Chapter Ten

My face was buried in my pillow the next morning when I heard the door to my room click open. Heavy, confident footsteps pressed along my carpeted floor.

“You lucked out.”

Even without seeing him, I could envision him, draped like a mythological deity against a heavy piece of furniture, his destructive beauty almost baiting me to pick a fight.

I burrowed deeper into my pillow, wondering if I could suffocate this way. Surely, I wasn’t that lucky. Besides, I knew other ways to take my life. Less painful ones. A bullet to the skull, maybe. Though honestly, I didn’t trust my aim. Maybe Ransom could do it? Ha. He would save me just to spite me. The bastard.

I didn’t want to see Craig and Hera today. I really, really didn’t want to see them.

“Earth to Brat, you listening?” I heard Ransom push off whatever he was leaning against and walk toward me. “I said I’ve some good news.”

“Deliver it and be gone,” I murmured into my pillow.

“The rehearsal dinner is postponed. Your sister’s fiancé’s grandfather is in the ICU. They’re shelving the dinner to just before the wedding.”

I rolled over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The relief I was expecting didn’t come. Instead, dread gathered in the pit of my stomach, like debris.

It was like prolonging an open-heart surgery. Sans the anesthesia.

“Is he going to die?” A voice croaked, and I realized, belatedly, that it was coming from me.

“Who?” Ransom asked, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Actually, never mind. The answer is yes, either way. If you mean the grandpa, then probably in the next few days. If you mean the fiancé, I’d give the guy a few more decades before he kicks the bucket.”

“Shame.”

“You don’t like him?” He peered into my face. I was too lethargic to look back.

“He’s literally perfect.”

“Sounds appalling,” Ransom offered.

“My family loves him. They treat him like their son.”

He raised his hand. He was holding a stack of papers. That’s when my eyes shifted from the ceiling, studying him with a mixture of dread and curiosity.

“What now? My parents want to sign me out of the will?”

“Don’t think they’ll need your permission to do that. But they did send your bridesmaid’s speech for you to memorize.” He flung it in my lap. I didn’t touch it. I turned my head toward the window, watching two birds landing on a tree branch at the same time, tweeting at each other.

I want to be you.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to write it?” I sulked.

“Good morning. The year is 2026 and your family is overbearing. Also, Michael Jackson is dead, and we still haven’t found a cure for cancer.”

“They don’t trust me with anything.” I tossed my arm over my eyes. An acute pain clawed into my chest. The prospect of drawing a breath felt unbearable.

“That’s not true. I’m sure they trust you to mess things up. Hence the bridesmaid’s speech.”

“Can you stop being an ass, just for one moment?”

“Probably not,” he said neutrally. “But I’ll give it a shot.”

After he realized I wasn’t going to answer him, he asked, “What’s on today’s agenda, Princess?”

I scrambled upright, my back pressed against the headboard. “I guess I’m going to try my best to make your life a living hell and embarrass my family. You know, the usual stuff.”

He reached for the blanket, tapping my knee twice. As soon as his hand met with my leg, a shot of thrill ran through me, injecting me with energy and life. It was the first time he’d touched me. Willingly, anyway. Gently. Not to remove me out of a place or to drag me into my room. It seemed important, and not accidental, and maybe I was crazy, but also a little intimate. I had a feeling he wanted to make me feel better and didn’t know how. And Ransom never wanted to make anyone feel better.

“Shoot for the stars, Brat.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You mean, I can actually do whatever I want today?”

“Absolutely not.” His bored expression was impenetrable. “But I’m giving you a head start. For the next ten hours, you’re not on a budget. You’re allowed to spend your parents’ money however you like. I’ll deal with them. After that, you’re all booked for volunteer work.”

“Soup kitchen?” I asked groggily. It was celebrities’ go-to thing, so I figured this was where they wanted me to go.

He shook his head. “Reservoir cleaning and recycling.”

How sad is it, I thought, that my bodyguard knows me better than my parents do.

