It was four days after Richard Pratt was escorted to Rikers Island when I got a call from the prison’s rep telling me about a settlement I’d be getting for the death of my father by negligence of the prison guards. I’d all but dropped my paint palette on myself when they told me how much it was for.
Now, I was squeezing the much larger hand tucked in mine and staring at the blueprints of the old warehouse where my parents had fallen in love, before they began construction. The settlement had been more money than I knew what to do with, and I’d seen what high dollar amounts did to people, so I chose to put it to use. The place my parents loved was being turned into a recreational center for disadvantaged youth, where there would be classes for anything you could imagine. Painting. Dancing. Swimming. Thanks to Ripley, the center would host various groups for addiction, alcoholism, and eating disorders every week for those who needed help—the people like Kat, and the people like me, and the hundreds of others that hadn’t found the support they needed.
Even though Theo had asked multiple times if I was sure I wanted to put all the money into the project, there wasn’t any question. It was the only other thing, besides loving him, that I was sure about in my entire life.
When the Anthony and Elizabeth Saint James Recreation Center opened, it had garnered the kind of attention that put hope back into the Saint James name that had long since dissolved after my father’s arrest.
I was no longer Adele, daughter of the former corrupt New York State governor.
I was Della.
Lover of Theodore West.
Painter of human reality.
And everyday fighter.
There was always going to be somebody who had something negative to say about the way I lived, but I was learning to cope with the acceptance that it was impossible to please everyone. Like the Lauren’s of the world who’d publicly spoken out about how her family, who was evidently also Evan Wallace’s, had never gotten the justice from my father. They received no payout compensation for his wrongdoings then, and received nothing from the Pratt scandal, seeking anything after the settlement I’d received had made national news.
I’d chosen not to follow the story, focusing solely on the future. If I thought about Evan drugging my drink because he was angry, or Lauren seeking restitution by bringing me down, I wouldn’t get to experience life away from the world I’d stepped out of. I hoped them the best, that Evan would sober up, that Lauren would be successful, and that their family found peace in any way they could. Like I had.
The bubble that had surrounded Theo and I in our new home was impenetrable. And when he’d said those four little words to me after finding me in my make-shift art studio, where my “Color Me Pretty” pictures hung with pride across the wall, I knew I’d be spending the rest of my life with him without one doubt in my mind, always dancing atop his shoes, watching TV that he may or may not have hated, and feeding him every recipe I taught myself.
“Do you want Denny’s?”
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In the mood for more forbidden romance? Check out The Truth About Tomorrow.
Age is just a number.
Just like he's just a boy and I'm just a girl.
Except that's not true, is it?
Because fifteen may be a number, but it's bigger than that. Bigger than us.
It's a number that separates us.
An excuse that keeps us apart.
But I'm not willing to give in until I get what I want.
After all, how many other girls can bring a grown man to his knees with one little smile?
1.
Ollie
I don’t remember the name of the black-haired woman sleeping beside me in bed. It started with an R. Rhianna? Rachel? I recall the fruity mixed drink that lingered in her kisses and the way she worked me with her experienced hands.
Hell if I knew her name.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on the boxers from last night and make my way to the bathroom across the hall. Rhianna/Rachel doesn’t stir despite me shutting the door a little harder than I mean to. Subconsciously, maybe that’s my way of getting her up and gone. It isn’t like she was a bad lay because she did everything I told her to and never once questioned it, but I’ve got things to do.
Before I can pour myself a cup of coffee after going about my morning routine, there’s a knock at the front door of my apartment. Brows pinching, I set down my mug and look through the peephole.
“Shit,” I murmur, seeing Charlie’s long blonde hair through the hole.
Undoing the locks, I scrub a hand down my tired face and cringe over my lack of clothes. I don’t want her staying in the hall where anyone can watch her. The building is safe as far as I know, but one could never be too sure when a pretty fifteen-year-old is involved. Plus, I promised my sister and her husband I would look out for her since she started at the Chicago School of Music. I take my guardianship seriously, no matter how much she pushes me on everything.
Like when she begged River and Everett to let her stay in a dorm room on the school’s campus instead of with me like they preferred. Honestly, I liked the idea at the time. Having her living with me would have been difficult considering my late-night activities. But not as bad as her showing up whenever she wants when I have company. It’s hard filtering out the women I bring over before she can see.
Opening the door, I wave her inside. “Do I even want to know how you got here? It’s not even ten yet, Charlie. What’s going on?”
Her eyes widen a little when they meet my bare chest, quickly snapping away to the half-empty fruit bowl sitting in its usual spot on the counter. She walks that way, letting me close the door behind her.
Digging through the bowl, she makes the same face she always does at the contents inside—lips pinched, and eyes narrowed like the pears did something to offend her. “You should really keep donuts in here, you know?”
Lips twitching upward, I cross my arms over my chest. “In the fruit bowl?”
“The apartment.” Her tone is woven with her usual sarcasm, a language she speaks fluently in.
She isn’t facing me, but I’d bet good money she rolled her green eyes. She thinks they’re boring, generic. She doesn’t see the silver specks that make them gem-like, almost amblygonite. In some ways they remind me of Everett’s hues, just slightly different.
“If I knew you were coming,” I reply pointedly, “I would have made sure there were some waiting for you. Which brings us back to my main question. What are you doing here?”
Her lips part to answer just as a noise stirs from the direction of my bedroom. Charlie’s eyes widen a fraction before glancing at me, her gaze calculated as she takes in my state of undress.
“Oh.” She clears her throat as Rhianna/Rachel comes out in nothing but yesterdays faded 90’s grunge band t-shirt, which does little to cover necessary parts of her anatomy.