Necessity.
I’ve never liked that word. It’s because of necessity that my brother decided to leave the country, and that got him killed.
It’s because of necessity that people vote for the likes of my father to represent them in spite of the fact that he only cares about himself.
In a way, necessity is the root of all evil. Decisions based on it are a bit impulsive and almost always have dire consequences down the line. Ones that could be dangerous, lethal even.
Of all people, I’m well aware of the dangerous repercussions of hasty actions. I never decide anything unless I have a 360-degree view of the entire situation as well as all of its possible results. This is the first time I’ve taken a step into territory that hasn’t been carefully plotted. It’s like walking through a minefield with a blindfold on.
But just like earlier, I don’t think about the possible repercussions. I shove them to the back of my mind and focus on the now. On the present and its own sets of cause and effect. What I’m doing is out of necessity. The urgency to keep Kingsley’s legacy alive. The burden to protect what he left behind.
However, as I wrap my arm around Gwyneth’s shoulder, burden is the last thing I feel. There’s the usual fire, the scorching hot fucking flames that resemble the color of her hair. There’s the softness of her body, the parting of her rosebud lips, and that fucking vanilla scent that’s starting to grow on me despite myself.
But a burden is not in the picture.
Not even a little.
Not even fucking close.
If anything, there’s a tinge of relief. It’s tiny, almost lost in the midst of the persistent chaos, but it’s there. The knowledge that this is the only way to actually honor King’s last words. That there isn’t any other way to efficiently handle the situation besides this method.
She trembles in my hold. It’s different than when she was struggling to express her grief. This time is more potent, as if her body is unable to convey whatever is lurking inside except through the tremors that take hold of it.
This entire situation must be too much. Sometimes, I fail to see that other people aren’t made for pressure-filled situations. That, unlike me, their feelings are in the forefront, not forgotten somewhere no one can find—or reach.
If Susan hadn’t shown her vicious face, I would’ve attempted to prepare Gwyneth for the decision I made while I was talking to Aspen. I probably wouldn’t have announced it the way I did, like some sort of a bomb whose fallout she’s currently unable to process.
Susan, the stepmother from hell, as King sometimes calls her, stares me down, even though she’s way shorter than me. Her lips twitch and twist and I don’t think she’s even aware of it.
“What are you talking about?” she asks in that condescending manner that’s always pissed King off. He used to say her voice alone put him in the mood to commit a crime, and I’m starting to see why. She has a general grating existence that you can’t wait to get rid of and disinfect it from the air.
“Exactly what I just said. Gwyneth and I are getting married.”
Two pairs of eyes stare at me blankly, coldly even. I don’t focus on Gwyneth’s, not fully at least. If I do, I’ll lose sight of the reason why I dropped the news now—to get rid of Susan, once and for all.
“You can’t possibly mean that. Aren’t you twice her age or something? She’s only twenty.”
As if I don’t know her age. I do, very well. Perfectly so. I’ve been there since she was born.
But instead of giving Susan the opening she’s looking for, I squeeze Gwyneth’s shoulder. “That makes her an adult, capable of making her own decisions. One of which being that she’ll marry me, we’ll have joint property, and she’ll grant me power of attorney. So you might want to call your lawyer and tell him that any legal—or illegal—fight you have with her will go through me.”
The twitching in Susan’s lips increases as she glares at me, but she doesn’t maintain eye contact for too long. My nephew tells me I have a look that makes people uncomfortable in their own skin even without my having to glare.
And like any weakling who can’t stand up to those stronger than her, she latches onto those she believes are weaker and steps toward Gwyneth, jamming a finger at her shoulder. “Is this what you’ve been plotting all along, you devil’s spawn?”
I’m about to break her fucking hand and risk an assault charge, but I don’t need to. Gwyneth grabs her step-grandmother’s finger and throws it away as if it’s disgusting. “I told you I’ll protect Dad’s assets until my last breath. Now, leave and don’t show your face here again. I’m filing a restraining order for reasons of aggressive, threatening behavior so you can never get near Dad.”
Susan jerks back as if she’s been burned. For someone who practically lives in court and pays a fortune to her lawyer, she has a poor sense of knowing when she should stop.
Which should’ve been after her husband died.
Or better yet, a few decades ago when she decided to kick King’s mother out and thought he’d forget about it.
But she doesn’t matter now, or ever, because I can’t help feeling a sensation of pride at how Gwyneth put the woman in her place. She’s King’s daughter, after all, even if she is more empathetic than he’s ever been.
“This isn’t over.” Susan clicks her tongue and turns and leaves in a swish of blinding, annoying pink and loud clicks of her shoes.
I track her movements, making sure she doesn’t try anything funny. Aspen is with the doctor in case Susan goes there to attempt to get a legal document out of him. Not that he’d hand over anything if he doesn’t want to risk losing his license. But I don’t trust people like Susan.