At first, I thought I’d hit Highland Park Village and go ham at Dior, Chanel, and Valentino. Normally, I only shopped in secondhand stores for environmental purposes, but for pissing-off-my-parents purposes, I figured it was time to renew my designer collection and donate older items to my favorite charities and thrift shops too.

As soon as Ransom and I reached the opulent shopping center, all royal arches and overflowing flower baskets, I realized no part of me wanted to shop.

That, in fact, shopping was a very depressing way to pass the time. Drawing joy from something materialistic never lasted for more than a couple hours. And…it needed to be said, most of the designer stuff was horrendous.

But it was much more than the act of shopping.

I was tired of the chase.

Tired of trying to fit in.

Tired of trying.

Designer clothes represented something I wanted to be a part of—glitz and glamour and sophistication. But deep down—or maybe not even that deep—I wasn’t a fan of consumerism. I mean, these companies wanted us to stock up on new, expensive clothes each season, even though last season’s clothes were perfectly wearable and still good to use. Overproduction resulted in waste and ecological damage. Every time I purchased a fashion item I didn’t need, I put another nail into this planet’s coffin.

“I don’t want this,” I heard myself say. I was rooted to the ground, staring back at an array of designer stores and upscale restaurants. “I don’t want any of this anymore. I have enough clothes. Nice ones, too.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, but I had a feeling he was relishing every word. More than that—I had a feeling he’d expected this to happen. That he somehow knew shopping wouldn’t make me feel better.

“I want to go,” I said.

“Where to?”

Good question. I wanted to get another tattoo. But I was still sore from yesterday, and also, I didn’t have anything else I wanted engraved on my skin. My tattoos all had meaning. Maybe I could sketch something real quick? I could…but I’d run out of hotel paper. And I guessed using a pencil, rather than the unreliable hotel pen, was a better idea. But the thought of holding a pencil and paper made me feel like a poser. Some pleasures were reserved for literate people only, and this was one of them.

A flashback of a sneering Hera assaulted my memory.

“What do you need my pens for, Hallie? It’s not like you’re gonna write something. Give them back. I’m studying for a test. And don’t ever steal from me again!”

Still…

Ransom had no idea about my…issues. I could draw as much as I wanted, and he wouldn’t judge me.

“Can we go to…Hobby Lobby?” I turned to him. I’d never been before, but it always looked like such a wholesome store. Nothing bad ever happened in a Hobby Lobby, I bet.

His face remained unreadable, but I could tell he hadn’t expected it. “Sharp turn of events.”

“Or I could call the paps again and find a subway grate à la?Marilyn Monroe so my dress flies above my underwear,” I suggested sweetly. I wasn’t asking to go to a nightclub, for crying out loud. Work with me.

“Say no more.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll find the nearest craft store.”

It hadn’t been the cozy adventure I’d been seeking, but we were back in the armored Ford Explorer and headed to the closest arts and crafts store in no time, where I purchased a thick sketchpad, along with a charcoal pencil set that included erasers, sharpener knives, and a double-end pencil extender.

I’d used Siri to find out what tattoo artists normally used when they sketched.

I made my way to the checkout line, before Ransom—who was suspiciously quiet, even by his standards—put his hand on my shoulder. Marking the second time today that he’d touched me, casually. And the second time I hadn’t hated it.

I couldn’t let myself dwell on that. It probably meant nothing. I mean, if he liked me even a fraction, he wouldn’t insist on putting me through the misery of staying in Texas, would he?

“What?” I turned around.

“While we’re here…” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

I wasn’t following. I cocked my head. “You want to hit the yarn section and learn how to knit?”

“You know me too well,” he groused. “Or you can also buy a few drawing guides. Get the basics, you know. Drawing for Dummies. Set yourself up for success.”

“Why would I do that?” I only doodled for myself. There was no danger in that. No potential failure. “It’s just a hobby.”

“It’s shit you put on your body afterwards.” He started striding purposefully back to the appropriate section. He jammed his hand into a fully-stocked shelf, pulling out a thick book. “Shading, Texture, and Optical Illusions. You wanna tell me you don’t need this?” He waved the book between us.

