The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,52

up.

Fucking Dare.

“Okay, we’re going up until dinner. Thanks for the updates,” I say and start to move past her quickly.

“Dinner will be served promptly at seven. Call down to the kitchen if you’d like to take refreshments in your room between now and then, but the dining room won’t be available for you until dinner. The staff is setting up for this evening,” she finishes.

“If you’d like to have your dress steamed or pressed while you’re waiting, just dial down to the laundry and someone will come to collect it,” she says to Confidence.

“Hayes, your suit is already pressed and in your wardrobe for tomorrow. Mrs. Rivers asked me to remind you that you’re dining with the Bains, the Barras, and the Hassans. I’ve emailed you some general background information so you can read it before dinner,” she reads from her notebook.

“Thank you, sounds like everything is in order,” I say.

“As always,” she says brightly.

“As always,” I agree readily.

“Please let me know how else I may be of assistance,” she says before she turns to Confidence. “Enjoy your stay,” she says with a slight bow before she turns and heads toward the service wing of the house.

“Wow, is it a special occasion? You didn’t tell me dinner was an event,” Confidence whispers and glances back over her shoulder as if she wants to be sure no one is following us up the stairs of my family’s house.

“It’s not. Friday dinner is always like this. We dine with business associates and friends every Friday. Eliza and my aunt Mae usually plan the guest list, but it’s nothing special,” I say casually despite the knot in my stomach.

“Sounds intense,” she says with a grimace.

“Yeah, well … my family is intense. And this house doesn’t help. It feels like a crypt. I spent half my life here. But I can’t wait for my house to be ready because I hate living here.”

“Ouch,” Confidence squeaks, and her hand flexes in my grip. I realize we’ve stopped walking and I stare blankly at her.

“You’re going to break my hand, Hayes,” she complains but her eyes are full of concern as well as pain.

“Shit, baby, I’m sorry,” I say. I drop her hand and sit down on the stairs just like I had as a boy when I hadn’t known where in this house I would be safe.

“Are you okay?” she asks and sits down next to me.

The steps in the house are as long and wide as park benches, and I used to sit on them and read, write, listen to music—whatever. And yet, this whole house feels like a strange place.

“I don’t know. I’ve been back for almost six months and it still feels like I’m a guest. This house …” I glance around at the ostentatious ceiling and walls full of art that have no meaning to me. “I don’t think it can ever be home. At least, not with all of these people living here. To them, it’s free accommodation and they’re not the least bit interested in how or why we spend so much money and time to maintain it.”

“If you’re not going to live here, do you think you could sell it?” she asks. I rear back in surprise.

“Of course not. I couldn’t sell it. It’s my family’s home,” I say sharply.

She looks surprised, too. “I’m sorry, I just …” She puts a soothing hand on my shoulder.

“God, I’m sorry. Yeah, there’s just so much going on, Tesoro.” I stroke her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her face full of worry, and I feel a flash of guilt for my outburst. This isn’t how I hoped our visit would start. But I can’t lie to her, so I tell her. “I’ve been stressed out thinking about you being here. My family is complicated. We all coexist in this space. But none of us really like each other. I’m worried about you seeing that,” I confess.

“Why? You’re not them. Why would I hold it against you?” she asks. The question pisses me off.

“Because you’re only here for a fucking visit,” I say through a clenched jaw. “I want you to stay. But you’re not sure. And now my fucked-up family is going to scare you off. “

This is hard for me. I don’t do this—opening up—but with her being here, seeing her in the context of this house, devoid of warmth and love, I realize that what I’m offering her may not be enough.

“Is that what you think? That your family could