Chapter 15

MACKENZIE

I 'm learning that Dylan has this uncanny ability to make me feel comfortable like no one else can. Conversation flows easily between us, filling what would otherwise be awkward silence. During our little road trip to the cape, he's mostly spoken of his experiences out in the ocean, but he mentioned his sister a couple of times and I got the feeling that the two of them are close.

When he finally merges off the highway, following signs for Cape Charlton, we find ourselves navigating quiet roads that lead to large, expensive-looking vacation rentals. We travel along a secluded road that leads out to the sea when Dylan abruptly turns, stopping outside of a tall ornate metal gate.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Is there something wrong with the car?"

I can think of no other reasonable explanation we would be stopping here on this secluded expanse of road.

"We're here," he says.

"Uh, where exactly?" I ask, confused.

He doesn't seem to hear me. He's already reaching out the window, tapping out a six-digit pin number into an electronic keypad situated on a sandstone wall. The gates swing open, revealing a winding driveway lined with trees and tall lamp posts strategically placed every few metres.

I'm stunned into silence as we pull up to an extravagant two storey building lit up like a beacon. Even the trees adorning the property are illuminated by fairy lights, a soft glow radiating from an elaborate fountain in the centre of a horseshoe driveway. It looks like something I've only ever seen in movies.

"Dylan, what the hell is this?" I finally ask, disbelievingly, my mouth agape.

He pulls the handbrake up noisily. "This is the party."

"Your parents live here?"

"No," he replies bluntly.

"Oh," I say, relief washing over me. "For a second I thought you were going to say that…"

"They live in the city. This is their vacation home."

"Oh," I stare at him wide-eyed, unsure of what else to say.

I guess I should have assumed when meeting Dylan's parents at the tavern that they came from a higher socioeconomic background but I'm just now starting to see why Dylan's father had questioned my intentions.

Why he'd wondered whether I had been a gold digger.

"Come on," he says, looking less than enthusiastic. "Let's get this over with."

He exits the vehicle, leaving me in the silence of the empty car. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Snapping out of it, I fumble with the door handle. It takes two goes to get it to open but I eventually succeed. I round the front of the car and join Dylan near the fountain, the mansion looming high above us.

It's as though the energy has been drained right from him. Gone is the carefree, adventurous guy I've come to know. The sadness in his eyes as he stares at the front doors and the way his jaw is set hard are definite signs of his reluctance to enter his family vacation residence. I'd known from the phone call I overheard with his father that things were strained with his parents, but it's becoming blatantly obvious to me now just how much.

His hand reaches for me, but my instincts kick in and I brush it away. In my peripheral I see his head swivel in my direction. I slowly turn, expecting to find annoyance in his gaze. Rejection even.

Instead, I only see his concern for me. I hate that this is how I'm programmed now. To refuse all human touch. Ethan did that to me and I'll never forgive him for it.

Dylan drops his gaze to the ground, his shoulders slumping. For reasons unknown to me, he really doesn't want to be here.

I don't even want to go. The only thing keeping me sane the last couple of days was knowing that you were going to be there with me.

Suddenly, my fingers are gently grazing his, my palm looping around until our hands are flush together, his skin warm against mine.

"Come on," I tell him, nodding towards the house. "We've got this."

His mouth slowly curves in a smile, a glint of gratitude in his eyes. Knowing that I might be able to somehow make this night easier for him fills me with something I'd thought I'd lost long ago.

It fills me with purpose.

We enter through the wide, double front doors, echoes of laughter and music filling the space. I'd thought the exterior of the house was impressive, but the interior is exquisite. It's like nothing I've ever seen before.

Decorative woodwork adorns the ceiling and every wall. Fancy pendant lights and chandeliers hang from above, but what really captures my attention is the art. There are multiple original paintings in immaculate frames. I might be passionate about art, but I'm still learning. I don't know all that much about it. Still, if I had to guess, these pieces are worth thousands of dollars. Maybe even hundreds of thousands.

