This Is W.A.R. Part 3

She felt a little more hopeful when she opened James's file, considering his report was practically double the size of Trip's. She thought of Violet Garretson stuck in the car with him, how Madge said he wouldn't let her out. There was probably the official police report, Violet's statement. It was no secret that James was a notoriously bad drunk. He'd sobered up for a while, but he'd fallen off the wagon on July Fourth-and he was clearly off the wagon now.

Rose had to read it all. She had to know if James was the guy who had talked so pa.s.sionately about moving to Montana and changing his life during their clandestine meetings-while the rest of the Club partied-or was he the spoiled rich kid who refused to take responsibility after the fact? The real James could kill the version of James she'd created in her head. Not to mention the fact that she needed $25,000 worth of information to present at the next War meeting.

The first few pages were odd. She couldn't imagine why the police would need this type of information-legal details of the Gregory family's trust fund, amended after the car accident that killed James's and Trip's parents. James Samuel Gregory was the only designated beneficiary. Rose quickly went back to Trip's file to see if she had overlooked similar paperwork about his trust fund, but it was missing. Just random language about some Cartier watches that had been in the family for years. As she continued to read, the terms of the trust were outlined, making it clear that Grandpa Gregory had included very stringent conditions as a form of incentive for James. Two stood out to Rose.

The trustee shall pay to beneficiary the terms of the trust after he earns a law degree from an accredited college or university.

The trustee shall pay to beneficiary the terms of the trust if and so long as trustee is satisfied that beneficiary conducts himself with the highest degree of honor and morality and shall not be convicted of a felony and/or a moving traffic violation.

Rose wasn't surprised that James was expected to go to college before inheriting millions. What did surprise her was the mandate that James earn a very specific degree. Apparently the Captain liked to be in the driver's seat. But what Rose found even more interesting was the second clause. Honor and morality? What a joke. As she skimmed through the few remaining pages, she came up empty. Nothing about Violet, no DUIs, no underage drinking violations, no possession charges. Nothing. A surge of hope coursed through her body. Maybe everyone was wrong. Maybe James really wasn't the monster everyone presumed him to be. Rose let herself remember the night they met, and her surge of hope flared.

It was early June and the night was cooler than predicted. Rose wished she had grabbed her sweatshirt. Gooseb.u.mps p.r.i.c.kled the skin along her arms and legs. Her mom had forced her into a ridiculous white dress that had barely covered her chest, and despite the fact that she was finally alone, she still pulled at the hem in an attempt to hide her cleavage.

She had been determined not to cry. She refused to think about the way her mom had ignored her or the fact that even in a room full of girls in white dresses, she was an outsider. Rose wasn't even sure why it bothered her anymore. But it did. And honestly if she was going to cry about anything, it should have been about the moment she tripped up the main stairwell, flashing her sensible underwear to the entire room below.

Surely that humiliation alone had earned her at least twenty minutes of self-indulgent hysterics.

"You know you're only supposed to cry if it's your party, right?" James Gregory had materialized out of nowhere.

His presence made Rose's pulse jump. She wasn't stupid. She'd heard all the rumors. Her mom's warning rang in her ears. She never should have chosen the pool house as a hideout. The tents that created the makeshift ballroom for the Club's annual Swing into Summer soiree were all the way on the other side of the grounds.

No one would hear her if she screamed.

She held her arm across her chest for coverage and avoided eye contact. James's ice clinked against the gla.s.s while he swirled the dark liquid inside, sending a tingle down her spine.

"Hey, it's okay. You're not going to get in trouble or anything." James took two long strides toward the corner Rose had wedged herself into.

"Just ... leave me alone, okay? I know who you are and I don't want ... I just need you to stay away from me or else I'll ... call my dad." Rose's threat sounded beyond ridiculous even to herself. She thought of the small can of pepper spray in her brown satchel. The brown satchel that her mom had refused to let her bring to the party because it looked "low cla.s.s." G.o.d, she hated her mom.

"Whoa!" James threw his hands in the air. "No need to get your dad involved. I was just looking for a place to hide for a few hours. I hate these stupid parties." He shrugged, and a smile brightened his light eyes even in the dark. It occurred to her, as they stood out in the cool night, that she'd never seen James Gregory smile. "Unless I'm wasted, apparently. Then I'm just the life of the party. Thirsty?"

