Page 4 of King

I turn to Willow who looks as in awe as I am, her head whipping and turning, eyes bugging out of her head. Before I can point out Fendi and Gucci, our driver turns down a road lined with more tall bushy trees. We pass mansions that look like they could house thousands. Some with large gates, others with long driveways.

“I’m sure The Archibalds will fill you in on the lay of the land. And if you need anything, just call. For now, welcome home!” An iron gate opens up before us, our driver pulling the car through.

A house the size of one of my old schools sits behind it, the perfectly paved driveway lit up like a runaway. It's massive. Like one of those homes you'd see in a lottery ad. The grass and hedges are all neat and proper and I've already lost count on how many spotless windows I can see.

Our driver parks the car and Holly hops out to open the door. When my feet are on the pavement I get a good view before I pull my sister by my side. We’re a long way from home and with how big this house is, we may as well be on Mars.

“Don’t worry. Henry will take your bags to the door. Vincent will greet you inside.” Holly looks back at the house, a stone path leading to a big brown wooden door. “For now, welcome to your new life!”

Two

The chords of the electric guitar blare through the speakers of the polished kitchen.

I hold the tip of the Bic between my teeth, ignoring shiny golden fixtures for the empty page in my lap. Jimi's voice blends with the melody, his hypnotizing sound bouncing off powder-pink walls.

Perched on the granite counter, the soles of my Docs thud to the rhythm. Eyes on my tattered notebook, I’m begging for inspiration. But when the guitar stops I zone out, the words to "Purple Haze" escaping my lips before the guitar kicks in again.

I drum the pen against my bare knee, tapping my finger on the other. Bopping my head to the song, dark curls fall in front of my face. I’m making the best of this moment. In such a shimmering clean room, in such a new world, this music is my medicine. My release.

A fancy bottle of bourbon to my left, old Ramones shirt overtaking my frame, I let out my first deep breath in a long time. I’m feeling the first bit of warmth since I set foot in Eden Gardens and finally, I’m going to bask in it.

“Miss Rowland!" The music cuts, Vincent appearing in the room like a dark cloud, his hand on the white panel of switches. His voice is deep with a British accent and he always speaks as if he’s bored with life. “This is not a dive bar and you are not of age.”

So much for basking in the moment.

I lean my head against the fridge, messy hair blocking out most of his suit, “Looks more like the Hilton on steroids.”

He sighs, capping the bottle with white gloves before his brown eyes shoot daggers my way. They land on what’s beside me, gray brows lowering. “And those are for Mrs. Archibald.”

Looking at the small cardboard box on my right, my mouth waters at the colourful sandwiches all in a pretty row. The taste, albeit new, is pretty damn addicting. And that texture. Soft yet crunchy. So good! I’m not one for fancy treats but French macarons are a hell of a long way from PB&J on stale bread.

I shrug as he grabs the box. “I’m sure mommy dearest wouldn’t mind if I had a few. What’s hers is ours right?” I lean back against the counter with a lift of my eyebrow, crossing my arms across my chest.

He shoves the box closed before straightening his tie. While he’s annoying, Vincent doesn’t look all that bad for a man of his age. His nose is broad, tight lips surrounded by a white beard and stache. With the little smirk he gives me, he almost looks like Morgan Freeman.

“May I remind you, Mrs. Archibald is your foster mother.” He puts the box back in the fridge, his choice of words telling me I don’t belong. But I already know that.

When he closes the fridge door, I put my hand above his on the handle. “You know, you and I aren’t so different, in case you can’t tell.” I move my eyes to our hands, his skin only a few shades darker than mine.

He pulls his hand away with a gasp. Like I’d said something that wasn’t completely obvious. He eyes me like I stink, lowering his voice with a glance at the entrance. “You’ll soon learn you don’t belong here, Rowland,” Vincent says my last name like it’s filth in his mouth. “No one cares about you or your little orphan sister.” His nose twitches before he turns on the heel of his shiny pointed shoes, sauntering away.

I bid him adieu, sticking out my tongue at the back of his stupid suit. How the hell does anyone get any work done in that getup anyway?

My shoulders fall, seeing the bottle disappear out of sight with him. And there goes the rest of my tranquillity. Rolling my eyes I hop off the counter.

What he said isn’t new. This is my twelfth home in seven years. I’m used to not fitting in. Not right away anyway. And I’m definitely used to people giving zero fucks.

“By the way.” Vincent peeks his head back in. “A Mister Zane called for you but I told him I work for the Archibalds. Not their pests.”

My jaw tightens at his name. Eyes dropping to the bottle in Vincent’s hand, I smirk, “Funny, it sure doesn’t look that way to me.” Patting his back on the way out, I make my way into the foyer. Vincent doesn’t know it, but by not giving me Zane’s call, he did me a huge favour.

A large chandelier sparkles in the sunlight shining above me as I make my way up the grand staircase. My boots squeak, climbing each shiny wooden step. Reaching a landing, I try to remember the way to my room. Was it the second floor or the third?

While deciding, I’m distracted by the window next to me, overlooking Eden Lake. The view is breathtaking. The water glistens in the distance, downtown buildings teeny and charming from afar.

This view makes Glendale Grove seem like a faraway world. I guess the more these rich folks can ignore those on the other side, the better. Out of sight, out of mind right? Too bad that shit doesn’t work for me. I’d been in The Grove way too long to change now.

Hearing a familiar giggle I smile, knowing who it's coming from. The main reason I’m putting myself through this hell.

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