Basically, I Hate You

PROLOGUE

Rosewood, Montana. An utterly quaint town.

Population? Less than 2,000 unfortunate souls.

Ninety-nine percent of Rosewood's citizens went from cradle to dirt within her borders and my family, the Atwoods, were no exception. As for the other one percent, Rosewood had a way of sucking you in with its curious beauty—like a venus fly trap—and never letting you go again. For me, the snow-capped mountains and brilliant blue lakes were a Hollywood-esque backdrop for my social hellscape.

Still, my childhood was loving and rowdy with three older brothers to keep me plenty company. The twins were the eldest. Jaxon and Jace were twenty-one years old, attached at the hip, and still bickering like spoiled toddlers. Next was Wren, the middle child at nineteen, and boy did he act like one. Maybe because the twins picked on him constantly or maybe he was just wired differently than the rest of us. Either way, being only thirteen months apart caused us to be pretty inseparable ourselves growing up.

And then there was me. Standing at 5 '8 with a willowy—nope, too generous—woefully underdeveloped frame, pale skin, inky black waist-length hair and green eyes I was certainly the odd one out. My mother Clara said I inherited my pasty complexion from my great grandmother Marie but she died long before I was born.

My father, Luca Atwood, was the Mayor of our small mountain town and my personal hero. He was stern but never in excess and he was loving enough to ensure that none of us ever felt second to anything. Not even his duty to his constituents. He and my mother met and fell in love at twenty and eighteen years old and growing up there wasn't a time when their devotion to one another wasn't crystal clear in their eyes.

I would say that I want that for myself but that type of fairytale romance just doesn't exist for the other 99.99% of the population. And frankly, even if it did, there was no reason to believe that I, Luxor, could ever be that lucky.