I clicked on the link, my heart jackhammering in my chest. Ransom lay beside me, snoring softly. He didn’t always sleep in my bed, but recently, he’d done it more and more.
I saw an array of photos of my parents, Hera and Craig standing in my parents’ vast garden. Dogs included. Everybody smiling into the camera. One big, happy family.
Punching Ransom in the arm, I shoved my phone in his face. I couldn’t read fast enough—if at all—in my current state.
He stirred awake, not looking to be in any particular hurry to know why I’d assaulted him. He leaned back against the bedframe, plucking the phone from between my fingers.
“Jesus Christ, Craig’s isn’t the first face I want to see when I wake up,” he mumbled, digging the base of his palm into his eye socket.
“Read it,” I ordered, folding my arms over my chest.
He shot me an unsure look. “What the hell for?”
“I’m going to have a shitty day either way. At least let me know why I’m bummed.”
With a sigh, he began reading.
“…Julianne, 55, cannot stop gushing about the new addition to the family. ‘Craig’s everything we’ve ever wanted in a son. He is loyal, loving, steadfast, and puts his family above all else. Watching him grow alongside Hera into this courageous, virtuous man has been very inspiring.’”
“While Anthony, 60, insists: ‘Everything Hera has ever achieved was on her own merit. She is the most hardworking, compassionate, loving human being I’ve ever met. Fathering her has been by far my favorite, most honorable role.’”
“…President Thorne insists that, despite his daughter Hallie not being present for the shoot or the interview, things have never been better. ‘The truth is, there will always be rumors, but that’s just what they are. Rumors. Hallie adores her new brother-in-law and has never been closer to Hera. They’re truly two peas in a pod.’”
“This, on the heels of Miss Thorne delivering a less than favorable speech in her duty as maid of honor, makes people wonder…”
“Stop!” I ripped my phone from his hand, flinging it across the floor. It skidded until it hit the wall. I jumped out of the bed, pacing back and forth, feeling sick to my stomach. “This is such undiluted horse crap.”
Ransom stayed in my bed, eyeing me through calculating eyes. No matter how many times we’d had sex, how many nights we shared, every time I saw myself through his eyes, I shuddered. He treated me clinically. Like his unfinished, messy job.
“You’re upset.”
“No shit I’m upset!” I flung my arms in the air. “I’m officially no longer a member of the Thorne family, according to this article.”
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
“No!”
“Yes, it does. I suggest you do something about it.” He reached for the nightstand, unhooking his phone from its charger.
“And give them the satisfaction of knowing I’ve read it?” I let out a huff.
His eyes were dead on his screen as he scrolled. “The entire world has read it. It’s on every media outlet out there. Even videos, pictures, and snippets on the news.”
This wasn’t just spitting in my face. It was throwing an entire bucket of saliva.
I stopped pacing, turning to him. “What do you think I should do?”
“Get on a goddamn plane and give them a piece of your mind. Confront them. About everything. Craig. Your undiagnosed dyslexia. Their poor treatment of you,” he said, straight-faced.
I faltered. “But what if—”
“Every worst-case scenario has already happened,” he cut me off, flinging the blanket and collecting his phone, wallet, and gun, which was always within reach. “They made this asshole your brother-in-law, they deprived you of context, opportunity, and better life conditions. They treat you like a second-class citizen. I fail to see how this could get any harder for you, Princess.”
He was right, and I knew it. More than that, I felt ready for a showdown with my family. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe the constant realizations with which I’d been bombarded. My learning disabilities. My newfound talent at sketching. Overcoming my aversion to sex. And, yes, maybe even coming to terms with the fact I didn’t have any real friends, any real family, and despite all that, I’d still managed to survive.
I nodded curtly. “Pack up, Random. We’re going to Texas.”
Other than almost slapping Ransom when he inquired whether I wanted to channel my wrath into angry, exploratory hate sex, the plane ride to Dallas went without a hitch. A car was waiting for us at the airport. We didn’t have any luggage.