"Uh, no thanks? I don't drink?"

"Is that a question or a fact? And for the record, this is just c.o.ke."

Rose didn't know if she should believe him. He wasn't really acting like a rapist or anything. Not that she had any idea how rapists acted, but she considered herself a pretty good judge of character and despite everything she'd heard about James, she started to let her guard down. She'd even removed her arm from across her chest, though she still pined for that sweatshirt.

"Here," James said, removing his jacket and reading her mind. "You're freezing." He'd wrapped the coat around her shoulders, and she shrugged into the warmth he left behind, breathing in the oddly appealing scent of soap and gasoline.

"Thanks," was all she had said and even then, she said it more to the ground than to him.

"You don't have to hide out here, you know. At least you didn't fall all the way down the stairs."

"Easy for you to say. I flashed the entire club. There's no way I'm going back in there." Her voice shook a little in the beginning, unsteady at first. She usually only talked to people at the Club who wore a nametag.

"Trust me when I say it could have been worse." One of the corners of James's mouth had lifted, and his right cheek flashed a dimple that made Rose slightly weak in the knees.

"Too bad I don't trust you at all." After she said the words it occurred to her that she was flirting with James Gregory. What the h.e.l.l was she doing?

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust the guy who was so wasted he fell down the entire staircase and into his grandfather's birthday cake either."

"You didn't!"

"I did." He snorted, shaking his head. Rose couldn't help but laugh with him.

"You fell into his cake?"

"Like I said, life of the party, which is why I stick to caffeine, the safer drug." He had raised his gla.s.s, and Rose couldn't help but raise her eyebrows. It was funny how different her perception had been of James, how quickly it could change, even during one short conversation. He actually wasn't so bad.

"Guess that's the point of rehab," he mumbled.

His confession made Rose feel better somehow. She didn't need any reminder how imperfect she was; it was just nice to know that other people felt the same way about themselves.

A loud knock at her bedroom door shook her from the beginning of the summer, a few papers fluttering off the bed as she startled. "Rose! I've called you three times. Dinner's ready, no thanks to you." Her mom stomped back down the stairs as Rose gathered the papers, skimming James's section one last time before shoving the pile beneath her pillow.

There was absolutely no reference to a stint in rehab, no drug or alcohol-related infractions anywhere in his file. He had no reason to lie about his history, especially to her.

Either her dad was worse with paperwork than she thought or the Gregorys really were above the law.

Chapter 8.

Rose liked to play a game during family dinners where she challenged herself to speak fewer than ten words the entire meal. It started out as a power thing. Some girls took to starvation when they wanted to bug the s.h.i.t out of their mothers, but Rose liked food too much. Besides, there was nothing that upset Pilar McCaan more than awkward silence. The average dinner conversation word count fell somewhere between nine and twenty, but one time last winter she successfully made it through an entire meal mumbling only three words. (Granted, her parents were fighting about putting a new roof on the house the entire time, but Rose still considered it an accomplishment.) "I happened to overhear that you and James Gregory had quite the run in at the Club today," her mom commented, piling Rose's plate with lasagna.

Rose took a huge bite. The good old chew-and-shrug, a cla.s.sic maneuver ...

"What have I told you about the Gregorys? They're trouble."

Rose felt like replying with, "You're a hypocrite," but didn't want to waste three words. Besides, her mouth was full.

"Your mother is right. Be careful with the Gregorys."

To this day, Rose could never tell if her dad simply parroted whatever her mom said or if he knew more than he let on. Neither garnered much respect. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She managed to slide it onto her lap while barely moving, another one of her many talents.

War meeting in 20. Same place.

She quickly choked down the rest of her lasagna and cleared her plate.

"What's the rush, Rosie?" She hated her dad's nickname for her. The only people named Rosie were chubby three-year-olds and overweight comedians.

"Meeting some friends." Three words. She was still in this.