I plucked it from his hand and flipped through the pages hurriedly, expecting lots of text. I was surprised to find none. It was all step-by-step tutorials on how to draw. With pictures. It was amazing. My heart picked up speed. This was the first time in years I’d felt like I could advance and educate myself through something other than vids, TED talks, and audiobooks.

You can hold a book and understand it.

“Guess it can’t hurt. Do they have more like this one?” I tossed the guide into our shopping cart.

He took another one off the shelf.

Realistic Drawing Secrets.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that one.”

“You need to up your game.” He slam-dunked it into the cart. “Another?”

“I mean, I guess. Whatever.”

Soon, the cart was overflowing.

How to Draw Anime.

Artist’s Guide to Realistic Animals.

How to Draw with Photorealism.

How to Draw Modern Florals.

The options were endless. I wanted to gobble everything up.

Tapping my foot against the floor while we were waiting in line for the checkout, I glanced at the time on my phone. Ransom stared, amusement dancing in his forest-green eyes.

“Did you think about what you want to do with your life yet?”

“Now’s not the time,” I barked at him impatiently. Must he rain on my parade, just when I was feeling a little better and participating in what he wanted? “I’ll figure something out. Don’t rush me.”

Then—lo and behold—something amazing happened. Ransom Lockwood let loose an actual smile. It was small, it was hesitant, but it was there.

And it was glorious. Which made something else happen. Something—not butterflies, maybe small birds—flipped their wings in my lower belly, making my entire body tingle. We stared at each other for a beat, with intense, raw longing.

“Hello! Ready to check out?” The cashier popped the bubble we were both suspended in.

Ransom shook his head, turning to look at her, and smiled. “Absolutely.”

The next week was surprisingly bearable. Possibly because my family did not summon me to any more ‘casual’ dinners. Everyone was in D.C., where Craig’s family was from. No doubt frantic about appeasing Hera, who did not like it when life didn’t go according to her detailed plan.

I tried calling my older sister and inquiring about Craig’s grandfather’s health—apparently, he was still hanging in there—but was sent straight to voicemail each time I did.

There was no way to admit it without sounding awful, but each time I got to her voicemail, I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t have any particular desire to speak to Hera, and I had no idea what to say about Craig’s grandfather.

My time was spent volunteering at national forests and FreeTree Society (Ransom wasn’t kidding, he really did sign me up for everything under the sun) and drawing nonstop.

Calluses formed on my middle finger and thumb. And yet I continued.

Even when my wrist hurt.

Even when my hands began to shake, so weak I could barely wash my hair, pick up my phone, cut my food with utensils.

Max had arrived in Dallas, armed with enough sunscreen to drown an army. He and Ransom took turns watching me. On one hand, I felt more comfortable with Max—he was chill, sweet, and never mean to me. On the other, every time Ransom was away, I was worried he was getting frisky with other women.

Why did I care? While it was true that Ransom and I were no longer at each other’s throats, we were a very long way from being buddies. It was more a case of my wanting to save my energy for the battles ahead of me, with Mom, Dad, Hera, and Craig.

“So let me get this straight,” Keller said. He was back in L.A. from Palm Springs, munching on a celery stick while we were on the phone. I was sketching on my pad. An elaborate tattoo of a sexy-looking Medusa, pouty and luscious, her snake hair curling over her throat, cutting off her air supply. Beautiful Death. “You’re currently protected by two seriously hot men, and you’re not getting D-ed by either of them?”

Keller didn’t know that I wasn’t in the business of hooking up.

“Correct.”

“Okay…why?” He seemed flabbergasted.

“Because it’s a bad idea.”

“And since when do you shy away from those?” He laughed.

“I guess I’m trying to do better.”

“By whom?” Keller demanded. “Not your vajayjay, that’s for sure. The younger one seemed into you at first, right?”

“Max? Oh, I think so. He’s sweet, but…I don’t know, too meek, maybe? And Ransom is hot, but also a massive jerk.”

