Blood Oath

02

TWO

GODSWORTH MANOR

The limousine ride home was horribly quiet. Even behind the darkness of the tinted windows my mother still didn’t take off her sunglasses. She was a mystery to me behind those big, black lenses that I had never really come to known. I wanted to ask her questions, like how long I was staying and what was going to happen to us now that father was dead. But I pursed my lips instead as I tried to focus on the hem of my dress.

    We pulled onto our road when she finally turned to me, her demeanour unreadable. “I saw you speaking to Hunter Cross,” she said, nose in the air.

    I didn’t tell her that it wouldn’t happen again. “What of it?”

    The limousine stopped but mother paused, staring at me behind tinted eyes. “Don’t.”

    She moved towards the door as the chauffeur opened it. To her, the conversation was over and done with, but I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. I opened my own door carelessly and stood on the wet driveway in my crippling heels.

    I fell into step beside her and tried to keep my expression neutral. “And why’s that?”

“His family works for your father,” she said without looking at me. On the stone steps she faltered, realizing her words, but only for a moment. “They work for us,” she corrected. “And Hunter does now too.”

“He does?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

The double doors of Godsworth Manor opened as our head butler, Benson, greeted us. I tried to fake a smile as we entered, for his sake, but I couldn’t get my lips right.

Benson had been with our family since long before I was even a thought. He was there when I was born and helped raise me until two years ago when he was ordered to have the maids pack my things and he sent me away in a sleek, black car.

    “Yes,” Mother replied as we clicked through the foyer. It still looked exactly the same with it’s black and white checkered tile and long, white and gold staircase. I followed her through the house towards the kitchen, where she was no doubt going to check on the food for the reception. In front of the doors she stopped and turned to me, pulling off her sunglasses. “You’re not to associate with him, Penelope.” Her blue eyes were serious. “He works for us now.”

    I narrowed my eyes. “No. He doesn’t work for us, he works for you.”

    Before she could retort I walked away, down the hall to the grand staircase. She was trying to rope me into the very thing she sent me away for two years ago, and I wasn’t going to have it. This day was supposed to be about my father and here she was, acting as if we hadn’t just attended his funeral. If she wanted to host a reception, she could do it herself.

    I locked myself in my bedroom and tried to ignore the fact that it was no longer mine. Though my suitcases sat on the floor, haphazardly opened, nothing else belonged to me. My mother had rid the room of me and turned it into a generic guest room with plush, off-white bedding and a dark, wooden canopy.. The walls were pretty, however, with their beige flower wallpaper and real gold accents. The flowers looked like cherry blossoms on branches, but I couldn’t be sure.

    With a sigh I got into bed, dropping my shoes on the floor with a careless thud. I went over a list of everything that was on my mind and covered my face with my hands.

    My father was dead, my mother refused to talk about it, I hadn’t seen either of them in two years since they sent me to boarding school, Hunter probably hated me and I honestly didn’t know where I was to go from here. I was officially graduated and couldn’t go back to school in France. In fact the only reason I was back was because of the funeral. For the last week since I’ve been home all I’ve wanted to do is ask, but I’ve been too scared of the answer.

    I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the ceiling when I hear my lock turning. Confused, I sat up on my hands and watched. Mother wouldn’t be bothering me during her party, would she?

    The dirty blonde hair signaled that in fact, it was not my mother, but instead Wren. She creeped in sheepishly, shutting the door behind her. When she turned around, she revealed something small in the palm of her hand. I squinted my eyes and realized it was a key.

    “I hope it’s okay that I still have it,” she said, “and used it.”

    I nodded, trying to ignore the tears wanting to form in my eyes.

    She was still dressed for the funeral, and put in the key into a hidden pocket in her designer dress. A few steps and she crossed the room, following my cue and kicking her heels off next to mine. The bed shifted as she sat down beside me, looking at her hands in her lap. It was weird and familiar, being next to Wren. Two years had passed between us without a word.

    “How are you doing?” she asked.

    I laid back on my bed and closed my eyes. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”

    There was a short silence as Wren laid down beside me, clearly unsure of how to navigate things now that I was back. I didn’t blame her. I felt exactly the same way.

    “That’s understandable.”

    For a few moments I bit my tongue but it didn’t stop me from speaking. “You hate me. Why are you here?” I closed my eyes. “Not that you don’t have every reason.”

    “Your father died, Pip. I’m not going ignore that.”

    “Thank you.”

    We’re quiet for a long time before Wren turned her head to look at me.

    “So what’s your reason?” she asked quietly. “For leaving, I mean.”

    I imagined having this conversation with her so many times that now, that it was actually happening, I was scared.

    “Do you remember that summer, before I left?”

    “Of course. It was amazing - you know, until…”

    “I left. I know.”

    Wren smiled a little. “Sorry.”

    “I deserve it,” I replied, then paused for a minute. “Do you remember how Hunter and I were getting close?”

    She nodded. “The three of us were having the best summer.”

    “But then something happened,” I said, slowly forcing the words out.

    “Between you and Hunter?”

    I sat up and smoothed out my dress, Wren following suit. I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened, not entirely, but I couldn’t leave her without anything. She was my best friend. I nodded, trying not to pay attention to the tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

    “So something happened, and my mother didn’t like that. She convinced my father that I was out of control, not telling him about Hunter, and told him about boarding school in France.” I shrugged. “And you know the rest.”

    She took my hand and gave me a sad smile. “Maybe you can tell me about France sometime.”

    I squeezed her fingers as we became something between ex-best friends and friends.