A less than subtle squeeze of my hand has me turning my attention to Dylan, his expression stoic as we approach his parents.

"Oh, Dylan! You made it!" his mother turns to greet us. Well, him. She greets him. She throws her arms around her son lovingly, but I hear the words she says through gritted teeth. "You're late."

I grimace inwardly knowing that I contributed to his tardiness.

"Hi, Mum," he says, his discomfort obvious as he pulls away awkwardly from her and his father takes his hand in his. "Dad. Happy anniversary to you both."

"Happy anniversary, Mr and Mrs. Abbott," I say as confidently as I can.

"Mackenzie." His mother smiles stiffly. The judgmental way her eyes survey me from head to toe isn't lost on me. "So nice to see you, dear."

Her tone tells me she'd rather not be seeing me at all.

One glance around the party is all it takes for me to realise that I'm severely under dressed for the event, but I won't allow it to phase me. I've spent most of my life feeling like I haven't been enough.

Not enough for my mother to stick around.

Not enough for my dad to stop drinking.

Never enough for Ethan.

This world is filled with all kinds of people but at the end of the day, that's all we are. People. Regardless of status, income or fashion. I am enough. And dammit, so is my store-bought Target dress.

"Dylan, why don't you show Mackenzie to the champagne tower," Dylan's father suggests. "I'm sure she could use a drink after the drive here."

"Oh, thank you but…" I begin, waving a hand in front of me. Champagne has never been my drink of choice.

"Sure." Dylan interrupts me, curling his arm around my waist as he steers me away from his parents.

He directs me to the corner of the room where a literal tower of champagne glasses has been set up. It's taller than I am. Knowing my luck, it can't be safe for me to be anywhere in its vicinity.

Much to my relief, Dylan stops us before we reach it, moving around in front of me, his arm still looped around the small of my back protectively.

"I don't drink champagne, Dylan," I say.

"I figured." He says, leaning into me. I catch the scent of his cologne, a summery blend of cedarwood with a hint of something fruity. "But they gave us an out and I took it."

"I see."

I know this display of closeness is for his parent's benefit. We're supposed to be dating after all. So why this sudden onset of arrythmia that seems to increase in severity when his hand comes up to comb a stray curl behind my ear?

"But you do need a drink," he says, his fingertips gliding along my jaw before his hands fall to his sides. "What can I get you?"

"What do you have?"

"Literally anything. There's an open bar out the back."

"There is?" I ask, peering toward the back of the house.

I see a pool illuminated by bright aqua lights, and sure enough, there's a bar set up on one side. I can just make out two bartenders mixing drinks behind it between the groups of mingling people.

"I'll just get a Coke or something," I tell him. "I'll come with you."

"Of course you will." He winks. "I'm not leaving you here with the vultures."

I know he's only joking but when we step through the doors out onto the expansive balcony with several sets of eyes pinned on us, I'm overcome with relief as his hand grips mine.

He ushers me through the crowd of people until we reach the bar. Then he orders us two Cokes and we move to take a seat at a small table.

"Dyl! I'm so glad you made it!" comes a perky voice to my right. "Now Mum and Dad can get off my case. Oh, hi! You must be Mackenzie!"

This woman's excitement level is off the Richter.

"Yeah. Hey," I say, extending my hand.

She takes my hand in hers but then bends down in her wickedly high heels to air kiss me on both cheeks. It's a gesture that I'm not familiar with in any sense. She seems friendly enough. I'm just not used to people encroaching on my personal space.

"Uh, Mackenzie," Dylan smirks, clearly amused by my discomfort. "This is my sister, Claire."

"Oh, hey. Cool. It's nice to meet you." For some reason I've been reduced to one syllable words.

"You too," she replies. "Dylan's told me so much about you."

Dylan shakes his head with a frown, making a subtle ‘cut it out' gesture across his throat. "Nope. Not really."

