I tried to not let the idea of being simply handed off like that bother me, because I’m sure they had been terrified, taking care of a child under two. It did make me wonder who had actually brought me into this world… but not enough to ever use my family’s resources to look into it.
I would never consider anyone my parents besides my mom and dad. They were some of the largest influences in my life and how I lived it. Not only were they naturally compassionate people, but they were always going out of their way to help others, and it was an attribute that I aspired to develop myself.
One of the elements I appreciated the most about my relationship, specifically with my mom, was how open she was. There were really no questions that she wouldn’t at least attempt to answer, and growing up, that had allowed me to feel as if I could tell her just about anything instead of shying away from it in fear of her opinion.
I think one of the most memorable moments had been when I’d asked her about why they had never had children of their ‘own.’ I had been scared to ask, but after finding out I was adopted… I had also been curious, and at twelve, I hadn’t had the filter to think about it through fully. Instead of getting defensive or not wanting to talk about it, my mom had sat down and explained that while they had originally been disappointed to find out that they couldn’t have children, she believed it was a blessing in disguise because they had found me. Whenever they asked me if I wanted siblings, I always told them that I wanted whatever they wanted, because it was true—I loved being the center of their attention, but if they wanted to make our family larger, I would never complain.
Although, at this point, I felt like all of Wildberry Lane was my family.
I was well aware that the way my family lived wasn’t real life for most. The Aldridge family consisted of old money on both sides. My mother’s side had grown rich from olive oil production that they had imported into the United States from Italy, and my father’s side owned oil-rich land purchased long, long ago. Because of their generational wealth, I lived a life free of concerns about money or opportunity, and it was something that I would never take for granted.
“Dahlia?” My mom’s voice was light-hearted and happy as she walked out onto my balcony, her eyes darting towards the same house I was staring at. I didn’t feel guilty about being nosy, because mark my words, she’d been doing the same thing while flitting through the house, doing whatever it was that she had on her schedule. I still wasn’t completely sure what she did, if we were being honest—the woman always seemed to be doing ten different things at once.
“What’s up?” I asked curiously, standing and walking towards the archway of my room. The linen curtains brushed over me as I looked past her into my room, the two-story sanctuary feeling always rather alive because of all the windows I kept open.
The entire suite was colored with cream walls, dark wood floors, and massive, arching windows that I almost never locked. The space had changed throughout the years, but the contrast of the wood flooring and light walls had always remained constant, as did the plants that hung from shelves and filled each corner. Everything was large and luxurious, the space making me feel as though I was traveling somewhere tropical, rather than in the South. The decor design was a direct inspiration from the rest of the house that had a very similar style to it. What can I say? My mom and I had very similar taste.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I adjusted my sundress slightly, the soft candy-apple red material smoothing under my tan fingers and bright nails. This past summer I’d gotten far more bronze than normal, mostly because I’d been so damn bored that the only thing to do was lay out by the pool with my mom. Luckily, she didn’t work directly for her family company, so I at least had someone to spend most of my time with, and as an unexpected result, this summer was the most relaxed I’d probably ever been. Although, I knew it was somewhat of a calm before the storm, because nothing ever stayed that simple in my life.
Looking over my mom’s expression, I took the time to appreciate the fact that in some ways, we almost did look related biologically. I mean, most people didn’t realize I was adopted unless it somehow came up in conversation. Of course, there were small differences in our appearance. For one, my dark hair had a bit more of a red undertone than hers, but we had the same wavy texture that couldn’t stay straight unless we were taking one of our cold weather vacations. Right now, mine laid down to my shoulderblades, but you would never know that, because unless it was under eighty-five degrees, I had it pulled back in a braid.
I absolutely hated the feeling of sweaty hair on the back of my neck. I knew it was a silly thing to hate, but it just made me feel… twitchy. Because I’mclearlynormal.
Unlike myself, my mom had dark, kind eyes that were similar to my father’s. Mine, on the other hand, were a bright, leaf-green shade that was accented by a gold starburst around the pupil that created quite the contrast when I was tan. I personally loved my eyes, or had, but I’d been made fun of enough in high school and told—not asked, buttold—that they were contacts that I’d found myself somewhat uncomfortable with them now.
