When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,4
loaded my luggage into the trunk. “Per your request, your parents will stay away—”
“Stay the fuck away.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I punctuated my words in the air with my hand like a conductor. “I want them to stay the fuck away from me.”
He sniffed. “They have agreed to not interfere or make contact of any kind on the condition that you reside with your aunt and uncle peaceably. You will have a generous allowance, but large withdrawals in cash are not permitted and all credit card transactions will be monitored. A chauffeured car will be provided as you will not be allowed to drive.”
“That’s probably for the best since I plan to do a lot of drinking.”
He rolled his eyes. “Your aunt and uncle are sainted people.”
“They can handle me for one year. Not even one year. I turn eighteen in February.”
“You must finish school, Mr. Parish, or no inheritance. Only with a high school diploma will the trust be released. It’s the very minimum of education required, though your parents—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Parish,” I corrected. “Parents are people who care for their children. Not sociopaths who torture their only son because he happens to be gay.”
I said it lightly enough. I always did. Made jokes. Pushed the pain down and hid it with a smile and a wink, and maybe a gallon or two of booze or a night with a stranger. No one got to see how bad I hurt.
Bernard bristled. “Mr. and Mrs. Parish extend their regards to you and hope that, given your extraordinary intelligence, you will pursue an advanced degree. I hear you are something of a writer?”
“With all due respect, the only thing I extend to those ghouls is my middle finger. Here it is.” I flipped him off and then climbed into the back seat of the town car. “And my writing is none of their fucking business. Come to think of it, nothing I do is their business ever again.” I slammed the door and then rolled down the window as the driver started the engine. “Thanks for your help, Bernie. You can go back to Paris now until my next scandal.”
He pursed his lips. “I can’t wait.”
My aunt and uncle met me at the baggage claim at San Francisco International. Antoine—whose entire method of communication during the sixteen-hour flight consisted of grunts and intimidating glares—followed behind me like a huge, epically muscular shadow.
Aunt Margaret and Uncle Reginald (my dad’s brother) looked like California-fied versions of my parents: middle-aged, impeccably dressed, sticks up their asses, but tan.
I looked nothing like them. After a year in captivity, my skin was pale, making my green eyes stand out in a way that may or may not help me get laid. No telling what the Santa Cruz guys were like. My dad called all Californians dirty tree-hugging hippies in that close-minded, prejudicial manner of his I’d grown to know well. Never mind that they’d invested much of our billions in the tech industry that was right up the road from Santa Cruz. But I’m pretty sure the Parish family motto was “Never let a little hypocrisy get in the way of profit.” It’s probably emblazoned on our family crest.
My aunt and uncle bid Antoine farewell, and Reginald pressed a wad of cash into his hand.
I saluted my travel companion. “Package successfully delivered. I’m going to miss that big guy. Certain parts of him more than others, if you know what I mean.” I shot my aunt a wink.
“You look…well,” she stammered, glancing at me up and down as if I were a tacky gift she was too polite to return. “You’ve grown so tall since I last saw you.”
“Indeed,” Reginald said. “What are you, six-feet? Strong muscles. They fed you well in Switzerland.” He looked like he was going to chuck me on the shoulder then thought better of it.
“Indeed,” I said with a wide smile. “Protein shakes on the regular.”
They exchanged glances and I let the awkwardness simmer for a few moments, then said brightly, “Thanks for letting me crash with you, Aunt Mags and Uncle Reg.”
“Aunt Margaret, please,” she said timidly, as we headed to the car they’d hired. “Or…if you prefer, I suppose Mags is fine too.”
“Call us whatever you like,” Reg said. “We’re just so very pleased to have you, Holden, my boy.”
My ass. They were also scared I was going to spill the Alaskan baked beans to the press about what the family did to me. Already I could tell Auntie