"Anyway, I'll leave you to it. I have to make the rounds, but I'll catch up with you guys again soon." With that, she turns on her crimson, red stiletto heels in search of the next social circle.

"So…" I grin, eyeing him curiously. "You told your sister about me?"

"No. Not much. She's confused." He shakes his head adamantly before taking a sip of his beverage, then gesturing to where Claire animatedly greets a friend, he adds, "I mean, obviously she's been drinking."

"Right," I say, huffing out a laugh.

I stiffen as Dylan's dad approaches the table, his presence sucking the energy straight from the air.

"Dylan," he says sternly. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

"Now isn't a good time, Dad," Dylan says, his jaw clenching. "I'm talking with Mackenzie."

It solidifies the respect I have for Dylan that he doesn't want to leave me alone to go and to talk to his father. He's been the perfect gentleman since the moment he picked me up, offering me a kind of protection that I've never really known. But right now, I can see his father isn't ready to let whatever he has to say to him go.

"It's important," his father presses.

A vein in Dylan's neck bulges as he takes a mouthful of Coke. "Dad, this is a party. Can we leave it?"

His dad lets out an agitated sigh.

"It's fine," I say. "Go with your dad. I'll be okay for a minute."

Dylan's nostrils flare in defiance as he stands and follows his father back inside, leaving me twirling the straw in my glass at an empty table.

I'm only mildly uncomfortable sitting in the middle of the fanciest party I've ever set foot in, but I'm not alone for long. I glance up as two women that seem to be only a few years older than me seat themselves on the opposite side of the table.

One has long platinum waves and the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Her lashes are fake. Her lips are swollen, the result of too much filler. The other, a brunette with piercing green eyes, wears the tightest, lowest cut dress I've ever seen in person. She looks like she just stepped off the red carpet.

"Uh, hi," I stammer.

"Hey," the blonde says, her voice surprisingly low and sultry. "You must be Dylan's new girl."

"Yeah," I say without hesitation. That's what I am tonight, for all intents and purposes after all. "I'm Mackenzie."

The blonde eyes me like she has a million questions to ask, the brunette like she doesn't trust a word that's coming out of my mouth. Smart girl.

When an awkward silence fills the atmosphere, I finally ask, "And you are?"

"I'm Skye, and this is Madison," the blonde says, gesturing to the brunette next to her. "Madison and Dylan dated for like… ever."

"Ah, I see." A light bulb flickers on somewhere in my brain. Dylan's ex. Noted. No wonder she doesn't trust me.

I look at Madison, but her eyes don't meet mine. She's too busy staring down at her manicured nails. She looks bored by our interaction. Another awkward silence passes before she finally makes eye contact with me.

"You know, you don't seem like his usual type." She tilts her head to the side, staring me down with her green gaze, before shrugging condescendingly. "But I get it. You're pretty in that girl-next-door kind of way. Be careful though. You know what they say. Once a player, always a player."

"Sure." I nod knowingly.

I can see what's going on here. The jealous ex is trying to spook me, but what she doesn't know is that Dylan is only my fake boyfriend. For tonight only. There's nothing she could say right now that would have any effect whatsoever on me.

"He seems quiet tonight, though. More reserved. He's usually way out of control at parties, but I guess the night is still young." Madison snickers, then turns to Skye beside her. "Oh my god, Skye. Do you remember that party he had here when his parents were overseas on business?"

"Yeah." Skye sounds only vaguely interested.

Madison turns back to me. "Someone called the cops to make a noise complaint and he was so high he threw a pound of weed on the bonfire to hide the stash." She says this with a less than impressed look upon her face, making air quotes when she says ‘hide.'

She expects me to be horrified by this information, but knowing she probably made half of this story up in her head, I give her the opposite reaction. I laugh. "Wow! That's chaotic! Sounds like a real rager. I bet everybody left a little light-headed that night."

A giggle escapes Skye's Barbie-pink pout. I think I'm beginning to like this one.

