Lost Boys (Slateview High 1)

Ava chuckled and nudged me toward my door.

“I’ll clean up; you go on. Your mother has you on a strict presentation schedule. Wouldn’t want to do anything to disrupt that,” she said, her mouth twitching into an almost-smile.

I laughed a little, leaving her to tidy the vanity and clear away the clothes I’d been wearing before I’d put on the green dress. I knew that by the time I came back up to my room later tonight, tired from socializing and ready to collapse into bed, the room would be spotless again, not a thing out of place.

Ava took care of me like that.

My family’s manor was expansive. We—my family, the van Rensselaer line—were often referred to as American Royalty, and if that were true, our home was definitely our palace. My father’s family were old steel and oil tycoons who had diversified over the years; Dad had his hands deep in real estate and investments these days. My mother, a Stratler before she married my father, came from a family of textile producers, though there wasn’t much money left to the Stratler name these days. She barely ever talked about her side of the family. Anytime I asked about them, she told me there wasn’t anything worth talking about.

Leaving my bedroom at exactly 6:55 p.m., I walked through halls of mahogany and gilded oak, decorated with tapestries and paintings of our ancestors, knowing that one day it would be my job to do what my parents were doing now—make sure our legacy ran strong and true with every new generation, and that no one could have a reason to forget or talk ill of the van Rensselaer name.

I doubted that would happen during the festivities tonight. No one who’d been invited this evening had any reason to dislike my family—and they had plenty of reasons to want to get along well with Mom and Dad. My father’s friendship and good word had started business empires.

As I descended the large set of double stairs to the sounds of voices, laughter, and music, I shoved down the little thrill of nerves that ran up my spine. I was no stranger to these kinds of events, but part of me still hated being put on display like this. My parents always made my entrance the final and grandest one. Given the volume of conversation drifting up toward me, it felt like the entirety of the Baltimore elite was in our house.

Well, to be honest, they likely were.

The adults were already well into the merriment, with a few of the sons and daughters mingling with their own flutes of wine and champagne. Rules could be bent when it came to a van Rensselaer party. Guests turned when they saw me appear at the top of the large, curving staircase. It had been built for just this sort of grand entrance, and I made sure not to glance down at my feet as I walked down, my dress brushing each step as I descended with perfect grace. More than one appreciative glance came my way, and with each one, no matter who it was from, I returned a smile. Just like Mom had taught me. Appreciation given deserves appreciation in return.

I passed by the Carlsons, giving Mr. and Mrs. Carlson a sweet nod on my way past them. Then the Remingtons, the Ellises, the Beaumonts—families that had almost the same clout that Mom and Dad had. Almost, because Dad always had just a little more. It was a status that the van Rensselaer family had always ensured they were able to boast.

Eventually, I found Mom and Dad, a pair of divinity in the crowd.

Mom was a vision in red. A deep wine gown perfectly complemented her blonde hair, which was the same color as mine—white-gold, like spun flax. Dad stood next to her, his tailored black suit embellished with accents of the same wine red that Mom’s dress carried.

They matched, a perfect set, and I was the combination of the two of them. Mom’s blonde hair and grace, and Dad’s green eyes and resilience.

When I reached them, I dipped my head slightly. I didn’t have a close relationship with either of them, but whatever affection we might show on a normal day was turned down even further at an elegant party like this. Over-affection was the enemy of poise, and for one of Mom and Dad’s parties, poise was always paramount.

“Mom, Dad,” I greeted instead. “I hope I haven’t missed out on too much?”

“Cordelia.” Dad beamed at me, his hands on my shoulders as he kept me at arm’s length, appraising me. “My, my, you were right, Elizabeth; the green certainly brings out the beautiful shade of her eyes.” He fingered a coil of my hair, smoothing it out before giving a nod. “Perfect. Now, let’s see if we can find Sebastian. I wanted you to meet his son, Barrett.”

I nodded and took Dad’s left arm as he moved through the crowd with Mom on the other side of him. It was always how we made our rounds; Dad in the center, the head of the house, the pillar that kept the van Rensselaer family together, and the two prized women of the house—his wife, always prim and dutiful, and his daughter. Like my arrival, our trek through the grand entrance was marked by greetings, smiles, compliments given, and compliments paid.

When we walked up to Sebastian King, something shifted.

Dad straightened out his suit, preened himself almost, as though he were the one who needed to go out of his way to impress. My brow rose, but only for a moment as Dad began the pleasantries, his deep voice smooth and commanding as ever. Sebastian, a charismatic man with salt-and-pepper hair, grinned at the three of us. I would never say it aloud, but he looked almost wolfish. I could say the same for his son, Barrett.

Barrett had hair longer than most boys in our circles, neat and slicked back from his face, save for a few strands that fell over his eyes—like his father’s eyes, they were a deep, warm amber. I’d seen him in passing before, and where his father gave off a jovial, effortlessly confident air in the way he held himself, Barrett had a different aura about him.

More dangerous.

Lascivious.

Suddenly, I felt less eager to meet him properly, no matter how handsome he was—but I knew that simply leaving was out of the question.

“Ah, Sebastian, I almost forgot. You’ve met my daughter, Cordelia. But I don’t believe that she and Barrett have met?” My father smiled even more broadly as he made the introduction.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Barrett said before his father could speak. He took my hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it. His lips lingered there as he looked me in the eyes with that wolfish gaze of his.

If I thought him a wolf, what did he think of me?

A little rabbit to be slain?

I pulled my hand from him politely. Dad and Sebastian exchanged a look, Dad giving a nod and Sebastian smirking before the two older men and my mother slipped from us. And just like that, I was left alone with Barrett.

It’s strange, the feeling of isolation when you’re surrounded by people.