Page 14

Taylor

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Why don’t you move in here? My mother said she invited you,” Mr. Marshall III, also known as William’s father, asks.

I nearly have a heart attack because I didn’t notice him come into the library. I was distracted, picking out a book. When I turn around to face him, my hand is on my chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He may be a cheater, like William said, but he’s also very polite and kind. Unlike his wife—who was here again a couple of days ago—he doesn’t look at me like I’m an insect.

“I scare easily. Did you need something?”

“I was about to look for a book my mother recommended.”

“Oh, right. Be my guest.”

I start heading for the door, but before I get there, he asks, “What were you going to read?”

“Excuse me?”

“You were looking for a book too, right?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t decide which one. That’s what happens when I have too many options for anything. I prefer binary choices.”

“What genres do you like?”

“Almost anything.”

“Have you read Brave New World by Aldous Huxley?”

“No, but I’ve heard of it. It’s a dystopia? 1 , right?”

“Yes. A book ahead of its time, dealing, among other things, with genetic manipulation.”

“No offense, but that’s not really my style. I don’t like chaos. I have enough of that in real life. I prefer nice dreams.”

“Because you’ve already been forced to face the ugly side of the world?”

I really like Mrs. Marshall, but it bothers me that her grandson and son know so much about my life. I also don’t know where they got this idea I’ve confronted the world’s uglier side. Sure, I had to give up my dream of becoming a violinist, but that doesn’t mean I turned bitter or blame my dad’s illness for me not going professional.

“Reality isn’t always ugly. It just is what it is.”

“But too much reality can take the place of dreams.”

God, what a weird conversation.

“Yes, but too many dreams can make us live in a fantasy world. Being happy all the time isn’t balance, and neither is being sad. In real life, both have to exist.”

“Sober words from someone so young. Maybe one day I’ll find that balance.”

“You only want happiness?” I ask, curious. I know I shouldn’t get too personal with any of the Marshalls—my employer included—but they keep poking around in my life, so I may as well return the favor.

“Yes. By nature, I’m a hedonist. I live for pleasure.”

“Then you should go look for it somewhere else, Father,” I hear William’s voice rumble behind me.

For the second time in just a few minutes, I almost have a heart attack.

What is it with the men in this family, always seeming to orbit around me?

As if it bothers you when the younger one ‘orbits’ you, you liar, some mocking voice in my head says.

Despite how we left things on philharmonic night, I think about him every night before falling asleep.

“William, son, how are you?” the older man asks, ignoring the icy tone in his heir’s voice.

To my embarrassment, he doesn’t answer.

Not remotely interested in staying in the middle of their tug-of-war, I make my excuses and leave the library without saying goodbye.

I only manage a few steps down the hall before someone grabs my arm.

I don’t even get time to shout because, next thing I know, I’m being pulled into another room and pinned against the closed door.

I feel a bit dizzy as his scent hits me, the way he’s holding me...the way he’s looking at me.

His jaw is clenched, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or desire.

I don’t have to wait long to find out; he takes my mouth in a kiss that makes the ones before feel like mild afternoon strolls.

At the same time, his tongue invades me, sending waves of pleasure through my body; his rigid frame presses against mine, forcing me to feel every part of him.

My legs go weak, but I don’t need them because his hands slide down to my backside, lifting me so I can wrap my thighs around his waist.

I moan when he bites my lower lip, and I bury my fingers in his hair so he doesn’t move away.

I don’t know how long he kisses me, but when he finally pulls back for air, I can’t even open my eyes yet.

“You’re delicious.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, but I only manage that for a second or two before he sets me down on the floor.

I’m startled and open my eyes. The man standing in front of me now isn’t the passionate one from a moment ago; he’s cold and distant.

“What were you doing with him?”

“What?”

“You and my father.”

I’m not slow, so I immediately realize what he’s implying. “The first time you accused me of being your father’s lover, you didn’t know me. You can’t use that excuse anymore, Mr. Marshall,” I say, stepping toward the door. “Don’t touch me again. I’m not a toy you can snatch from your father just because you’re mad.”

“Do I need to snatch you from him?”

I should just say no—he’s old enough to be my grandfather, for God’s sake—but I’m too furious at him for even thinking that about me. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of the answer he expects, I open the door. Then, before leaving, I turn back.

“That’s none of your business,” I say before dashing out of his presence.

1 ? An idea or description of an imaginary country, society, or reality in which everything is organized in an oppressive, frightening, or totalitarian way—contrasting with a utopia, which would be an ideal world. In short, a dystopia is a world worse than the reality in which we live.