FIFTEEN ARABELLA

FIFTEEN

Arabella

I COULD BARELY CONTAIN my excitement during the entire ride to Rowan’s parents’ house, but I did my best. Calm and collected on the outside.

Screaming, crying, throwing up on the inside.

The ride was longer than expected. Traffic was terrible, the roads crowded and full of bad drivers. I could hear Pat cursing under his breath, tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. Considering how long we were in the car, some of us got restless—like me. Constantly shifting my legs. Bumping into Rowan again and again.

On purpose I might add. I’m not dumb.

There wasn’t much talking going on, but it wasn’t awkward. There was almost something comforting about the soft snores that emanated from Beau, who slept with his mouth open almost the entire time. Which Rowan thoroughly enjoyed and documented by taking multiple photos.

“I’ll use them against him later,” he murmured to me after he took a bunch, and I immediately felt bad. I thought it was mean of Rowan to catch his brother in such a vulnerable state, but then I remembered I don’t have any brothers and sisters and I have no idea what that’s like.

So I remained quiet, which I kept up for the majority of the ride, savoring the feeling of Rowan’s big strong body pressed so close to mine. He spread his legs wider to accommodate the boot on his right foot, causing his thigh to be aligned right next to mine and oh my God, I had a complete moment. My imagination went wild, considering all of the many things that could happen this week.

Only for all of those happy thoughts to come crashing down because good ol’ self-doubt crept back in, making me reconsider everything. What if he gets sick of me? It could happen. I always feel like I must wear people out. I have my friends but we don’t do every single thing together. We never really have. Maybe that’s because in my younger years I never stayed long enough at any particular school to forge long-lasting friendships.

Wow. Just the idea of that makes me sad, but maybe that’s my problem. I can’t hold a lasting friendship because I was never given the opportunity.

Ugh. I should probably go back into therapy. I probably need it.

By the time we arrive at the house, I’m warm and sleepy from the long car ride, and my body is cramped up. I’m not even paying attention to the house until we’re all climbing out of the SUV. Poor Beau practically falls out, thanks to his brother giving him a not-so-polite shove, and when I lift my head to take in the house before me, I’m awestruck.

I have seen plenty of beautiful homes in my lifetime. I have lived—briefly—in a variety of gorgeous, expensive houses and apartments. My mother is an interior design snob and everything has to be perfect. Translation: immaculate.

Untouchable.

We’ve always lived in a museum-state, and for a kid who loved to run around and touch everything, I was stifled by our past houses. Muted. I might’ve wanted to come home when I was away at school but I was desperate to go back after only a few days at my parents’ house.

Because that’s what it was—my parents’ house. Not mine. I never felt like I belonged there. Truth be told, I never feel like I belong anywhere.

But this house? The Lancaster house? The exterior is beautiful. Two stories with a massive porch and sweeping driveway in front of it. There are rose bushes everywhere, and while they’re mostly devoid of any flowers, I can see the occasional dried up one here and there, all of them a deep red color. There are giant pots all over the porch filled with fall-colored flowers. Yellows and oranges and a dark burgundy. A scattering of pumpkins in a variety of colors are nestled among the pots and there are two giant wreaths hanging on each double door.

I swallow past the lump in my throat as I take it in, blinking when one of the double doors swings open and a beautiful woman appears. A smile forms on her face when she spots us and she runs across the porch, practically skipping down the steps before she tackle hugs Beau first.

“My babies, you made it!” She kisses Beau’s cheek, and he grimaces, leaning his head away from her. She wipes at his face, removing the faint lipstick print she left on his skin. “Stop. You know you love it.”

“Not really, Mom,” Beau grumbles as he disentangles himself from his mother’s embrace. I can see the hurt on her face from his actions but she masks it well, turning her shining attention onto Rowan next.

“Look at you.” She marches right up to him and cups his face, her arms stretched out because he’s so tall. “You look more and more like your father every time I see you.”

Lord help me, then Daddy Lancaster must be the handsomest dad on the planet.

“Mom.” Rowan rolls his eyes but I can tell he loves it. Loves the attention from his mom. His entire demeanor visibly softens, and when he pulls her in for a hug, they cling to each other for a moment longer than necessary.

My heart swells witnessing the moment.

“Where’s Dad?” Beau asks as he marches up the steps, heading straight for the front door.

“He’ll be home soon,” their mom calls just as she lets go of Rowan and turns her attention on me.

I go stock-still, my nerves eating me up inside because all I want is for this woman to like me. Approve of me.

Accept me.

She watches me carefully, not hiding her curiosity, and I blatantly stare back at her, taken in by her beauty. She doesn’t look like a mom—I should say, she doesn’t make me think of my mother. This woman’s expression is totally open and her smile is genuine. She’s absolutely beautiful and equally mesmerizing, if I’m being truthful, and when she pulls me into her arms, fiercely hugging me, clinging to me much like she did to Rowan who’s her actual child?

I melt into her, clinging right back, struggling to fight the tears that sting the corners of my eyes.

“Look at you!” She pulls away from me, holding on to my upper arms as she continues to study me. I almost start squirming but I do my best to keep myself contained. “It is so nice to meet you, Arabella Hartley Thomas. Rowan never brings anyone home except for Callahan and he doesn’t count.”

