Page 4 of Nevermore (A Cruel Love #1)

TWO

SANTIAGO

He’s meek.

It’s like I can smell the trash on Reign.

Walking into our home in his dirty jeans and ratty t-shirt, his worn out ball cap rested on a head of unruly blond hair.

His mother isn’t any better. Sure, she seems pleasant, but how refined can a woman like her truly be?

I had my extremely tech savvy friend, Hudson, find some information on her, and her history is almost laughable.

A gas station attendant by day and a waitress at a strip club by night.

I can only imagine where my father picked up this one.

But, unfortunately, she’s the one out of the many women he’s been with over the years who’s managed to work a ring out of him. I suppose she deserves some sort of credit for that.

Dinner was a dull affair and not even the new additions to our ‘family’ could make it more interesting than usual. Rebecca’s cooking was incredible, and the wine paired with it was great, but it was still so fucking boring. So, I entertained myself by watching Reign.

Yes, meek is the word to best describe him.

He sat as if he wasn’t comfortable with his own body. His posture was horrid and his table manners even worse. He didn’t know how to properly hold a fork or rest his arms. I can only assume my father won’t host any business dinners until we fix that.

Because Reign is a terribly pathetic work in progress.

He excused himself after trying to clean the table, only stopping when we reminded him for the third time that we have a housekeeper for that as well. It was ridiculous the way his clear blue eyes bugged out of their sockets.

I enter my father’s study, having been summoned shortly after dinner for a night cap. I don’t bother greeting him as I serve myself a cognac and sit in the chair across from his desk.

“Well?” he asks, not looking up from his work. “What do you think?”

“ Desde cuándo te importa lo que yo pienso ?”

“English, Santiago,” he reprimands, finally looking up to deliver a scowl. “Get used to it. Holly and the boy don’t understand Spanish.”

I raise a brow as I take a sip of my drink. “And you care about that?”

He tips his head and shrugs. “I’m particularly fond of this one.”

I note that he didn’t say he loves this one. My father, like me, doesn’t do love. The only woman either of us ever loved is dead, and it’s an unspoken understanding that neither of us are particularly interested in changing that.

A sudden and familiar buzzing rings out in my head. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the white noise that constantly interrupts my thoughts. It’s… unsettling. This feeling of guilt I feel when I think of Mami .

It wasn’t your fault.

“What do you think about her son?” he asks, once again focusing his attention on his work.

“Sloppy,” is all I say as I take another sip, snapping myself out of my daze. “Unrefined.”

“Not surprising,” he drones, flipping the page. “Either way, Holly says he’s smart. He graduated top of his high school class?—”

I snort. “That doesn’t mean much.”

“—And he’s had several colleges reach out to him for scholarships he’s denied.”

That catches my interest. How smart can someone be if they reject something like that.

“I want you to make nice with him.”

“Ew,” I say plainly. “Why?”

He drops his work and levels me with a daggered stare.

“Because I said so. I told you, I’m particularly fond of his mother, and she wants to see him happy.

I’ll agree he’s…” he trails off as he looks for the word “... ill suited for this life, but we only have to put up with him for the summer. I’m sure that boy is as eager to leave this house as we are to not have him here. ”

I don’t want to be saddled with the responsibility of looking after him.

I have no idea what exactly my father means—only that I don’t need to be his friend—but beyond that I’m not too sure.

But I can’t do anything to deny him. It doesn’t work like that with us.

I do as he says, just like I always have, so I nod.

“So just make sure he doesn’t get into trouble? ”

“Exactly,” he states. “Just get your friends to like him. Make sure he doesn’t feel isolated or else I’ll have Holly to deal with.”

“Of course, Father.” I say and stand. “Anything else?”

“You're dismissed,” he says curtly, waving me away. “Finish your drink in your wing.”

I don’t bother telling him goodnight because we’re not that kind of family. I bet Holly would want to hug it out but she’ll soon find that affection is something lacking in this home. Again, I believe neither of us want that to change.

I’m annoyed as I leave the study and make my way across the house to my room. This is ridiculous. An inconvenience.

I pass Reign’s room just as I finish my cognac, and I wonder for a brief moment what he’s doing in there. Knowing what little I do, he’s probably paralyzed by his surroundings and standing around like an idiot afraid to touch anything.

Pathetic.

I make my way down to my room and set the tumbler on the grand piano, knowing it’ll be cleared by tomorrow. My room is the most isolated one in all the house which I’m extremely thankful for. It’s tucked in the back of the wing and the only direct access is through a small hallway.

I close the door behind me and lock it before stripping. I fold my clothes neatly and place them on the dresser because this is the one room the housekeeper is forbidden to step into, which means I need to keep it clean myself. It’s no problem for me. I’d rather clean it than lose my sanctuary.

I step into the bathroom and turn on the waterfall shower head before starting my nighttime playlist through the speakers built into the wall.

I step in once the steam fogs the mirror and lose myself in the classical music that surrounds me.

The Passacaglia Variations is one of my favorite piano pieces, and I always play it during the night to soothe me.

Sleep doesn’t come easily.

The white noise lingers.

It’s your fault.

I have a feeling tonight will be even more challenging than usual because the second I step out of the shower, my thoughts drift back to Reign.

I almost snort at how he might act in this life he’s walked into.

If he thinks this place is lavish, he has another thing coming when he sees how we live.

And I’m entirely of the belief that my father knows he’s throwing him to the wolves.

The people here can smell trash a mile away.

Nobody will hurt him, but they won’t accept him.

He’ll be uncomfortable and out of place. He’ll be lonely, that’s for certain.

But in the last few years, I’ve become a believer in kill or be killed .