“You mean, the type to release a sex tape of you two?” Keller asked dreamily. He had a thing for bastards. His ex-boyfriends were atrocious. From emotional abusers to serial cheaters, it was very easy to give up on happily-ever-after when I had a front-row seat to Keller’s love life.

However, Ransom was the opposite of a man who would air out his business to the world. I wasn’t worried that he’d land me in trouble. He gave me every indication he wanted to keep me away from it. He just seemed like a really bad person to put my trust in. So wildly disconnected from his soul, I wondered if he had one at all.

“Just trust me when I say they’re both off-limits.”

“All right, but I’m starting to worry about you, girl. I haven’t seen you with any arm candy for a while.”

The last man Keller had seen me with was Dash Rodgers, a Seattle Seahawks quarterback who needed a few dates in L.A. while he was negotiating a new contract. Truth was, he was desperately heartbroken from a recent breakup—his country singer fiancée had been caught cheating on him with her guitar player—and I needed a way to boost up my image to get more gigs. We both benefited from the arrangement and parted as friends. But when Keller had asked about him, I relayed my wild nights with Rodgers while he was in town, omitting what we actually did—played Monopoly and Patchwork while discussing a National Geographic documentary about whales.

“I’ll get back on the horse in L.A.,” I assured him.

“Just as long as you make sure the horse is well-hung.”

“Keller…” I closed my eyes.

“Too much?” He laughed.

“Way too much.”

“It sounded better in my head.”

I hung up before he made a joke about giving head.

You could never be too careful.

Craig’s grandfather passed away at the age of a hundred and one.

Since my parents were already in D.C., Hera demanded the funeral take place as soon as possible so that the wedding plans could continue uninterrupted.

“She’s devastated,” my mother felt the need to explain to me on the phone, “but she knows that’s what Bill would have wanted.”

Yeah. I was sure Grandpa Bill cared specifically about Hera and Craig’s wedding while hospitalized with severe pneumonia as he succumbed to systematic organ failure.

“Yes. Terrible. Show must go on.” I chewed on my vegetarian chow mein in my suite’s room, flipping through one of my drawing books. Dallas felt much more bearable when I knew my family wasn’t in town. My new, cool hobby also kept me busy.

I could hear Ransom returning from the gym, and practiced admirable self-control by not peeking outside my room to see if he was in any state of undress.

“You should probably come to the funeral.” My mother sighed. “Show your support to Craig.”

My blood froze in my veins. Going there…seeing everyone…seeing him again…

“I didn’t even know Bill,” I argued softly.

“Does it matter? Craig is family.”

“Your family,” I enunciated. “Not mine.”

Thinking of Craig as family made me want to rip my skin off and dump it in a bonfire. Especially after I found my own rhythm, my own passion in sketching right here. I dropped my sketchbook, sitting back in my desk chair. Ransom popped his sweaty face in my door, to check that I was alive. I waved him away.

“You’re coming to D.C., Hallie. I will not hear any excuses,” Mom said.

“Mom—”

“Pass me to Ransom, please.”

I felt like a thirteen-year-old negotiating curfew time. Groaning, I handed Ransom my phone. He stepped inside, wearing a soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants with a promising bulge.

“Yes?” Ransom asked. “Yes,” he said again. Then “When?” And finally, “She’ll be there.”

He hung up the phone and handed it back to me. My eyes were hot with unshed tears.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he announced.

I rolled the statement off my shoulders, redirecting my attention to the sketchpad in my lap. It was fine. I would just let everything fly past me. Through me, maybe. Just as long as it didn’t stay inside me.

“Brat,” he said, to draw my attention.

I picked up my sketchbook, flipping through the pages.

“Brat.”

Nothing. Not my name, not my problem. I’d had enough.

“Hallie.”

I looked at him reluctantly. “Yes?”

Maybe this was the time when he grew a heart and asked me what was wrong. About my aversion to Craig. Or maybe he would talk it out with me. Try to figure out how the trip could be a little less awkward for me. “Don’t forget to memorize your speech.” He pointed at the pile of pages on the corner of my desk, before slamming the door and heading to the shower.

Ransom Lockwood didn’t do compassion.