TEARS

Stefan
The ceremony commenced, and the hum of conversation quieted, leaving me to observe. I didn’t bother to take a seat, choosing to lean against a tree behind the last row of chairs instead. Speeches were made, people applauding at the appropriate time. All very dull, quite frankly. Veronica shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, or more likely, nervous. The students stood one row at a time as names were called.
Veronica’s turn approached, and I straightened once she stood and glanced back. This time, her gaze met mine. Even from this distance, I saw the strange, pale caramel-colored eyes widen, the delicate skin around them puffy and pink. She’d been crying.
She stumbled when the girl behind her moved faster than she did, but righted herself, looking straight ahead as she made her way to the platform. At the stairs, she stole one more glance. When they called her name, she slowly made her way across the stage, her legs seeming heavy as she took those last steps in freedom to shake the principal’s hand and take her diploma. The families clapped and cheered, and Veronica held her head high, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, unable or unwilling to smile as she, instead of resuming her seat, walked toward me.
This was a surprise. I expected a meek, spineless, submissive girl.
I cocked my head to the side.
When she reached me, she took off her cap.
“Congratulations?” I said with a smile.
“Fuck you.”
My smile widened. Not meek at all. I should have seen the fire burning in those usually soft amber eyes.
“Is that what you walked over here to tell me? If it’s because you think I forgot your birthday-”
“You think what you gave me changes anything?”
I shrugged a shoulder “Not for me,” I said more casually than she probably liked.
“You think it makes any difference at all?”
“I don’t care, honestly. Like I said when I gave it to you, it’s truth.” I don’t think she heard me at all.
“Do you think I even believe your lies?”
“Again, I don’t much care.”
“Know that I will fight you every step of the way.”
“I hope so.”
“Veronica?”
Her sister approached us. Marcus Kingston stood in the distance, conversing with one of the nuns but watching us. His face revealed nothing, the smile false. He was, after all, an upstanding citizen. A philanthropist who gave generously to St. Sebastian and many other institutions.
If only they fucking knew.
My hands fisted at my sides. I wanted to kill the motherfucker.
“I will never make this easy for you.”
Veronica drew my attention back to her.
“I hope you won’t.”
Robyn’s cautious gaze fell on me. Even if this was the first time I’d seen them together, I would have known them to be sisters. Apart from eye color-Robyn’s were a mossy green-and Robyn’s dark hair, the similarity of their features was striking.
“Veronica.”
This time, Robyn physically turned her sister toward her. Veronica dragged her angry gaze from mine and wiped the backs of her hands across her eyes.
Good. At least she knew what to expect. Today’s tears would be the first of many. I had years of hate to work through, and she’d be my whipping girl. Literally, if she wasn’t careful.
“Hey.” Robyn took her sister’s face in her hands and held her forehead against Veronica’s.
I watched them, curious. My brothers and I weren’t close. Damon being my twin, we had a special bond, even now, even through all the hatred and anger, but we weren’t like them.
I snorted, shaking my head.
“Okay?” Robyn asked.
Veronica nodded. “I have to go.”
“I know.” Robyn released her and stepped back, reaching around her own neck to unclasp the necklace she wore.
Veronica shook her head. “Mama gave that to you.”
“Shh.”
I noticed they each had tears glistening in their eyes. She wrapped the necklace around Veronica’s throat and clasped it. Veronica touched the pendant.
“I changed the picture,” Robyn said quietly.
“Christ, you act like you’ll never see each other again,” I said.
Both sisters turned to me.
I raised up both hands, palms up in mock apology.
“I don’t want you here,” Veronica said to me.
“That’s too bad.”
She fisted her hands and narrowed her eyes, and I knew it took all she had to say what she said next.
“Let me say good-bye to my sister.” She gritted her teeth. “Please.”
My eyebrows rose. “Wow. A please.”
She pursed her lips. “Just go to the car and give me one fucking minute.”
“Do the nuns allow that sort of language?” I taunted.
“Veronica.”
