THIRTY-EIGHT ARABELLA

THIRTY-EIGHT

Arabella

ROWAN WAS CORRECT. This has been the best night of my life. The best birthday I’ve ever experienced. There was plenty of champagne and delicious appetizers, and the adults turned a blind eye to us drinking since we weren’t going anywhere tonight. The pizza was delicious, coming from an Italian place nearby, and the cake was heart-shaped and frosted white, Happy Birthday Arabella spelled out in pink frosting across the top of it. Everyone sang to me and I just stood there in the glow of the candles on top of the cake, wanting to cry at how sweet they were being.

Especially Rowan.

Once the cake was served, I opened presents and so many of them brought me something. Gift cards and nail polish and body lotions, typical girly stuff. The twins Paris and Pru made me a stack of friendship bracelets and I’ve had them on ever since, proud to wear them. Wren and Crew gave me a hot pink cashmere sweater that is so bright, I could probably stop traffic when I wear it, but it’s also so me. I clutched it to my chest and blubbered my thank you, almost crying yet again.

I’ve been on the verge of tears all night. My own parents don’t treat me this well on my birthday. I haven’t heard from them all day, not that I’m surprised. Mother did wish me a happy birthday yesterday, but I think she had ulterior motives. Specifically trying to get the answer out of me about the apprenticeship.

After the gifts were opened, the DJ started playing music and everyone is currently dancing in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Even Rowan, who doesn’t have the best rhythm, but he’s cute for trying. He’s been in good spirits all evening. Haven’t spotted a single scowl on his handsome face, not once.

He’s dressed to perfection too, in black pants and a pale gray button-down that he left open at the throat. I want to press my mouth right at that spot and inhale his spicy scent but I restrain myself. It’s bad enough how we kissed in front of everyone, but I’m guessing it wasn’t that much of a surprise. The only groan I heard came from Beau but I think it was all in good fun.

Poor little frustrated boy. He’ll get his chance with a girl someday.

The music stops, and a slow song comes on. All the parents are out on the floor, swaying to the music and I wait, breathless as Row wraps me up in his strong arms.

He doesn’t disappoint, sweeping me into his embrace and holding me close. I twine my arms around his neck, the two of us shuffling to the beat, and I rest my cheek against his hard chest, taking note of his rapidly beating heart.

“Are you having fun?” His low murmur rumbles in his chest and I lift away to stare into his eyes.

“It’s the best birthday I’ve ever had,” I admit. There are no lies detected in that statement. I don’t know how anyone could ever top this day.

“Good.” He leans in, kissing my forehead. “Everyone went all out for you.”

“They didn’t have to,” I protest but he shakes his head once.

“Pretty sure they all wanted to.” He smiles, his eyes glowing. “My family likes you.”

“I like them.” I love them. I wish they were mine, but alas …

They’re not.

“The cake was delicious,” I blurt, unsure what to say next because that heated gleam in Row’s gaze is starting to make me feel squirmy.

In the very best way.

“It was good.” He sounds amused.

“And the pizza,” I tack on.

“That’s my favorite place.”

“I think I ate four pieces.” Should I have admitted that? Probably not. Oh well.

“I ate five, I think.” He’s grinning. So am I. But my grin fades when he dips his head and whispers in my ear, “When can we get out of here?”

I tilt my head down, shivering from his mouth brushing against my earlobe. “I can’t leave my party early.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” I lift my head to look at him. “That would be rude.”

“And Arabella Hartley Thomas is never, ever rude,” he teases.

“You’re right. I’m not.” I sound a little snotty and I remind myself of my mom which is just … no. Not good.

His expression shifts, turning dreadfully serious. “I want to be alone with you. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from his. He’s so sincere. So sweet. The sweetest I’ve ever seen him act toward me. I think back to a week ago, when we drove here. How excited I was. How I knew my entire life was going to change and I was right in so many ways.

Even some unexpected ones.

“I’ve been looking forward to it too.” I press my lips together and glance about the room, noting how there are less people in it. Some have already left. The room is not nearly as crowded as when the party first started, and it’s close to eleven thirty. “How long does your mother have the DJ hired for tonight?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll ask her after this song.”

We shuffle around the dance floor, his hands sliding down, almost covering my butt and I send him a stern look. “You’re really going to grope me in front of your parents?”

