“I mean, you obviously wouldn’t be able to talk about Marshal, but—”
“No,” she says adamantly.
“Why?” I practically whine, knowing that I’ll get nowhere with this. She’s more stubborn than me.
“Because I’m not crazy!” She stuffs the bag of almonds on my lap and stands. “And I talk to Caleb. I don’t need to talk to some stranger.”
“Yeah, but he’s… he’s probably not the greatest person to talk to.” I feel guilty just saying it. He does seem sweet, but it’s clear he’s a little fucked up in the head himself.
“Why? Because he’s Jax’s brother or because he comes from money? You know, Caleb isn’t some spoiled rich kid. He’s been through stuff. And he gets me. He doesn’t judge me. Not like some psychiatrist would.”
“Fine.” I throw up my hands. “I was just trying to help.”
I don’t want to fight with her, not right now, not when I need her for tonight. I feel so silly, but the idea of sitting down in this fancy mansion for dinner with Jax’s boss/lawyer/father has me wanting to crawl out of my skin. I don’t belong here. I haven’t even attempted to leave my room after being escorted in all but by my hair by Nix and Jax. I feel out of place, wishing desperately that I could sit down at our wobbly kitchenette and eat cheap chicken thighs with my sister before watching a gory horror movie that would be forced on me. That’s what we would typically do, before Marshal.
But I’ll never get that luxury again.
Stifling my tears so I don’t offend Nix with my weepiness, I dump out a shopping bag on the floor, still in need of a shirt.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” I grumble. “It’s not like we’re going to be here long. I don’t even know how to be proper and respectable.”
“James isn’t proper or respectable,” Nix says, and I note the malice in her tone. “He’s a piece of shit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pull on a white long sleeve. It’s super basic. Nix knows me so well. But the material—I could cry in delight. It’s so buttery soft. Nothing like the discount store stuff. Is this what it’s like to have money?
“I bought you two of those. And wait till you see the boots I got you. No spikes, I promise. But they are going to look so good with the leather leggings I got you. You know, I had to—”
“Nix, what do you mean he’s a piece of shit?” I turn to face her, dread coiling in my stomach when I see that she’s avoiding my eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Bull. Shit. You better spill right—”
A knock sounds on the bedroom door. And for some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. If it was Jax, he would have just walked in. Does this house have a maid or something?
“Relax,” Nix says, reading me like a book. “Come in!” she calls louder.
Two seconds later, Caleb pops his head nervously into the closet, his eyes half closed as if he’s worried we aren’t dressed, and relief floods me. I don’t know who I thought it was, but I am severely on edge.
“We’re dressed,” Nix huffs and then grabs his hand, yanking him into the space. He stumbles before righting himself and smiles sheepishly.
Almost immediately, I notice a studded strap of black leather around his wrist, and do his clothes suddenly fit better?
“Huh,” I say. “It seems I’m not the only one Nix did some shopping for.”
The blush that crawls up Caleb’s neck makes me laugh, and a light, airy thing stirs in my chest—subsequently making me frown. I’ve lumped him in with his brother, but that’s not fair. All other circumstances aside, I would have been happy about Nix dating Caleb. He seems like a good kid. It’s a shame his family is twisted.
“What did you mean—” I start, intent on finding out why she thinks so poorly of James when she gives me a sharp stare, animperceptible shake of her head, and a click of her neck toward Caleb.
“I can… I can come back,” Caleb says, not oblivious to Nix’s antics.
“No,” she says. “We’re ready. And I’m starving.”
Despite my better judgment, I allow them to show me to the dining room. The house is a monochrome blur as we weave through halls, and my stomach ties itself in a knot. There’s something Nix knows that I don’t, but I just want to get this over with. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to this, and I’m not a chicken.
I’ve seen the most unsavory types at Bell’s. Men that I’m sure were rapists, serial killers, and drifters. I shouldn’t be nervous to meet Mr. Landon. So what if he owns a house in the millions and employs his own son to kill people?
Once on the main floor, we round a corner, and I’m met with the length of a table that could seat a wedding party. Only one end of it is done up with serving ware, black cloth napkins folded over the plates and empty wine glasses waiting. I’m momentarily breathless, feeling vastly under dressed. I’m sure the clothes I’m wearing cost a fortune, but jeans have no place in this room. Instantly embarrassed, I cringe when I glance to remember what Nix is wearing.