"Anyway," Madison scoffs. "If you've managed to tame the party boy, then good for you. I guess the one thing we're really struggling to understand is how you got him to abandon his career."

"His career?" I shake my head at this crazy notion. "No. He's not abandoning his career."

What the hell are they talking about? Dylan works two jobs.

"Yes, he is." Madison replies, blinking at me as though I'm stupid. "He quit the hotel industry."

"Hotel industry," I echo dumbly.

"I mean, the guy's obviously already loaded but walking away from running the Abbott Group is costing him millions. Maybe even billions. How'd you get him to do it?" She rests her chin on her hand, staring me down with contempt.

"What?" I look to Skye, hoping she has something else to offer that might explain the insanity coming out of this woman's mouth, but she just sits there, casually watching our interaction play out.

"I mean, the Abbott hotel chain is booming," Madison continues. "I overheard his father say they're going to be starting up a new boutique hotel soon. I guess I just can't understand why, given the opportunity, Dylan wouldn't want to run it."

Evidently there's more family drama here than I'd banked on. "I… I don't know. I guess that's something you'd have to ask him."

I realise now that Dylan wasn't kidding when he used the term ‘vultures.' These women are brutal. Madison clearly has it out for me, and I've managed to hold my own up until now, but I'd be lying if I said her words hadn't begun to blister under my skin.

Not because I care what Dylan's job prospects are or whether he has money or not, but because he's beginning to sound untrustworthy. Secretive.

The idealisation of him being this carefree, open book begins to shatter like glass, the lines of what I'd thought to be the truth beginning to blur at the edges.

According to Madison and Skye here, Dylan is loaded.

A loaded, party boy player.

And now I've found myself wondering if it was intentional when Dylan's mother had called me Madison the day we met at the tavern. Is this woman sitting in front of me the kind she has always envisioned for her son?

I may have encouraged this fake relationship that day in the tavern, but Dylan had been more than happy to bring me along to his parent's party. In fact, he had insisted on it. And I had believed him when he'd said he wanted me here. That having me here would make this night easier for him.

But the more I think about it, the more I question it. Because I am nothing like the two women sitting here in front of me. I'm obviously not Dylan's type at all.

Did he bring me here to parade me around in front of his parents in some futile attempt to piss them off? Am I here as some kind of revenge act?

I glance across the yard, noticing that there are now several sets of prying eyes trained in my direction. I stiffen, suddenly wishing I were invisible. I need to get away from these people and their potent stares.

Pressing my hands against the crisp, white tablecloth, I rise to my feet. "Well, it was great meeting you, but I need to use the restroom."

"See you later, Mackenzie," Skye says, her tone not unkind.

Madison scowls at her, then raises her piercing emerald glare to mine, a fake smile plastered over her perfectly made-up face. "Bye. Oh, and nice dress, by the way."

I look down at the floral sundress I'm wearing, and I'm taken back to the moment I stepped out onto my front porch tonight.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Dylan had asked. "It's perfect."

Was it perfect? Or was it the perfect way to embarrass his parents at their big anniversary party?

Was he hoping for me to look out of place here?

I think about the way he'd held the small of my back as he'd ushered me through the crowd tonight.

Had I mistaken possession for protection?

I don't want to believe that Dylan is here to make some

kind of statement tonight, but this war against his father is obviously bigger than I'd thought, and he must be using me as leverage. It's the only thing that makes sense to me now.

I storm back inside the house and take the hallway on my right. I enter the first door that I see and slam it behind me. It's pitch-black inside. I whip my phone out and turn on the flashlight function, using it to investigate my surroundings.

Damnit. I'm in some sort of linen closet, albeit a large one. I don't bother trying to find a light switch. Instead, I pull up the internet browser on my phone and type Dylan Abbott into the search bar. My heart sinks when his photo appears on the screen above a formal caption printed below it.