I hated that I let others affect my confidence that much, but what else was new? It felt like that had been the theme of the past year, and it was turning me into a version of myself that I wasn’t completely comfortable with.
At least now that I had graduated, there was no high school bullshit to worry about. Now, did that mean I was totally free from all that crap?No. No, of course not. As with any Southern community, there was an expectation to stay close, so most kids did.
It helped that Silver Oak, a tiny, private college that was located only two miles outside of our town, served the needs of most of the residents that planned to take over their family businesses. Everyone assumed that the wealthy and rich went to the Ivy Leagues, and sure, that was true… just not around here. In our world, connections mattered far more than where you finished your degree, so the sooner you began working, the better. I knew that some from our high school class would leave for college in the fall, but with my luck, every single person I wanted to avoid would stay right here, right outside the gates of Wildberry Lane, waiting for an opportunity to pull some crap. It was just my luck when it came to stuff like that.
I swallowed that thought down, trying to not dwell on the insecurities that plagued me.Not today. Not freakin’ today.
“Kingston is here.”
That completely paused any train of thought as my head snapped towards my mom, my eyes widening as she flashed a smile, knowing how happy that would no doubt make me. She had absolutely no idea.
Kingston was back?I blinked before a huge grin filled my face, her laugh filling my bedroom as I immediately slid past her, rushing through my room and into the hallway.
Most women my age probably would have spent the summer before college hanging out with their girlfriends. The only problem was, I didn’t have any. I mean, besides my mom, but did that really count? I just had never gotten along with the girls my age, and that was before… well, before everything got worse.
I did have friends, though.
They just happened to be from Wildberry Lane and consisted completely of theexactopposite of girls. They were guys. They weremyguys, more specifically. I am sure that our parents had pushed us together as children for convenience and safety, but now that I was older, I knew it was far more than that. I knew that because I’d personally, even in high school, had to deal with people attempting to get close to us purely for personal gain. It had left me with a fierce sense of protectiveness over our small group, and that wasn’t just on my end, either. When you had people trying to constantly use you, it was fairly easy to realize just who you could trust and who you couldn’t.
I imagine that in private conversations, our little group was called an array of horrible names, but never out loud or to our faces. Most people were terrified of my guys, and I really didn’t understand it.
Okay… maybe that was a bit of denial on my end. I knew my guys had their shadows, and I knew they were a far cry from the boys I’d grown up with. Not only were they very much not boys, but they had a dark edge to them that I found myself eager to explore. Their darkness should have scared me, but… I wasn’t the same either, and I was starting to learn that everyone had their shadows. You just had to decide which shadows were the ones worth embracing.
Of course, no one was perfect, but they were pretty damn close. Were they a bit overbearing? Possibly. Okay, yes. Ridiculously, almost cruelly, handsome? Unfortunately. The men that I’d fallen in love with? Yeah… that was a bit of a long story. But I could never be scared of them. That was just our dynamic, and I knew they would never hurt me.
I wasn’t in the business of changing who they were. I loved them exactly for who they were. I was just hoping that they could love me for who I was… which I was finding had a lot of darkness and flaws that had been relatively ignored until they had been brought to my attention by force. Now there was no way to ignore them.
For my first two years of high school, I lived in somewhat of a bubble. Between one of them always being with me and spending all of my time with them outside of school, I never heard anything negative about us, so it was easy to ignore the looks that other students offered us.
Then things had started to change, and I don’t just mean that my boys had turned into unfairly sexy, tall, muscular men—which they had, for the record.No, this change had been more subtle. Their intensity had grown, and a dark edge had come to light that I wasn’t exactly cautious about, per se, but somewhat excited to explore. I knew that was a dangerous way to look at it, but I couldn’t help the urge to metaphorically poke the bear.
I also was aware that their harder edge was somewhat necessary, because showing any weakness in this town was a horrible idea. It was easy to pretend that my mom didn’t subscribe to that notion, but I’d heard rumors of how the Wildberry Lane residents were with others outside of our ‘family,’ and it was a far cry from the friendly faces I saw on a daily basis. Unfortunately, it seemed I was the only one to not get the memo, because I found myself constantly surprised by the fear I saw in others’ faces in reference to not only my boys, but also my own father. It had been only two days ago, when we’d stopped to grab some coffee for mom after a morning tennis lesson, that I’d seen the concept in action.