Page 36 of Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

Chapter twenty-eight

T he brownstone is flooded with laughing guests, warm light, and a few musicians from the New York Philharmonic—or so the couple at the top of the stairs seem to think.

“Personally, I’ve always preferred the Boston Symphony,” a dark-haired woman sniffs to her husband.

“But Mary Ellis gets what Mary Ellis wants.” Both pause their whispering when we ascend the staircase, and the woman plasters a big, toothy smile on her face.

“Adrian! It’s so good to see you. Your mother tells me you’re a surgeon now…

I can’t believe it. Feels like just yesterday you were home for summer break, always headed off to the library to read or get away from the chaos.

” Her eyes rake over him appreciatively, and I can’t help the way my grip tightens on his elbow hooked through mine.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Wilmer. And you , Mr. Wilmer. ”

I’m not sure why the comment feels pointed till we’re out of earshot, and Adrian leans down to whisper to me: “The Wilmers are very pretentious, despite their background being only one or two generations of wealth. Plus, they’ve both got… younger tastes.”

I catch onto his meaning, my lip curling. “How…young?”

“Every summer I came home from Lionswood, from the ages of thirteen to seventeen, she’d try to come onto me,” he explains quietly, and my eyes widen. “Stopped when I was eighteen though.”

I glance back at the couple, still lightly complaining about the party’s music choices, and disgust wells inside me. “That’s—”

“The least of the depraved tastes you’ll see hear tonight,” he assures me.

“That’s the truth about living in my world.

These people might look civilized, but they’re all twisted.

One way or another.” He gestures subtly to a tall, gray-haired man with his shoulders slung around a much younger blonde on a large sectional in the sitting room.

The blonde nods eagerly to whatever he’s talking about.

“Oscar, for instance, is an old business partner of my father’s.

He’s got a wife and two kids I think I’ve seen once.

He only brings whichever model he’s cheating with that month to social events though,” he says.

“And he tends to go through them like playing cards. He always needs to have one person who’s constantly impressed by the wealth. ”

As we wind through the classic brownstone, I take in the historic features in awe. They’re a stark contrast to the sterile, modernity of Adrian’s penthouse—walls paneled in dark oak, an elaborate glass chandelier that drips light onto the foyer, and marble floors.

“It’s a little much, isn’t it?” I’m not sure when Mary Ellis sidled up beside me, her long, elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass.

“Belonged to my grandparents. It was a wedding present to Edward and I. Some of it’s on the gaudier side, but we spent a lot of early summers here when Adrian was a child, so the sentimental value is priceless. ” She looks past me. “Right, Adrian?”

He stiffens beneath my touch, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Of course.”

“And all this space,” she adds. “You won’t find a brownstone like this anymore. There’s even the most eccentric wine cellar in the basement—I’ll have to give you a tour later on.”

This time, I’m the one to go rigid, unable to keep the smile on my face from dimming. “Oh. That’s…sure.”

Another guest claims Mary’s attention quickly, and I lean into Adrian’s large frame as soon as I’m sure we’re alone. “Is this…”

He nods.

“You didn’t tell me,” I breathe quietly. “We didn’t have to—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Liar.

But I don’t press him on it, not here, and it’s tucked away as we’re swept into the festivities.

***

I learn very quickly that Adrian wasn’t kidding about the depravity. It’s hidden well, masked by designer clothes and polite manners, but it’s there, lurking just beneath the surface.

“Oliver Whitmore,” Adrian murmurs in my ear in reference to an older, bespectacled man. “His family business is building grocery stores in food deserts and then inflating the cost of everything.”

I swallow. “…charming.”

“The Wesleys,” he nods to a brown-haired couple that could probably pass as siblings, cuddled close on a couch. “Not harming anyone else, as far as I know, but there are lot of rumors.”

“Like?”

“They are a very loving family.”

My stomach churns.

“…oh.”

My phone, vibrating in my pocket, interrupts that thought—and I steal a glance at the device.

LuAnne.

That’s the second time tonight.

Since my run-in with the police earlier this week, I’ve been avoiding her—for obvious reasons.

There’s no way I can explain any of that, assuming she even wants an explanation.

But now, staring down at her name, I want to talk to her. At least estimate the damage to our friendship—if it’s salvageable. “Uh…” I glance up at Adrian, who watches me closely. “I’m just going to step out and take this. I’ll be right back.”

His grip around my waist tightens—and then loosens. “Be careful. There’s a study down the hall, second door,” he tells me. “Usually empty and quiet since my mother keeps the door closed.

I nod and head for the hall he pointed to.

Second door, second door…

I find it easily enough, and the study is just as empty as Adrian said it would be. I take momentary solace among the towering bookshelves and ornate windows before I pick up the phone, breath held.

“Hello?”

“Poppy,” LuAnne’s voice is tinged with relief—not anger—on the line. “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you for days, and no, a text telling me you’re fine and just ‘staying with a friend’ does not count as acceptable communication.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sorry. It’s just been…” A lump builds in my throat. “Have you talked to Joe?”

“Of course,” she says. “When he said you were in some legal trouble, I freaked out and grilled him till he told me the truth.”

I tense. “He told you?”

“Yeah, he said it was just an old fine you forgot to pay.”

He did?

Relief courses through me. “Oh…is that all he said?”

“…uh, yeah. That’s it. Why? Is it something else?”

“Nope,” I shake my head. “Just an old fine I had to deal with down at the station.”

“And he cleared things up for you?”

“Definitely.”

A beat of silence follows.

“So…where are you? Who is this friend you’re staying with?”

There is no way for me to explain the truth of what’s happening to LuAnne, so I deflect. “It’s, uh…remember that guy I told you about?”

A pause. “The high school boyfriend you never got over?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with him.”

I glance down at the rock on my finger.

A little more than that, actually…but that’s a story for another time.

“But,” I add. “I don’t really have time to get into it now—I’ll call you tomorrow. Or stop by the apartment. I think I’m going to be here a while, so I should grab my stuff.”

“What do you mean?” She asks. “A bunch of movers came to grab your stuff this afternoon.”

I pause.

“…oh. That’s right. I forgot. I did call them.”

“That’s also why I was freaking out,” she adds, hurt leaking into her voice. “I was worried you were just moving out without a goodbye.”

My chest tightens. “No, that’s…I promise we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll be able to explain things then.”

And have time to come up with some believable lies.

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up the phone, rubbing at my temples.

Great.

I’ve got to figure out a way to tell LuAnne I’m married.

Adrian is making vague insinuations that he’s going to kill his parents.

It’s a bad week when being framed for murder isn’t the worst thing to happen to me.

The study door softly clicks shut, and I whirl around. “Oh, Adrian, you—”

Except I realize, my stomach plummeting, it’s not Adrian.

The man who just stepped inside could definitely pass for him at a distance, given they share the same tall, broad frames and dark, curly hair—but it’s in the details where the difference show: his curls are speckled with salt-and-pepper gray and his face has the hollowness of age.

Edward Ellis.

“You must be Poppy,” he says, and even their voices are eerily similar. “I thought I saw you slip in here, and I’ve been meaning to chat with you.” He strides in, headed straight for the whiskey decanter. “Would you like a drink?”

My heart lurches into my throat.

What is it with Ellis men and being trapped in studies with them?

I smile, too strained for it to look polite. “That’s alright. I should actually head back outside, I think, uh, Adrian is looking for me.”

I intend to retreat, but Edward Ellis holds out a tumbler of whiskey. “Just one drink,” he says, and I realize he’s got the same dead eyes as his son. “I’ll be quick.”