Page 5 of Nevermore (A Cruel Love #1)

THREE

REIGN

I look ridiculous.

For starters, I don’t know how to put on a damn tie.

I’m not too sure what a garden party consists of but apparently it involves getting stuffed into these scratchy clothes and forced to wear a tie .

The closest I’ve ever worn was a clip on when Mama forced me to go to sophomore homecoming with Becky Spencer.

I stand in front of the mirror, wondering if I have enough time to run and find Mama to ask if she knows how to do this. I don’t have a fancy smartphone, or a computer, or anyway to look up how to do this shit.

“You’re taking too long.”

“Shit!” I yell, turning quickly to see Santiago leaning against the door frame.

Of course he looks fucking made for the clothes he’s wearing.

It’s the same style as mine but somehow he looks a million times better in it than I do.

His face is riddled with impatience and I realize I have to fess up. “Um, I don’t… The tie is…”

Fuck me, I can’t even get full sentences out around this guy.

He cocks his head and narrows his dark eyes, examining me like some sort of lab specimen. “You don’t even know how to put on a tie?”

My cheeks burn hot but since I’m not one for confrontation, I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, wishing the world would swallow me up under my stepbrother’s stare. “Can you… I mean— Your phone. I just need to?—”

“Shut up,” he commands as if I’m a dog. “Come.”

For some reason, with my tail between my legs, I agree.

I scramble over to him, nearly tripping on my feet as I do.

He doesn’t wait for me to recover as he starts doing up my tie with almost clinical precision.

He doesn’t look at me, solely focusing on his task as deft fingers do… whatever the fuck they do.

“You’ll learn how to do this.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion, and I find myself nodding dumbly in agreement. “I’m not doing this for you every single time the occasion calls for it.”

“O-Okay,” I stutter out, shrinking away from him once he’s done. “Thanks, Santi.”

He rears his head back as if he’s been slapped. And, for the first time, his indifferent and apathetic disgust morphs into something resembling rage. “Don’t call me that ever again,” he hisses. He takes a step back and huffs, running a hand through his impeccable hair. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.”

It’s actually kind of impressive how quickly he turned back into the ‘ couldn’t give two shits’ stepbrother. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m curious about why that nickname would have him so worked up. But, being me, there’s no way in hell I’d have the balls to ask.

He marches out of my room and doesn’t wait for me. In a rush, I head out behind him, making sure to stay close so I don’t get lost. He takes me through a side of the house he didn’t show me yesterday that turns out to be their garage.

And oh my fuck .

“These are all yours?” I gasp, looking between the four luxury cars in front of me. “Is that Maserati?”

He doesn’t seem at all amused by my wonderment and scoffs. He snags a set of keys off a hook on the back wall and tosses them to me. “Knock yourself out. Father hasn’t driven this one in ages. I’ll take the Porsche and they’ll meet us there.”

I look down at the keys in my hand and shame pools in my stomach. “Um, yeah. I don’t—um—I can’t drive.”

He pauses halfway to the Porsche. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” I repeat in a small voice as I play with the end of my tie. “I don’t know how to drive.”

Santiago has the decency to look shocked, maybe a little irritated, and lets out a deep breath. He rehangs the Porsche keys on the wall and opens his hand. “Give me them. We’ll take the Maserati today.”

Despite my embarrassment, excitement bubbles within me as I realize I’m going to be in one of the coolest cars ever. I’m almost afraid to even open the door but a low groan from Santiago knocks me out of my head and has me rushing into it.

The leather is cool under my sweaty hands and I nearly moan at the sound of the engine when he starts it.

He uses a clicker to open the garage and smoothly pulls out into the neighborhood.

We sit in complete and awkward silence until I decide that maybe some music would help the situation.

Afraid to move but wanting to help, I start messing with the fancy display screen.

Santiago watches me in curiosity until I find what I’m looking for.

“What the fuck did you put on?” he growls, his brows pinched in distaste.

My hand freezes on the screen. “Country music?”

“How horribly… homely,” he mutters, swatting my hand away, his heavy rings catching on my skin. He goes to his saved playlists and the sound of classical piano music fills the car. “That’s better.”

“Right,” I mumble, cheeks red as I sit back. “I don’t really know much of that piano music. Folks back home just listen to country.”

“Well folks here listen to Debussy,” he says, almost mocking me.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, right. De-Bussy”

“ Debussy ,” he corrects, a flawless French accent filtering through his plump lips. He grits his teeth and sighs. “We don’t have to talk.”

I shrink even further. Guess I’m off to a great start with my new stepbrother.

I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable with him off the bat, or maybe even at all, but I never expected that it’d be because he’d make me feel so…

small. Like just some backwater hick who’s invaded his life.

The funny thing is, I don’t even think he’s trying.

That’s the scary part. Santiago is simply better than me in every way that counts.

The way he holds himself, his manner of speaking, his taste in music.

He’s worldly and cultured and I’m just… me.

As requested, we don’t speak during the drive.

When we get to the party, I’m not even surprised that this house looks like something out of a storybook.

Red brick walls, sweeping green lawns, and it gives off more European vibes than anything you’d find in the middle of Texas.

He pulls into a spot in the massive driveway and kills the engine.

“Try not to embarass me,” he states bluntly as he pockets his keys. “Try to have some semblance of class.”

The words sting but I’m too much of a coward to tell him that. I drop my head, letting out uneven breaths as I nod. “Yeah, I won’t.”

He observes me for a second before nodding. “Good. Let’s go.”

I’ve always been the outsider. The weirdo.

The one who couldn’t just be normal and chill enough to make friends.

At least before, I was with people like me.

Now, I feel like a minnow in a sea of sharks.

If I thought Santiago was borderline cruel with his confusing mixture of disgust and apathy, the looks I’m getting right now put that to shame.

Open hostility. I’m wearing the same clothes, have the same shoes, but apparently I’m still a dead giveaway as someone who doesn’t belong here.

Maybe I’m starting to realize what I think I already knew.

I’m simply not good enough for this life.