Pretty Venom Read online

  “I knew it,” I hissed before I could stop myself.

  Principal Farley only smiled. “I didn’t say he was the one to bring this to my attention.”

  “You didn’t need to,” I grumbled, looking over at the large bookshelf lined with her credentials and the thick spines of old books.

  “Renee, where did you get this novel?”

  “It’s not as bad as whatever he likely said it is,” I said, bringing my attention back to her.

  “I’m not taking the bait.” She smiled, looking like she wanted to giggle. “I’m just curious, but you don’t need to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. It’s just … peculiar reading material for a fourteen-year-old.”

  “I’m not a child,” I retorted tartly, like the fourteen-year-old I was.

  Another smile.

  I puffed out a breath, trying not to slouch in the leather seat. “My mother recommended it. We often share books.”

  Principal Farley’s thin brows jumped. “Oh?”

  I just nodded.

  “Interesting. Well, far be it from me to tell you what to do if your mother is so, how shall we say, lenient.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. In some things, yes, but most of the time, unless it suited her, lenient she was not. “It’s just a book. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.” For some reason, I felt the need to defend my mother’s actions. But it was true. My mother, for all her faults, trusted me.

  Principal Farley did laugh then. A jovial, tinkling sound. “That will change soon.”

  “Not likely,” I muttered under my breath. I had no interest in boys yet. Most were legitimately smelly, loud, or just plain mean and conceited. And one particular boy who came to mind, well, he was just a grade-A asshole. “I’ll stick to mature men in books for now. Can I please go to class?”

  Principal Farley laughed once more, then stood to walk me outside.

  Before she returned to her office, she whispered, “Try the Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit, it’s her best work yet.”

  Dumbfounded, I watched her strut back down the short hallway, then smiled the whole way to class.

  That’s a big fat zero for you, Callum.

  Fifteen years old

  The problem with not liking someone was that it could consume you.

  Eat at your mind like a parasite that wouldn’t die, no matter how many different ways you tried to crush it.

  I sat at the large seventeenth-century-style dining table beneath a chandelier that dripped swirling speckles of light over the room, and I waited.

  We ate the usual three-course dinner that our cook, Wanda, made us every Friday night, and by the second course, my father was droning on about the merits of redesigning his office. He’d just had it remodeled last spring.

  My mother was all nods and smiles, her eyes dancing between my father’s as she absently twirled her fork through the slush pile she’d made of her curried vegetables.

  By the time dessert arrived, I was in the clear.

  “You’re playing Chesterton next weekend?” my father asked, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach.

  Damn it. Lifting my gaze to his, I nodded.

  “Does Renee like football?” my mother cut in. “You should invite her to the game.”

  “She doesn’t like football.” My father frowned at my quick retort, and I cleared my throat. “I mean, she doesn’t seem like the type to like football.” No, she was all princesses and bows, and apparently into domineering men in romance novels.

  My mother’s smile had my hands tensing around my utensils. “I’ll talk to Valery. Maybe we can make a weekend getaway out of it.”

  I barely contained my groan, glancing at my father with a look that had him saying, “No, precious. I told the Oswalds that I’d bring you along for our dinner meeting so you can see Erin.”

  My mother waved a hand, almost slouching back in her chair. “Did you have to? Erin’s such a bore.”

  I zoned out, staring at the crystal vase filled with dusky pink hydrangeas while my father reminded my mother about the benefits of maintaining the right friendships.

  “May I be excused?” I asked once my father paused to take a sip of his whiskey.

  At his nod, I pushed my chair back, tucking it beneath the table before retreating to the comfort of my room.

  The mahogany staircase gleamed as my palm ran over the railing, and my feet carried me to the top. My room was at the far right end of the second level, thankfully well away from my parents’ room, which sat at the top of the stairs, intricate carvings etched into the wood of the opened doors.

  The door to my room was much the same except there was only one. The room itself wasn’t even half the size of my parents’, which was fine, considering their room took up a good chunk of the second floor.

  Before we moved in when I was a kid, the second floor had eight bedrooms scattered between various sitting rooms and bathrooms. Some of the rooms remained as guestrooms, but my parents decided to create a miniature house for their own room by tearing down walls and completely remodeling their half of the floor.

  The attic and Wanda’s room occupied the third floor, along with another room filled with my mother’s many abandoned projects from years gone by.

  For a trophy wife, she really did try to spend her spare time wisely instead of sitting idly by as my father turned people’s thousands into millions. Too bad her efforts were always kind of lackluster, and she never followed through.

  After taking a shower, I flopped onto my king-size bed and flicked through the channels on my flat-screen TV.

  But no matter how hard I tried to get lost in something mindless, my mind insisted on repeating the same questions. Why didn’t Renee tell anyone? Her parents?

  I couldn’t figure it out. It was all over school—her reading tastes and how they’d resulted in a trip to the principal’s office.

  I’d watched her at lunch, seated on the other side of the cafeteria with her drama buddies, yet she never even looked at me once.

