering a few octaves lower than the last time I had the displeasure of hearing it, only confirms her demon standing.

  The first thing that hits me when I set foot inside is the hint of lavender in the air. Winter Haven has always worn the aroma like a faithful perfume it sprays on in the morning. My father once said it was my mother’s spirit watching after us. He said her hair let out that precious scent naturally and that wherever it was, she was, too.

  I give a quick sweeping glance of the entry with its large portrait medallion sunk into the marble. It’s four feet round, depicting an Italian vineyard, three cypress trees on a hillside darkened by a salmon sunset just over the horizon. My mother purchased it on one of their many exotic vacations. She had it shipped from Venice. My father said he complained because it caused a three-week delay with the flooring, but he later confessed that some things are worth the wait. It adds a touch of whimsy to the otherwise sterile mausoleum she left behind. Nora hated that medallion the second she laid eyes on it. I’m shocked she’s tolerated it this long. I’m shocked she hasn’t razed the entire structure and rebuilt it from the ground up. This entire home was my father’s testament to his love for my mother. Another tragic Taj Mahal.

  The grand room off to the left is still over furnished with too many leather-tufted couches that Nora dragged in—a garish chandelier, the size of a Volvo, is new. Other than that everything looks eerily the same. Not much has changed in the three and a half years I’ve managed to escape my incarceration.

  A dark figure appears from the hall, and my lungs seize.

  “Demi?” A deep familiar voice rumbles, and a horrific paralysis overtakes me.