My throat is dry, scratchy. All I want to do is say her name.
Charlotte's shoulders, which were hunched a moment ago, now roll back into svelte calm and she approaches me, bypassing my stunned sister, who does nothing more than turn around to look at us.
The years of genteel manners instilled into me fail me. I know which fork to eat with, what wine to pair with fish, how to address a duke and duchess, and how to dismiss servants with just a flick of my eyes. The mental search through my repertoire is frantic but I have no clue how to remedy this situation. Mom never prepared me for this.
My life's education seems flimsy, the world I live in a fraud. If I thought Charlotte was a pumpkin-patch Cinderella, then I'm just a paper prince, someone whose veneer of charm and class can be easily ripped down the middle.
She's outclassed us at our own game. I know it. She knows it. Even Graeme, who's on the verge of tears, knows it.
When Charlotte speaks, I don't hear the words. Only when she extends the present to me, the rectangular package that's shaped like a book, do I snap out of it. Her meaning is clear. Her wrist is upturned, the blue of her vein standing out like a crack in white marble. Her voice is steady, but her hand shakes. She's not as composed as she wants us to think, I realize.
"Charlotte," I start to say, gratified when my throat manages the words, when my chest stops constricting long enough for me to breathe.
Her next words slice through me, razor sharp. "You've been so gracious to me while I was a guest in your home. Merry Christmas, Wolfram." She still holds the gift out. Doesn't she realize I can't accept it? Not until she forgives me.
Her decorous manners deliver a cut to my conscience, shame welling like blood. A paper cut for a paper prince, I think, and the irony would make me laugh, but I don't dare.
When she reaches out to grab my hand, I'm so shocked I lose all ability to breathe - again. Fingers slack, I allow her to mold my hand to accept the present. "Charlotte," I attempt to say again, but as though my voice pains her, a flash of something crosses her face and she immediately drops contact with me, taking a step back.
I stand there clutching the gift I'm so ashamed to accept, trying to decipher her expression. She looks like a wounded animal, a face I've seen my sister wearing all too often. It's a sharp caricature of Why aren't I good enough? and stinging betrayal.
And then it's gone.
She's retreated back into herself. And there is nothing I can do to stop it since I'm the one who caused it.
"Merry Christmas," she says again, voice hard with finality. I wonder who she's trying to convince - me or her?
Anger flares. It's my go-to response when I feel defensive, and even though I know I was in the wrong, part of me wonders why Charlotte even came here right now, why she didn't just turn around and leave once she heard us talking. Why did she have to stay and eavesdrop?
The things Graeme said to me in private were just that - private. Listening to someone's private conversation was like reading their diary - you couldn't get upset at words which you were never intended to hear. Charlotte is being unreasonable, a little voice pipes up. No, she's not, I remind the voice.
When did this become so fucking hard? Or maybe relationships were always hard, and I just chose to arrogantly ignore it and do what I'd always done - exactly what I wanted. My shame increases tenfold.
I stand rooted to the spot, gift limp in my hand. Graeme is still in the doorway, a panicked expression on her face. Her eyes are wide and she defensively flashes her palms at Charlotte like she wants her to stop.
Charlotte doesn't.
A lifetime of experience with girls has shown me that most of them are dazzled by my family's wealth and connections. Diana has shown me that. Delighted in showing me, in flaunting her affair with Levi in my face. My own brother. No, I correct myself. Dad's bastard. The ugly word makes my skin crawl, but I feel so ugly inside that lashing out on Dad's new pet project is the only thing that alleviates my own frailty.
How was I supposed to know Charlotte Wright would be different? That she wasn't chasing Xander's wealth? That she wasn't using this vacation as a stepping stone to me and Marcus, the fat calves that would lead her to a better future?
No one realizes that it's a paper palace and I'm a paper prince, that the entire visage is a house of cards and once it comes tumbling down it's the same stinking cesspool of drama and secrets and ugliness like any other family.
Charlotte keeps walking in a straight line, angling her body around Graeme with not an ounce of anger on her pretty face. Her stride reminds me of a quote I heard once: If you're going through Hell, keep going.