  Forget her. I needed to forget her. Didn’t even know why I cared, or why I even bothered. Something about her just got to me, igniting my blood and causing me to clench my fists. Her stupid bows, fancy pantyhose, and reluctance to care about what others thought about her were driving me insane.

  Leaning over, I snatched my phone from the nightstand to call Tara.

  I could do with a little dirty talk. That would definitely take my mind someplace better.

  Yet my finger wouldn’t budge. It hovered over her name, circling like a bumblebee around a flower.

  With a curse, I tossed my phone, checked to make sure the door was locked, then shoved my hand down my pants.

  Students shuffled past, and I rolled my head back against my locker.

  “And this one scene, where he says …”

  Renee was all smiles as Tara relayed the details of the stupid book she’d been reading.

  The stupid book that should’ve embarrassed Renee yet seemed to be attracting the entire female student body for book club meetings in the school halls.

  Yes, people had made digs at her about it over the past few weeks, but she’d let it slide off her shoulders. As though she was carved from glittering stone and everything else was water, washing over or around her while she remained resistant. Beautiful. Unchanged.

  “Hey,” Mike said, stopping beside me to open his locker. “Coming to the team meeting this afternoon?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Mike shoved a book inside, collecting his phone and wallet before slamming the door closed. “What’s up with you?” When I continued to glare at Renee, his gaze followed. “Oh. Man, she’s hot.”

  “She looks like a fucking peacock, prancing around in her frilly socks and ridiculous bows.”

  Mike said nothing, so I glanced over, finding his eyes steadfast on Renee. My teeth gritted.

  “Yeah, but she knows how to wear them.”

  “What are you? The style polic
e?”

  He laughed. “Shut up.” Eyeing me up and down a moment, he raised his brows. “Hang on. Do you like her or something?”

  My spine straightened, and I forced out a guffaw. “Fuck no. She annoys the crap out of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” I repeated as though he’d asked the most stupid question in the world.

  “Yeah, why?” He shrugged, loosening his tie. “Usually there’s a reason for not liking someone.”

  “I don’t need a reason,” I snapped.

  Mike muttered what sounded like, “Bullshit,” and shoved his wallet into his pants.

  “My parents started it,” I admitted quietly. I knew if I didn’t give him something, he’d assume whatever he wanted. I couldn’t have that.

  “Your parents?”

  Nodding, I explained, “Our moms. They seem to think it’d be a great idea to eventually set us up.”

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  I started walking to the cafeteria. If Tara wanted to hang out and talk about some lame book, so be it. Mike fell in step beside me. “Besides the fact that my mother asks me at least once a day about Renee, I overheard them in the game room at the end of summer, drinking and carrying on about it like a bunch of teenage girls.”

  Mike chuckled. “They were probably just joking around.”

  He didn’t know Valery Grant and Lucinda Welsh. Those two women were queens when it came to getting what they wanted. “They aren’t. Our fathers are merging their firms.”

  “Holy shit,” Mike said as we stopped in line. “Is Welsh Holdings in trouble?”

  “Not as far as I know. But I overheard them on the phone. Apparently, it’s been their plan for the past year. More lucrative, supposedly. They plan to set up international offices in Beijing and Germany by next spring.”

  Mike whistled. “Now that would probably give me reason to be worried, too.”

  We ordered and took our trays to the back corner where the team sat. A stern look at Mike told him to shut his mouth on the matter.

  He did, thankfully.

  I half listened to the guys drone on about some new gaming console while tearing into my sandwich as if it had personally offended me.

  Black ballet flats with tiny bows on the toes caught my eye as I stared at the ground after taking a drink from my water bottle.

  I didn’t think, just reacted.

  Water sprayed from my mouth, landing all over Renee’s white blouse as she let out a pitiful shriek.

  “Dude.” Josh, one of my team mates, laughed. “Harsh.”

  Ignoring him, I lifted my gaze from the white bra that was now on display for the whole cafeteria to see to those green eyes. Hurt flickered back at me, but only for a heartbeat, and then Renee was dumping the contents of her tray onto my lap.

  “Fuck!” I stood, frantically trying to shove the hot macaroni from my pants, my fingers getting burned in the process.

  The cafeteria went silent. My breathing became a loud, monstrous sound that I feared moved through the room as though a microphone had been clipped to my shirt.

  “Whoops, sorry. It slipped,” Renee deadpanned, moving over to a table in the opposite corner with her drama club buddies.

  “Did she just …?” Mike asked.

  “Jesus.” I looked down at the cheese smears and bits of pasta all over my pants. “I’m going to have to–”

  “Miss Grant and Mr. Welsh. Outside. Now.” Mrs. Bennington’s voice boomed above the snickers and whispers.

  With a glance at the guys, I shrugged, then grabbed the other half of my sandwich and drink before making my way outside.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Bennington asked, her voice a low hiss as Renee stepped outside, and the door to the cafeteria shut behind her.

  When we both said nothing, she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before tossing her arm down to her side. “Detention this afternoon.”

  “I have a team meeting,” I protested.

  “Not my problem. And head to lost property to find yourselves some suitable clothes. You don’t get a free pass out of school for this.” Her heels clacked on the floor as she stormed off.

