Page 12 of Call You Mine

That was the closest Ruby, and I had ever come to having any familial connection, yet neither of us ever went back to Purgatory after hearing that our aunt Haley had been the casualty of a turf war between her club the Disciples and a rival gang.

Now the only other family we’d found was also gone.

Wynter remained dead-silent the entire drive to the new house I purchased six months ago with some of the money Nico had left me. The five-bedroom, seven-and-a-half-bathroom mansion on the town border of Hillcrest Hills and Galen Grove was definitely not something I fucking needed or would have ever thought to purchase before meeting Nico.

But in those three months, he’d shown me the importance of family. The man had lived his entire life alone, searching for the one thing he never had—a family of his own. I had no intention of ever having one of my own—a wife and kids—but there was something appealing about having a house this large. I could let myself fantasize I’d fill it in another lifetime.

After pulling into the driveway and putting my car into park, we sat in silence, nothing but the soft hum of the engine powering down heard in the car. I lift my gaze to look at Wynter and find her gazing directly at the house in front of us, her lips pursed in a tight line that gives nothing away.

If only I could get a glimpse of whatever’s going through her mind. I can’t garner her reaction as I watch her chest heaving softly, a million different questions crossing her mind all at once.

Where did I bring her? Why did I bring her here?

Well, Princess, I’m asking myself the same damn thing.

Saying nothing, I open the door and step out of the car, surprised when she follows. She closes the door slowly while I grab the duffle bag she had with her from the back seat. It hardly weighs anything, another red flag that she’s not telling me the truth.

In the time I’ve known Wynter, she’s never traveled light. The woman takes her entire wardrobe and makeup counter with her everywhere she goes.

I watch her as she carefully struts over to the edge of the circular driveway wrapping around the front and takes in the grandness of the house. Something inside of my chest tightens when I step up to join her, her eyes lighting up when she notices.

White bricks cover the exterior of the Craftsman architecture, black shutters framing the twenty or so windows along the front painted to match the shingles along the roof. Sandstone pillars hold up the second story and match the railing of the wrap-around porch.

Along the edge of the porch, there are fifteen rows of red rose bushes that wrap around the entire house, adding a bright contrast to the otherwise black and white color palette of the exterior. I had the landscaping redone specifically to include those roses after purchasing the house and as I watch the way she blinks away the tears pooling in her eyes, I’ve never been so sure of my decision.

It was the last time we’d spoken. She'd come from New York for just a day and a half, but we spent most of it together, binge watching Game of Thrones and eating junk food in my apartment. Red roses were her favorite flower, and she spoke about how she dreamed of having them all around her house when she was a little girl.

After a trip to Disneyland when she was six years old, where she fell in love with the roses aligned in a Mickey Mouse shape in the front entrance of the park, she’d convinced her gardener tolet her plant some in the manor’s gardens, but the next day, her mother had ordered him to cut them down. Apparently, the red didn’t match the earth tone aesthetic of the rest of the manor.

There was something strange about her as she spoke that day. Her smile wasn’t as bright, her eyes full of doubt, and she was saying things that made little sense. Wynter was never one to reminisce or speak about her childhood, but that night she was dreaming about what her life could have been if she wasn’t born a Servite.

For so long, I used to hold her upbringing against her, never allowing myself to get too close because betrayal was in her blood. Her family was pure poison. Though looking at her now as she fights to keep herself together, I realize it was a curse she had to bear. She had no choice but to do what she had to in order to survive.

Wynter discreetly wipes a tear away, putting her dark sunglasses back over her eyes to keep her mask of confidence in place. I know Wyn better than I know anyone, and she’s not ready to talk about whatever darkness is threatening to consume her. There's definitely something she’s keeping from me, has been since the moment she left after graduation, but it never bothered me the way it’s starting to now.

And that’s a feeling I can’t give into. We’re both better off acting like those damn roses mean nothing.

Without acknowledging her, I lead her toward the two black double doors, letting her follow behind me at her own pace. Yet the moment we step into the foyer, I hear a subtle gasp leave her lips as she takes in the interior design.

A smile tugs at my lips and I have to fist my hands at my side to hold in the chuckle that tries to escape. “Welcome home, Princess.”

Chapter Three

WYNTER

Holy fucking shit.

I knew something about him seemed different, but I would have never expected Damon Drake is fucking loaded. And I don’t mean a few hundred thousand dollars in his bank account saved from his extracurricular activities he’s always been so secretive about. I’m talking hella fucking rich—like my family’s wealth before Wesley went and fucked us.

Ace and I still have our grandfather’s inheritance we’ll be able to dig into soon, but it’s nothing compared to the chunk of money Damon suddenly inherited from this long-lost uncle of his.

Not that his new status changes anything between us. I’m not as shallow as everyone believes. Damon having money doesn’t suddenly make him more appealing or available to me. I’m not the social climbing gold digger that is my mother, Willa Servite.

Only eighteen years of age when she married Warren, ten years her senior, she made the man believe the twins she hadwere his, when in reality they were his brother’s children. That kind of shit is only done for one reason - to lock in a sure fucking thing. And the Servite bank account is all Willa ever cared about.

My mother’s been blowing through the money she could get her hands on before Wesley’s assets were seized. Luckily, the deed to Servite Manor was in our name or we’d be fucked on that front too.

So, in order to make it through the night without having a complete mental breakdown, I have to pretend the rows or red rose bushes wrapping around his house are a mere coincidence.

---