“I don’t think they’re paying us any attention.” He slides his hand over my right butt cheek, giving it a firm squeeze and making me yelp. “I can’t help myself. I’ve been dying to touch you all night.”

“You have been touching me all night.”

“Not in the way I want to.”

The promise in his voice is making me a quivery mess. My knees are knocking and everything. “You’re bad.”

“You like it.”

He’s right. I do.

The song ends and I excuse myself to use the bathroom while Row goes in search of his mother. By the time I’m finished and am washing my hands in the very bathroom where Rowan had me sprawled out naked and his mouth buried between my thighs, my phone buzzes on the counter.

It’s my mother calling.

“Darling, where are you? Aren’t you on campus?” This is how my mother greets me.

“No, I went home with a friend to spend the holiday with their family. Remember?”

See how I carefully choose my words so she can’t detect the gender of my friend? I’m not dumb.

“Who exactly are you with?”

A sigh escapes me and I decide to be truthful. “Rowan Lancaster.”

“Rowan Lancaster ? Are you serious? Are the two of you dating?”

“No.” I have no idea how to describe what I’m doing with Rowan to my mother. Fucking around? She would never approve. Or maybe she would. I don’t know. “We’re friends.”

“Well, that’s the kind of friend any girl would want to have. A Lancaster.” She sounds in absolute awe over the revelation. “They’re a powerful family.”

“They’re a nice family. They had a party for me and everything.”

“That’s right. It’s still your birthday!”

“For approximately thirty minutes, yes.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror, pleased that my makeup is still good. My lipstick is mostly faded but that’s okay. My cheeks are flushed, thanks to the alcohol we’ve consumed, though I’ve stopped drinking. I noticed Rowan has too. I think we want to be sober for what’s about to happen.

My stomach flutters with nerves at the thought, which is silly. We’ve done a lot of things together. I’ve seen him naked. He’s seen me naked. What’s the big deal?

“I just made it.” She laughs but I remain quiet. My disappointment in her, in my father too, hits me hard.

All I ever wanted was for my parents to show me some love. Shower me with affection. At the very least, acknowledge my existence. But they can’t be bothered with it, with me, and that …

God, it hurts.

The Lancasters are virtual strangers and look how easily they accepted me. Showering me with attention and love and gifts. Making my birthday the absolute best ever, despite only meeting me a few days ago. It’s unfair, how terrible my parents are.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Arabella. I hope you’ve had a nice day,” she says, filling up the silence because it’s obvious I’m not in the mood to speak.

“Thank you.” My voice is clipped. Formal. And she can hear it.

“You do understand that we’re busy,” she says, an irritated sigh escaping her and anger seeps into my skin. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Right.” Ad nauseum, if I’m being real with myself. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the, we want what’s best for you, and that comes with your father working terribly hard to give you whatever you need.

They’ve never really given me what I need. Maybe I didn’t want the best. Maybe I just wanted them. In my life. Supporting me.

“I wish you could understand. Not everything is about you.”

That’s a good one. “It’s never really about me, is it?”

She goes silent and I suppose I should feel triumphant, but I don’t. It hurts more that my reality is this: I have parents who don’t give a shit about me and then they try and make me feel bad when I complain—well, that’s how my mother treats me. I rarely speak to my father. We don’t spend much time together, and never one-on-one. Does he even remember my name? What I look like?

“I have a question.” I clear my throat, the idea striking me, and I brace myself, scared of her answer.

“What is it?” Mother asks warily.

“Did you get me that apprenticeship because you remembered how much I loved sketching and making jewelry? Or did you do that because you wanted more of an in with the jeweler?”

She actually bursts out laughing, like what I’m asking is hilarious to her. All while I stand in the bathroom with my back to the mirror because I don’t want to see the furious expression on my face.

“I don’t need an ‘in’ with the jeweler, darling. I am one of their best customers. You wouldn’t believe how much money I’ve spent there over the years. I can get whatever I want from them. Whatever. I. Want. And that apprenticeship? It’s a rare thing. They don’t offer it to just anyone, and once you get there, you’ll have to prove yourself. But if you don’t want to do it, then say so. I’ll let them know you don’t have what it takes.”

With those last words, she ends the call.

Leaving me reeling.