“Hey,” Rowan protests, but his mother ignores him.

“Row says the two of you are friends,” she says.

“Um, yes. We are.” I don’t look at him. It’s like I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll give myself away if I do.

“He told me how you were going to spend the entire week on campus by yourself, and I absolutely hated the thought.” Her smile somehow turns brighter, if that’s possible. “I’m so glad he was able to convince you to come here and spend the week with us. I hope we don’t bore you.”

They could never bore me. I can already tell.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Mrs. Lancaster. I really appreciate it.” My voice is shaky, full of emotion. She still makes me nervous, but not in a bad way. More like in a, I really want this person to like me, kind of way.

“Please don’t call me that. My name is Wren.” She hugs me again like she can’t help herself before pulling away from me, sliding her arm across my shoulders as she steers us around to face Rowan. “You two are adorable.”

A small part of me—okay, a big part—wants to die of embarrassment at her declaration.

Rowan shakes his head. “Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Who me?” Wren Lancaster’s face is one of pure innocence. “I would never.”

“Yeah, right.” Rowan’s gaze shifts to mine. “Don’t believe her.”

“What funny ideas are you talking about?” I’m genuinely confused. I don’t speak Lancaster as well as everyone else at this place.

“She thinks the two of us are a secret couple.”

I blink at him, shocked that he’s not holding back his thoughts.

“That’s preposterous.” I don’t believe I’ve ever used that word before in my life, but it feels appropriate for the situation.

“I totally agree,” Rowan says, filling me with disappointment.

Oh well. I suppose I asked for that.

“You two.” Wren shakes her head. “Come on. Let’s give you the tour.”

I let his mother take my hand and lead me up the steps toward the entrance.

“See you in about thirty minutes,” Rowan calls, not moving from his spot in the driveway.

I glance over my shoulder, staring at him. Thirty minutes? Is he serious?

“He’s exaggerating,” his mother reassures me as we enter the house. My head immediately tilts back, taking in the soaring two-story—wait, make that three-story—foyer. There’s a massive, glittering chandelier hanging above us, and I swear I could stare at it forever, it’s so beautiful. “I promise it won’t take long. Plus it’ll be fun, just us girls.”

She smiles at me, and I can’t help it. I smile back, eager to get to know this woman. Rowan’s mom. I feel like I’m in a fever dream.

And I never want to wake up.

B Y THE TIME I’m left alone in the bedroom that will be mine for the next ten nights, I collapse on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, secretly thrilled to find another, smaller but just as beautiful, chandelier above me. I let the happy sigh I’ve been holding in escape and spread my arms and legs out wide, my body sinking into the comfortable mattress.

The tour was a little over twenty minutes but worth it. The entire house is opulent. It screams old money with all the antiques scattered about and ancestral portraits on the wall. Not to mention all of the art strewn about that Rowan’s mother has collected over the years. Some of it is modern yet fits with the house’s aesthetic completely; and when I say I’m in awe of her decorating style, I mean it. Wren explained that they’ve owned the house for only the last ten years or so, and that they fully moved out of the city and into this home full-time soon after they purchased it.

“We loved living in the city,” Wren told me as she led me up the stairs of the west wing to where my bedroom is. “But we also loved spending time out here with my husband’s cousins, who live down the road. They come over often so I’m sure you’ll meet them before Thanksgiving. They usually host the event, but this year I asked to, which means you might miss out on going to their place. Their house has been in the family for generations.”

Generations? I hope I get a chance to see it.

There’s a knock on my bedroom door and I leap from the bed, rushing to go answer it. And when I crack open the door, I’m not disappointed whatsoever to find who’s waiting for me.

It’s Rowan.

“Dinner is at seven,” he tells me. “My mom wanted me to tell you.”

He could’ve texted me that. I suppose I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I do.

“And she expects us to dress up.” He makes a face. “Sort of.”

“Exactly how should we dress?”

“Semi-formal.”

“Rowan.” I sigh, leaning against the door. “That could mean anything. A prom dress. A gown. A nice skirt and sweater. I need more information.”

“I don’t know. I’m just a guy. I’ll show up in khakis and a button-down shirt and I’ll be good.” He sounds the slightest bit annoyed by me, and there is something comforting about the fact that he’s not treating me any differently just because I’m a guest in his house.

“You are no help.” I smile at him.

He scowls in return, making me laugh.

“At least you’re consistent,” I tell him.

Rowan changes the subject. “You like your room?”

I nod. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m right down the hall.” He glances to his right. “So if you uh, need anything, let me know.”

My heart beats a little faster at his words. Right down the hall. Does this mean I could sneak into his room in the middle of the night and have my wicked way with him? How thrilling.

Though I suppose I’m putting the cart before the horse, or however that saying goes. Just because I want us to be a secret couple, and his mother is hopeful that we’re a secret couple, doesn’t mean that Rowan wants the same thing. I can’t bear the thought of him feeling sorry for me though. That is just … the worst. The absolute worst feeling in the whole entire world.

“I need to go talk to my dad,” he says as he takes a few steps back. “See you at dinner?”

I nod. “I’ll be there in my ball gown and tiara promptly at seven.”

He grimaces and I can’t help it. I start to laugh again.

This is going to be an interesting week.