They might use the law to fight, but they wouldn’t hesitate to resort to illegal, immoral methods to get what they want.
“Is it true? Do you want to marry me?”
My attention slides back to the woman who’s snuggled to my side, looking up at me in that fucking way that stabs my guts and twists my damn insides.
Her eyes spark in a myriad of blue, gray, and green. Bright fucking green that I thought wouldn’t make an appearance again after King’s accident.
I hate the way she looks at me. I fucking loathe it.
Because it’s not just a gaze, it’s not mere eye contact. It’s words and phrases I don’t want to decipher.
I let her go and she staggers a little, as if she’s been floating on air and her feet are finally touching the ground. It’s where she’s supposed to always be—on the ground—not in the clouds she sometimes ascends to.
But even though I’m not touching her anymore, she’s still touching a part of me. My jacket is held snugly to her chest as if it’s some sort of armor—one she won’t let go of.
And I need to stop thinking about what that jacket is touching, because that’s just fucked up.
“It’s not that I want to marry you.”
A swallow, a clink of nails, a slight jump in her shoulders. I’ve always hated how expressive she is but that she can still hide more than she shows.
“Then why did you say that to Susan? Oh, was it a lie? A smokescreen to scare her away?”
“It was to scare her away and it is a smokescreen in a way, but it’s not a lie.”
“I…don’t understand.”
“I meant what I said. We need the joint property for the house and the shares since you now control them, and you have to give me power of attorney. That way, I can manage your assets until you can touch them when you’re twenty-one. I’ll draw up a contract that joins both our assets, even those owned prior to the marriage. The only way you can do that is with a husband. Hence the marriage idea.”
“So…you do want to marry me.” The spark returns, turning the green bright, the blue light, and the gray almost nonexistent.
“Did you hear a word I said, Gwyneth?”
“Yeah, you want to marry me.”
“Aside from that.”
“To protect my and Dad’s assets from Susan, which, of course, I want to do but don’t have the power to due to my stupid age.”
Her nose scrunches at that last bit. My stupid age. Her brows dip, too, like whenever King tried to make her eat any flavor of ice cream aside from vanilla and she told him, “I love you, Dad, but I don’t like you all the time.”
To which he’d buy her unhealthy gallons of ice cream. Vanilla, naturally.
And because she’s a bit of a sheltered princess, she has a lot of things to learn. Things King was too soft-hearted to teach her.
Softheartedness is the last thing anyone could accuse me of.
“Shouldn’t you be wondering about the joint property part? With that, and the power of attorney, I’ll be able to strip you of every last penny and toss you aside.”
“You wouldn’t.” No hesitation. She doesn’t even stop to think about it.
“What if I do?”
“No. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a backstabber. Also, I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t. Blind trust is plain stupidity.”
“It’s not blind. I carefully built it up over time. Besides, there needs to be some sort of trust if we’re going to get married.”
“This marriage is only for convenience. Do you understand, Gwyneth?”
“Oh.”
“It’s a yes or no question. Do you understand?”
“Does…does this mean you won’t touch me?”
My jaw clenches in two rapid tics and I shake my head. “No. It’ll be on paper only.”
The gray gains dominance in her chameleon eyes, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Not even when her clinking stops and she steps closer. “What if you do touch me?”
“It won’t happen.”
“But it happened before. Two years ago, remember? Though I was the one who touched you, but it still counts, right?”
“Gwyneth,” I grind out through my teeth.
She flinches, but she forges on, “What I’m trying to say is that it could happen again. You can’t stop it.”
“I can.”
She purses her lips, a frown creasing her forehead.
“No touching, Gwyneth, I mean it.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Fine.”
“Really?” For some reason, I don’t believe that she’d give up so easily. She has the frustrating type of determination that’s impossible to break.
“Yeah. It’s not like you won’t change your mind.”
“Gwyneth,” I warn.
She jumps again, startled. And I realize I do that a lot to her. Scare her by being strict and firm and generally harsh. But she’s the foolish one who doesn’t stay away.
She takes a step back. “I…uh…I’m going to ask the doctor if I can go inside.”
She turns around and runs as fast as she can from me. Her shorts ride up her pale thighs and her top stretches against her back. I try to look away, but I can’t.
I tell myself it’s to see what she’ll do as I openly watch the swish of her hair down her back and her legs that don’t seem so short now that she’s not standing in front of me.
She’s not a small person. Just small compared to me.
My fist clenches at that image and it takes everything in me to remain calm and focused on what’s to come.
Before rounding the corner, she comes to a screeching halt and spins to face me, motioning at my jacket that she’s been hugging to her chest all this time. “I’m going to keep this.”
And then she disappears down the hall.
I release a sigh, slowly closing my eyes.
Necessity.
I want to blame it, to shove this entire situation down its throat, but who the fuck am I kidding?
Necessity might have started this, but I’m the one who will pursue it until the end.