Her sister tried to draw her away, but Veronica held her ground.
“I hate you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
I shrugged a shoulder.
“Go,” she ordered, pointing to the car.
I laughed at first, but my face hardened in the next instant, and I stepped close enough that she drew back. “Speak to me like that again, and you’ll be sorry,” I hissed.
“I’m already sorry,” she said, her voice trembling.
Robyn caught her hands, forcing Veronica to look at her. I leaned away.
“Veronica?” Robyn’s eyes misted.
Veronica shook her head and tried for a smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s okay.”
“Call me every day, okay?”
I could see the effort it took for Veronica to hold back her tears.
“We have a flight to catch,” I said, checking my watch.
They hugged each other tight, and it was Veronica who broke away, sniffling.
“Do you want to tell your grandfather good-bye?” I asked, although I pretty much knew the answer.
“No,” Veronica said. “I’m ready.”
“I hope for your sake, you are.”
——
Veronica
Inside the envelope Stefan had given me were three sheets of paper, pieces taken from a larger document. When I’d asked him what it was, he’d said one word-truth. But it couldn’t be that. There was no way. Grandfather wasn’t that hateful. No matter what, we were his family, his only remaining family.
The night I’d first met my grandfather as a child had also been the night we’d celebrated my mother’s twenty-first birthday. The timing of his visit made perfect sense, now that I knew the details of my own inheritance. For as all-powerful as I’d always believed my grandfather to be, this one thing he could not control. At least not wholly. Because on my mother’s twenty-first birthday, she received majority control of Kingston Winery. My grandfather was merely given an allowance that she dictated.
One thing I hadn’t known was that my grandfather had taken my grandmother’s last name. She was Veronica Kingston, my namesake. He had never been head of the family. Not really. Even if he made it seem like he was. I guessed when my grandmother had died before I’d even been born, he’d continued to receive his allowance and lived in the family home, but only because of my mother. She was the heiress. He had nothing without her.
And now that she was gone, he had nothing without Robyn and me.
That’s what Stefan had given me. History. History and proof of my grandfather’s dishonesty. He was stealing from us. He’d stolen from my mother, and now was stealing from Robyn and me. He even had an offshore account into which he’d transferred sums of money too small to be noticed yet large enough to sustain a lavish lifestyle. Why did he need it, though? He already had everything he wanted, didn’t he?
My mother running away meant my grandfather had lost control, at least for a little while. It was natural he would be our Kingstonn once our parents died. And with us, Grandfather had taken back the control he’d lost.
As we settled into our first-class seats, I glanced at the man sitting beside me. This stranger I would be married to. A man I would have to live with. I didn’t know what was expected of me. The marriage had to be in name alone. I represented half of the Kingston fortune for him. On my twenty-first birthday, I would inherit. And he would steal that inheritance, just like my grandfather had been doing all my life.
What would happen to me after the three years?
For the past six months, I’d spent all my free time learning as much as I could about Stefan Armando and the Armando family. I knew his age, twenty-four, and that he had two brothers, one a twin. His family had two homes, one in the states, and a second in Italy, where they spent most of their childhood. His mother was Italian, his father American, and Stefan and his brothers had been born in America. I knew that six years ago, he’d lost his mother in a fire intentionally set by his father at the house in Tuscany. And I knew that a few months after that fire, Stefan had been charged with the murder of his father. He’d spent six years in an Italian prison for it, and only eight months ago had the ruling been overturned and Stefan’s name cleared.
He’d wasted no time in coming for me, had he?
But what did my grandfather owe him? That, I did not know.
I learned his father had been a criminal with ties to some bad people. I knew he’d been accused of arson, but he’d died before he could be tried. Stefan’s mother had been killed in that fire, and I knew in my heart that her death, and perhaps the way she’d died, had been the thing that had brought about Stefan’s rage. It had been what had caused the violence that precipitated his father’s death.
But looking at him now, I didn’t see violence.
I had to be careful, though. I couldn’t romanticize this thug. Couldn’t allow myself to be fooled by his appearance.