One look at my sister's face tells me that all she's worried about is Xander. Whether Charlotte will tell. I suck in a breath. Shit. If Xander finds out what we were saying, that's the end of the line for my friendship, too.
I jog out of the room, about to call Charlotte's name. I'm not sure yet what I'm going to say.
I'm sorry.
For the sake of my working relationship with Xander, I'd really appreciate if you could keep this on the down low. I immediately discard that one, since it reeks of my own desperation and selfishness.
I'm sorry.
I didn't mean it, I was just trying to comfort my sister. You can't possibly understand, you're an only child, you don't know what it's like to have someone depend on you. No, too defensive and condescending.
I'm sorry.
An apology is my only hope for reconciliation.
The words die in my throat when I see Levi in the hallway, a pained look tugging his eyes into sadness. His arm is around Charlotte's shoulders. He sees me as he pulls her away, but Charlotte doesn't notice me standing there.
My mouth closes.
Levi's eyes look disappointed. In me. Disappointed in me.
I want to scream at him, want to tell him that he doesn't get to fucking judge me, not when he's had some upper-middle class upbringing with a loving mother and far the fuck away from Marcus. He doesn't know the wrath of Marcus' disgusted silences, of my mother's pain whenever Marcus takes a business tripâbecause we all know what that really meansâor when he spends dinner ignoring us all in favor of his Blackberry, of a sister who thinks her brother is Superman because he was the one who taught her do all the things that a father was supposed to have taught her.
He gets pleasant, polite Marcus. The father who's proud of his achievements, of the fact that he got a job at van der Waals Enterprises without nepotism or name-dropping.
Dad raised us in this lifestyle and then decides to resent us for enjoying it? Fuck that.
So I don't say a word and let him take her because if there's one thing I know, it's that Levi is not a paper prince. He's blood and bone and he won't let her down because it's not in his DNA to hurt the people he cares about.
"Wolf," Graeme whispers. I feel her presence beside me, a rustle in the air. Her small fingers weave their way through my limp hand and squeeze. "Wolf, what are we going to do?"
I take a deep, steadying breath. I turn and tilt her pointed chin up with my index finger. "What we've always done, Graeme. Lift our heads and smile through gritted teeth."
"She's going to tell Xander," she whispers, the words hard and fast. "She's going to tell. She's going to ruin Christmas, ruin everything!" Her fingers tighten in my hand, nails digging into my skin, making the the bones in my hand ache.
"It's okay," I try to assure her, even though I'm pretty sure none of this is okay. It's then that I notice the wrapped gift in her hand. I stare at her fact questioningly, and she holds it up, guilt creasing her pert face for a moment before it vanishes.
"You dropped it on your way out," she says. "I opened it. Sorry."
I don't chide her for her nosiness. While Graeme rips, I peel. With gentle fingers, I tug back a corner of savaged wrapping paper to see what's inside. It's a simple frame but it's not cheap, either, which makes me wonder how much she spent. A fresh wave of guilt lances through me. The frame borders a picture of me and Xander. We're at a bar, looking ridiculously plastered and happy.
How fitting she gave me a reminder of my first real friendship right before she ended it for good. Because both Graeme and I know that there is no version of Earth in which Xander chooses us over her.
"Maybe she won't say anything," Graeme says hopefully. "I mean, obviously she realizes how much he means to us. She gave you such a sentimental present." She keeps rambling, more to convince herself than me. "Like, I'm pretty sure she won't. She loves him." She makes a face. "And he loves her. She won't make it a big deal. Right, Wolf?" When I don't reply right away, she nudges me in the chest. "Right?" she asks again, emphasizing the word with another poke.
She's probably right about that. It kills me even more that in her place, I know perfectly well that Graeme and I wouldn't have afforded her the same in return.
"Right," I say. The words are hollow.
WHAAAAATTTT, another bonus chapter? What is this sorcery? ;) kick back and enjoy the weekend with this bonus scene - I hope you love it!
Any other scenes you guys want to see? I'm taking suggestions?