But Devlin saved her, just like Preston knew he would.
Royal didn’t save me. He’s not the hero in this situation. He’s not Devlin, the boy Dixie said was the good one, the golden boy, stepping in to take the fall for his girl, admitting he loved the enemy even if it meant his family would cast him out.
He’s Preston, the one she said was evil. The one who set her up.
“And what if he hadn’t?” I ask quietly, remembering Royal turning away while I begged for forgiveness. “What if he’d let it happen?”
Preston shakes his head. “I knew my cousin well enough to know what he’d do. I already knew he cared. I just wanted him to admit it. But even if I’d been wrong, I’d never have let anyone else touch her.”
I nod. Royal didn’t just set me up and wait to see if someone would defend me. He took me somewhere that he knew I couldn’t get help, and he brought the weapons of my destruction.
Preston shifts on the bench and glances sideways at me. “I might have, though,” he admits quietly. “If he didn’t want her.”
“So, that’s what this is all about,” I say, running my hand down the sleek pony pulled over one shoulder. “You wanted to fuck your cousin’s girlfriend.”
He doesn’t say anything. When Dixie said that shit this morning, I figured Preston had given me this makeover to fuck with the Dolces. Maybe in part he did, and that’s the only part they’ll see. But I know him better than they do. I know that it’s never that simple with him. He might have dressed me up like a Crystal Dolce doll to fuck with them, but also because he wanted to fuck me when I looked like her, and also as penance for what he did. With him, it could be any of those things, or more likely, all of them.
“Is that what they did to Mabel?” I ask.
Preston shifts on the bench again. “No,” he says. “They don’t do the same thing twice.”
“Well, that’s a relief, then,” I say. “At least this won’t happen to some other girl.”
He looks at me strangely. “It happened to you, though.”
I shrug. “I’m stronger than most girls.”
“What happened?” he asks, still watching me with narrowed eyes. “You’re different.”
“Maybe I am,” I say, turning away. I don’t want to admit that what Royal did jarred me back to reality, brought back more of my old self than I want to give him credit for. “So, about this cousin thing… There’s no chance, right? It’s impossible.”
“Pretty impossible,” he agrees with a thoughtful nod.
An idea hits me, and I shiver. “None of the Darling dads could be mine? Especially not yours?”
“My father, for all his faults, would never cheat,” he says, his back stiffening. “Not after the mess Grampa Darling made with his dick.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t trying to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” he says flatly. “Dev’s dad would never cheat, either. Colt’s… Maybe. He has a weakness for women, just like Grandpa Darling. But eighteen years ago, probably not. He was already busy having an affair with Devlin’s mom. That leaves the twins.”
“And the two who were disowned.”
Preston glances at the house and then back to me before nodding. “Right.”
“Baron said John Jr. lived in the trailer park where we lived when I was born.”
“I’ll get a DNA test,” Preston says. “It’s a long shot, and you’re not going to be in Grandpa’s will, but you have legal rights. And some of us would give you a cut, not just me. Who do you think pays for JT’s stints in rehab? We might have to do it under the table without our grandfather knowing, but we’re not all his puppets. Not anymore.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be anyone’s puppet, either.”
“You’d be set, Harper. No more worrying about scholarships or anything.”
I think about it for a long minute. About being set for life because of a name that I didn’t choose, that I don’t want. About how hard Mabel worked to escape that name and all that goes with it in this town. I think about being a Darling, putting myself back in the Dolces’ path, putting a target on my back and advertising that I’m the enemy. I think about how hard I’ve worked all my life, and how little the Darlings cared then. How little they did for my mother, and how hard she worked when she was able. They never paid for her to go to rehab. They let her suffer. She didn’t want me, and neither did they.
I replay her asking if I was talking about JT, which must be her nickname for John Jr. So, she knew he was a Darling, even if he was disowned and had a different name. If there was anything she could have gotten from him, she would have. She would have told him I was his child and tried to get something from it even if I wasn’t. Which means she knows there’s no chance I am.
At last, I shake my head. “I’m not a Darling,” I say. “I’m an Apple. I don’t need a DNA test to prove it.”