Dylan Ivan Abbott, born 24 th August, 1999. Australian business magnate and son of hotelier, Ivan Abbott, founder of the Abbott Group. The Abbott Group owns and operates multiple brands in many segments of hospitality including The Abbott, Gateway, and Boxborough hotel chains.

Holy shit. The guy has his own Google profile.

What the actual fuck?

I don't even know what to think. All I know is that I need to get far away from here. Now.

As I pry open the closet door, stepping out as discretely as I can, I scan the room for the nearest exit. I see Dylan standing off to the side of the large open plan living and dining area. He seems to be engaging in some sort of heated discussion with his father.

His nostrils flare as he places the glass of Coke he's still clutching onto the granite tabletop in front. I can't interpret the expression he wears, though the way his jaw hardens as he adjusts the collar of his shirt lets me know he isn't happy.

I'd thought that shirt had looked expensive, but it strikes me now that it probably cost more than my entire wardrobe and Kristen's combined.

Whatever his father is saying to him has him tense, but I don't care all that much anymore. Dylan lied to me.

He catches sight of me as I move forward, but when our eyes meet, I can only shake my head in disappointment. The tension in his stare immediately evaporates into hurt.

"Kenz!" I hear him call.

I don't turn around, instead pushing directly through the middle of a group of people until I've reached the front door. I barge through it and take the steps two at a time, my hand skimming the white, metal railing as I go. I've barely reached the bottom of the stairs when a warm hand wraps gently around my wrist. I spin around, only to find myself flush up against Dylan's chest.

"Leave me alone, Dylan," I shout angrily as I shake off his grip.

"What happened?" He looks genuinely confused. He's a great actor.

"Who are you?" I whisper, my eyes searching his for answers he probably isn't going to give me. "I mean, really? Who are you?"

He lets out a shaky breath, his guilty stare dropping to the ground. At least he has the decency to look ashamed.

"You completely blindsided me!" I continue. "You brought me here under false pretences."

"No. That's not what…"

I ignore his attempts to defend himself, cutting him off before he has a chance to spin me another story. "You neglected to tell me major details about yourself and your family. I don't even know you."

"Mackenzie, I can explain."

"Is that why you said this dress was perfect?" I hate that my eyes are stinging with tears.

I am not this girl. I'm not.

He drops his hands to his sides. "What?"

"Because you knew your parents would look down on me in it? Because it's not the kind of dress that Madison would wear?"

His eyebrows draw up in surprise at my question. "Madison?"

"Yeah." I nod. "I had a lovely chat with your ex."

"You don't understand." He shakes his head, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"No. You don't understand. I am not ashamed of this dress or the person wearing it, but I won't stand here and let you use me in some ploy to piss your parents off." I point an accusatory finger in his direction. "You're the one that should be ashamed."

I turn away from him and begin marching down the ridiculously long driveway.

His voice follows me. "You can't leave like this, Kenz. Come on. I'll take you home."

"I can find my own way home." Even as I say this, I know it's next to impossible.

I could call Kristen or Henley, but the thought of being such a burden to them when they've already done so much for me has me rethinking my options. I wonder how long it would take for me to get a bus out of here.

I'm probably not even halfway down the driveway before grasping the fact that I seriously underestimated its length, but it's not until I make it to the tall metal gates another ten minutes later that I realise my mistake.

The fence around the property is ten foot high and appears to be fitted with some sort of security system I'm not familiar with. There's no way out of here without being able to open that gate and I don't know the code. I should have paid more attention when Dylan was keying it in instead of gaping at him like some na?ve loser.

I wrap my arms around myself and trudge down a small, pebbled path that leads to a gazebo. If I wasn't so pissed off, I might be able to appreciate the gorgeous floral vines that wind their way around each post or the fairy lights that give it a warm, whimsical glow. Releasing a long breath, I slump onto the swinging seat in the centre of it.

A moment later a set of headlights are making their way toward me, the familiar chug of a struggling engine drawing nearer.