Page 3 of Nevermore (A Cruel Love #1)

She smiles and points straight ahead. “That one.”

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Of course, Emiliano and Santiago live in the biggest mansion of them all.

I literally think there must be a dozen rooms in it because instead of taking one plot of land, it stretches into the lots on either side of it.

There’s a four-car garage that’s lined with two huge stone lion statues.

The house has about a thousand windows. There’s some sort of net in the front yard, probably belonging to a richy rich sport I know nothing about.

At closer glance, it almost looks like the house is divided into two sections, and I can’t believe that I’m right when I see a second floor passage connecting the two.

“Mama,” I warn, shaking my head. “What did you get us into?”

She rolls her eyes as she pulls our rickety truck onto the driveway with confidence. “Only the best and brightest for our future. Trust me. You’ll just love Emiliano. This is gonna be such a good thing for us.”

I reach for her hand, holding it steady. “I sure hope so.”

With a solid amount of nerves, I exit the truck with her just as a man steps out of the house. He’s wearing one of those funny suits that looks like a butler’s costume. Not even for a second do I think it’s my new stepdad and I’m floored when I realize he’s actually a butler.

A real life butler.

What the fuck?

“ Mi amor .”

I take my eyes away from the butler and finally set them on Emiliano Torres. The man that’s captured my mom’s heart. The man who’s richer than god. The man who’s now my stepdad and come hell or high water, I will get along with him.

He really is something to look at. He’s like an older version of models I used to see in the magazines the old ladies would bring into the fast food joint.

He’s so polished and refined. His suit doesn’t look ridiculous but tailor-made to fit him.

He has a bit of salt and pepper hair around his temples but that doesn’t take away from his overall appearance.

Strong, tall, and confident, I think he might just be my mom’s dream man.

“How was the drive?” he asks, bending down to kiss her the second she’s in his arms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I was held back by work. I should have insisted on sending Mike.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Reign and I could handle it all on our own, and I know how busy you are. Don’t wanna put anyone out on our behalf.”

“ Mi amor ,” he coos, his Latin accent thick as he runs his hands through her hair. “Put us out all you want. It’s never any trouble.”

And then he kisses her again. Deeper and full of purpose.

Gag.

“Um, hello,” I say, stepping up to them. “I—uh—I’m Reign.”

I try my best to keep my voice steady, the nerves making me sound like an idiot, but Emiliano simply smiles kindly and reaches for my hand.

I’m not really big on touch, but I don’t want to give the wrong impression, so I accept his shake.

“Wonderful to meet you. Your mother speaks very fondly of you.”

A red flush runs up my neck. I can only imagine the embarrassing stories she’s shared, and I hope to all holy hell he hasn’t told them with his son. “Thanks,” I mumble. “Just gonna grab the bags.”

“Ramos has them,” he says, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and the other around Mama’s. “Come on in. Rebecca, our chef, has prepared us a delicious meal.”

Ramos the butler. Rebecca the chef. This is definitely a culture shock if I’ve ever experienced one.

Entering the house doesn’t help. It’s even more grand on the inside than it is on the outside.

Everything is gigantic. From the plasma television that hangs in the living room to the kitchen island I peek through the archway.

It all seems so excessive. I wouldn’t even know what to do with all this space.

Emiliano must notice my awestruck expression because he chuckles. “You get used to it. I’ll make sure Santiago gives you a tour after dinner.” He pauses. “Speaking of which… Santiago!”

He hollers up the gold-plated stairs for his son, and I wait with bated breath to finally meet my stepbrother.

But I’m not at all prepared for him.

Santiago appears on the top of the stairs and I’m struck with just how…

beautiful he is. Can men be beautiful? He looks just like his father but there’s something else that hovers around him that Emiliano doesn’t have.

Santiago is taller, his features just a touch harsher.

His full lips are turned down into a frown and his thick brows are furrowed giving him an almost menacing appearance.

But it’s captivating. It takes me by surprise the way my stomach whooshes in his presence.

He walks down the stairs one step at a time like a king ready to greet his subjects.

Chin held high, shoulders squared, jaw locked tight.

It’s like there’s pure energy pouring out of him, the kind of magnetic pull that brings people in.

But mysterious too. The sleek black button down that doesn’t belong to a teenager and the multiple black rings on his fingers scream of something dangerous.

I’m utterly confused and bewitched.

“ No sabía que ellos llegaron ,” he says, his accent melodic despite how deep his voice is.

Emiliano clears his throat as he gives his son a pointed look. “English, Santiago.”

Santiago doesn’t look pleased and sighs as he reaches the bottom step.

He looks at my mom first and the smile on his face isn’t at all genuine.