  I glared at Renee with my teeth grinding, but she only smiled. “You started it.”

  “Real mature.”

  She laughed, and my mouth fell open at the sound of it. Raspy but sweet. “You want to argue about maturity now? Fine. Let’s do that.”

  “I’d rather not.” I straightened from where I’d been leaning against the wall.

  “First the book, and now this? What did I ever do to you?” she asked, her voice lowering a few decibels, vulnerability ringing clear.

  Ignoring the twist in my gut, I blurted honestly, “You exist.”

  She shook her head, about to walk away, when I said, “You do have some nice tits, though. So there’s that.”

  Her hand flew up over her head to flip me the bird.

  And for a moment, just a moment, I forgot that I hated her so much.

  Fifteen years old

  Telling my mother about all the ways her dream suitor for me was actually a monster probably wouldn’t go over well. I was tempted, yet I knew no matter what I said or how I phrased it, she’d misconstrue everything.

  Some part of me wondered if he liked me, and if perhaps the low barbs and hurtful actions were his way of rebelling against it.

  That part of me had now been put in its rightful place. Smothered and drowned by the obvious animosity that I refused to let myself be too blind to see.

  If spraying me with water wasn’t bad enough, spending an hour in an empty classroom where he proceeded to talk football stats with the gym teacher who got stuck with detention duty was what sealed it. Callum didn’t say one word to me. They both ignored me, which was fine.

  But as I went to leave, I realized someone had stuck fresh gum to the seat of my chair before I’d sat down.

  “You should always look where you’re parking that big thing,” Callum said, smirking over his shoulder at me as he swaggered out of the room.

  It was horrifying, pulling his disgusting gum from my backside just enough so that I could leave the plastic chair behind and get home.

  Enough. I’d had enough.

  He could do what he wanted. I would not back down, but I wouldn’t retaliate anymore either. His brand of assholery had a ricochet effect. Affecting other things in my life, piece by little piece.

  Hilda was annoyed with me for days due to missing rehearsals yet again no matter how much I tried to explain it to her. My homework was handed in two days late that week, and I had to use my period as some mortifying excuse for why my school skirt had been ruined and tossed into the trash before anyone could see.

  Not to mention, I hadn’t sewed since.

  It’d now been two weeks, and I’d managed to avoid any more run-ins with the asshole. Hopefully, he’d find someone else to set his bad moods on.

  I stared longingly at my sewing machine, which was surrounded in fabric from my latest and now discarded idea. A Cinderella-inspired dress for a charity gala that was coming up next month.

  “Knock, knock,” my mother chirped.

  Looking over at the door, I smiled as she walked in with two bags looped over her arm.

  She placed them down on my peach-colored duvet, then took a seat next to me. “Happy Birthday, darling.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking one of the bags and finding swaths of fabric inside it.

  “From Indonesia.” Her smile was proud as I carefully spread the silk over my lap, then stared up at her.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” I breathed, all the while my fingers kept smoothing over the material. It was so soft, so delicate, I didn’t think I’d ever felt something that fine in my life.

  “Oh, don’t give me that.” She passed me the other bag, clapping her hands when I took it from her.

  It was filled with novels. First editions. Jane Austen to Nora Roberts. “What’s …?” I plucke
d out a small cardboard box from the bottom, opening it up to find a shiny Amex.

  My mother squeaked, her blood red hair falling out from behind her ear. “You do not want to know the things I had to do to get your father to agree to this one,” she said, snatching it from me and plucking it out of its nest inside the box.

  My nose crinkled. “No, I don’t.”

  She laughed. “No more spending caps on your checking account. Isn’t that exciting?”

  It was, but it was rare that I spent anywhere near the amount to reach the card’s limit.

  “Thank you,” I said again, reaching over to hug her.

  “You’re so welcome,” Mom murmured, rocking me side to side before releasing me and fixing her hair. “I do wish you’d agreed to a party, though. It would’ve been a great way for me to meet all your new friends.”

  “I don’t have many new friends.”

  She laughed as if I were joking, which I let slide. “Shoulders back.” She tapped one of them, lifting my hair to let it fall down my back. “Just because you’re at home and it’s your birthday doesn’t give you permission to slouch.” She stood from the bed. “Your father will be home early. We’ve invited the Welsh’s over for dinner.”

  My eyes popped. “What? No.” That was the main reason I’d avoided a party in the first place.

  “Don’t make me frown, darling.”

  Frustrated and panicked, I whined, “Mom, I didn’t want to do anything.”

  “I know, but it’s part business, part pleasure. So let’s just run with it, shall we?” She paused in the doorway. “Have a wonderful day.” She kissed the air. “Smooches!”

  With a loud whimper, I hung my head, my shoulders slouching.

  “Pass the gravy, dear.” My dad held out his hand as Mom grabbed the porcelain jug and handed it over.

  “You didn’t go to school today?” Dad asked after he drizzled the gravy over his slow roasted beef.

  “It’s her birthday, Damon. She didn’t have to.”

  He gave Mom a look she returned with a look of her own. He sighed, cutting into his food as Lucinda put her cutlery down.