King of Hawthorne Prep

And just like that, I’m wide awake and scrambling from the bed to grab my robe before padding down the stairs to the study. I catch a glimpse of my parents with their heads bent together as they quietly converse. Their gazes jerk to mine as soon as I cross over the threshold. Austin is right behind me, hovering over my shoulder.

“Hi, honey!” Dad greets with a forced exuberance that seems strangely out of place this early in the morning. “Did you sleep well?”

My gaze narrows, darting from one tense expression to the other. Mom has an entire set of luggage under her eyes and Dad looks like he hasn’t slept for a week straight. This is a flashback to how they appeared last night at the party while talking with Keaton.

“Yeah.” What little sleep I got. After Kingsley and I had sex, he held me in his arms, and we stared at the dark canvas of night sky. Cheesy as it sounds, it felt like the stars were shining for us. I pointed out all of my favorite constellations and a deep contentment like I’d never experienced stole over me as I lay sprawled across his chest.

What we shared last night wasn’t just sex.

It was love.

He made love to me.

I won’t fool myself into believing that I’m madly in love with Kingsley, but I could definitely get there. The seeds have been sown. All they need to do is flourish and grow.

“We thought you’d sleep later,” Mom adds in a strained voice.

The tension filling the study continues to intensify. I don’t know what it is, but Austin is right. Something is wrong. What I don’t understand is how Keaton fits into the equation.

Yet.

I don’t understand it yet.

When they remain silent, I ask, “Why was Kingsley’s father here?”

A flash of surprise crosses their faces. Neither seem eager to tackle the question. Instead, they glance at each other. A myriad of emotions flicker across their drawn faces. As their silence stretches, I shift restlessly, wrapping my arms around my middle to still the anxiety unfurling inside me like a flower. My nerves stretch taut. I can’t take much more of this.

“You need to tell her what’s going on,” Austin pipes up from behind me.

Dad plows a hand through his thick hair and glances away. “We were actually going to talk with both of you a little later.”

“About what?” I ask suspiciously.

“Well,” he pauses, gaze darting to my mother as if she’ll somehow be able to help him muddle through this.

“Say it,” Austin snaps. “Tell her what you’ve done!”

Dad’s body jerks at my brother’s sharp tone. I’ve never heard Austin speak to our father in such a disrespectful manner. Sure, he’s gotten shitty before, but this is all together different. There’s an undercurrent of disgust and anger weaving its way through his tone.

I wait for Dad to reprimand him. Instead, he ignores Austin, keeping his attention focused on me. “We’ve come to an agreement with the Rothchilds.”

An agreement?

What for?

When he lapses into another silence, I impatiently flick my wrist in a circle, prodding him to continue.

“Remember when we talked about how your great-great-grandfather started the company with Gerald Rothchild?”

I jerk my head into a nod.

Dad clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “I need to fill in some background information, so you understand how the arrangement was struck and agreed upon.”

Arrangement.

There’s something unsettling about the way his lips wrap around that word.

“I wasn’t entirely forthcoming with you about what happened with the company. The two men did start it together, but after twenty years in business, along with a friendship that had become strained, Herbert decided he wanted sole ownership. Over the years, the company had turned quite a handsome profit and naturally, Gerald wasn’t interested in being bought out. So Herbert, um, went about some nefarious activities to wrestle control away from his partner.”

Nefarious activities?

At any other time, such a dramatic description would have me bursting into laughter. Instead, I remain frozen in place as a swarm of butterflies multiply in my belly.

When he doesn’t continue, I prod, “What happened?”

He shrugs. “No one knows for sure, but everyone has their suspicions. The two men attended their long-standing Friday night poker game at a friend’s house. Around midnight, Gerald left to return home and was never seen again. Nor was his body ever found. Months after the search, Herbert produced documents showing that Gerald had signed over the company to the Hawthorne family for pennies on the dollar.”

When I attempt to gulp down my rising nausea, I realize my mouth has gone bone dry. Barely am I able to push the question out. “What are you saying, Dad? Do you think your great-grandfather murdered Gerald Rothchild?”

“I don’t know.” Sadness fills his eyes as he shakes his head. “Do I think there’s a high likelihood? Yeah, probably. They were partners for twenty years. Each wanted to take the company in a different direction and there were a lot of disputes which led to bad blood. After Gerald disappeared and Herbert produced papers that transferred ownership, the animosity only grew worse. There was a lot of ugly speculation about the Hawthornes.”