I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t like her already or because he’s simply annoyed that his time is being taken.

It feels like the latter. Still, he holds a hand out.

“Holly. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he drones.

Mama doesn’t notice or care that he seems so aloof. She hops forward and throws her arms around him. “Sugar, we hug in this family now. So darn happy to meet you. Finally .”

Santiago flinches, doesn’t return her hug, but doesn’t move away. After a long minute, she steps back and pats his cheek. “You’re a good lookin’ one. Just like your daddy.”

I can tell Santiago is cringing at the word ‘daddy’ but he’s either kind enough or smart enough to not say anything.

Then finally his eyes land on me.

I feel completely penetrated. It’s like with a single dark stare, he’s peering into my soul. I feel seen, judged, and hunted. A startling combination that takes me by surprise. And the funny thing is, he’s not even smiling. He’s not doing anything besides looking at me with disinterest.

“Santiago Torres,” he says simply as he reaches a hand out. “Are you also a hugger?”

The question sends a chill down my spine.

Was that supposed to be as menacing as it sounded?

Probably not. I’ve been known to look too deep into things from time to time.

Just like with his dad, I don’t think I’m allowed to reject his shake, so I give him my trembling hand.

And damn does he have a strong and sure shake.

Far too mature for his age and once again almost predatory.

When I realize he’s waiting for my response, I shake my head and fumble out something that doesn’t exactly sound like English. He raises a brow and I correct myself, “Reign Morrison. Um, no. That’s all Mama.”

He hums to himself as he takes his hand back. He looks at his dad and tips his head toward the kitchen. “Does Rebecca have dinner ready?”

“She does,” his dad says, speaking to him in an almost business-like manner. “Give Reign a tour first and meet us in the dining room.”

I notice that it’s definitely not a request or a suggestion.

Santiago doesn’t even blink as he nods and turns on his heels towards the stairs.

I don’t know if I should follow him until Mama gives me a solid shove in the back.

When I turn to look at her, she has this mischievous glint in her eyes, and I narrow mine at hers. But message received.

I follow Santiago’s long strides up the stairs all the while he speaks, “Downstairs is the dining room, the kitchen, the living room, the primary bedroom, and my father’s office. There’s a garden and tennis court in the back. Father is thinking of putting a pool in during the summer.”

“A p-pool?” I stutter, sounding so idiotic I’m embarrassed. “I mean, yeah. That’s cool.”

It’s more than cool. I love swimming. Granted, I’m not very good at it because there aren’t any pools in the trailer park and the local one is a weird sort of green color.

Santiago ignores me and I stare at the back of his head as we reach the top of the stairs. “In this section you have the movie room, two guest bedrooms, and two spare offices. I’m sure your mother has plans for one of them already.”

Interesting thing to say. It raises my hackles a bit but I try to tamp that down. “Um, yeah. Mama loves knittin’. Maybe she can make it a craft room?”

“Mmm,” he hums, continuing with unhurried steps towards the end of the hall. We walk through what I realize is the passage I saw from the outside when I arrived. On the other end of it, it’s like a whole other house.

“My room is downstairs along with our living room and kitchenette,” he explains, gesturing down the stairs. “Let me show you to your suite.”

Suite?

Holy fuck. It is a suite because when we reach the end of the hall and he opens the door to my room, I’m once again struck on my ass.

There’s a large bed at the end of the room covered by a dark wooden canopy.

On the other side of the room is a huge plasma screen with an equally nice couch resting in front of it.

I step into the room and just spin in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“T-This is mine?” I question, still unbelieving that this is my life. “All of it? A king bed and a walk in closet?”

“ California king,” he corrects with an almost haughty sort of lilt that makes his already striking features even more menacing. “And yes. You’ll soon become used to it.”

Well, I highly fucking doubt that.

“It’s… cool,” I mumble, mostly to fill the space.

He cocks a manicured brow. “Cool.”

“Yeah. I’ve never had anything like this before,” I say honestly.

“Right.” His voice is clipped, annoyed, and his features fall to a grimace before he continues, “Any more astounding thoughts from you?”

I rear my head back at his obvious distaste. I mean, I could sense it, but he’s actually being outwardly rude. Instead of biting back with my own comment, I shrink. This is why I’m not good with people. I don’t have anything resembling a backbone. “No,” I mumble shyly. “T-Thank you, Santiago.”

I get no response besides a hum before he’s turning on his heels and marching out of my room.

Now that I’m alone, I collapse onto the extremely comfortable bed and let out a deep breath.

I have half a mind to tell Mama I’m not feeling good and skip dinner, too overwhelmed by everything to even think of moving.

What the fuck has she gotten us into this time?