"What friends? Where are you going? Pilar, did you know about this?" Her dad looked at her mom, but she was busy on her own phone, her full lips turned up in a half smile. Rose knew that smile, and she couldn't unknow it. No matter how many times she tried. That smile gave Rose a pit in her stomach, like she'd barged in on her mom in the shower, singing for no reason Rose or her dad could imagine.

"What?" Her mom's cheeks flushed. "I mean, of course. Whatever. Just don't be late, okay Rose?"

"Okay." Four words total. Almost her record. Her dad waved her out the door, his dark eyes fixed on her mom as she sat at the table hunched over her phone.

Rose had a feeling there was another argument brewing, something more complicated than a new roof. But she couldn't worry about that now. She grabbed a sweatshirt and stuffed the Gregorys' files back in her satchel before heading out the front door. If she walked fast she could get there in ten minutes.

The sun was making its final descent along the horizon, the surrounding sky grey and pink in its wake. A breeze shifted leaves on the trees hugging the sidewalk, and Rose quickened her steps, wondering if it would rain. She finally felt like she could breathe again without the heat wrapping its sticky fingers around her neck. Maybe she'd even start sleeping like a normal person again.

The smell of freshly cut gra.s.s and lush magnolias made her sneeze exactly ten times, her cue that she was getting close to the Club. Rose was a serial sneezer, and nothing brought it on quite like Hawthorne Lake's carefully manicured lawns.

After she pulled open the Club's impressive double doors, she kept her eyes trained on the floor and raced in the direction of the parlor. She'd need the room to be empty so she could access the hidden entrance. Of course, she heard a m.u.f.fled voice trailing out from behind the door. A man she'd never seen before stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, a phone gripped to his ear, his voice clipped and strained. He glanced at her irritably. After a few awkward moments, he rolled his eyes at her and left in a huff. When she finally scrambled up to the attic, she was sweating like a tourist, all pit stains and pleated shorts. Honestly, she didn't even blame the girls for the disgust on their faces. Plus, she was late and they'd been busy. The attic was lit with at least thirty candles and they had old yearbooks and newspapers scattered all over the floor.

"Nice of you to join us." Madge nodded toward the empty seat next to her. "The yearbooks and newspapers are courtesy of some sorry excuse for a first-year who was entirely too easy to pay off. So far we've learned that Trip was voted Cla.s.s Clown, huge shocker there, while James was elected Darcy-In-Training. I suppose his air of a.s.shole made him quite the object of affection at Pemberly Brown."

Rose sat in the chair across from her.

"Right, so our current plan is to destroy them using a hilarious, modern-day Elizabeth Bennet," Lina added. "Surely their heads will explode." She rolled her eyes and examined an old issue of a school newspaper.

"Um, didn't Willa kind of already do that?" Sloane's tone was innocent. Clearly she didn't mean to be an insensitive moron, but the fire in Madge's eyes was enough to force Rose into tipping her hand.

"I've got something," she offered. The girls turned to her. What if they thought her idea was ridiculous? Or what if she'd misread the papers in the file? This was going to end in disaster, she just knew it. And who the h.e.l.l had decided that candles were a good idea for an attic at the end of July?

"Spit it out, Rose," Lina grumbled. "You're not paying dues like the rest of us, so you better have something good."

Rose swallowed and forced herself to speak. "Their trust fund has this weird morality clause where they lose their inheritance if they don't conduct themselves to the Captain's standards. If they're convicted of a felony or even if they so much as get a speeding ticket, they're totally cut off."

"You've got to be s.h.i.tting me." Lina's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Madge. Sloane started shaking her head.

"No, really, it's all right here." Rose placed the papers in the center of the circle.

All three girls crawled forward, their heads nearly touching in the flickering candlelight. Rose held her breath. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

"She's right," Madge whispered, sitting back on her heels. "It actually kind of makes sense now. That's why everyone turns the other way. If they mess up they lose everything." She smiled, a glint in her eyes. "This could work."

"Well, I don't know," Rose said. She chewed her lip. "It might be kind of hard to get them disinherited. This is a whole new level." The image of James weeks ago at the pool house flashed in her mind. He didn't seem like a murderer then. As if they sensed her inner turmoil, the girls all began talking at once.

"This will be nothing compared to what he did to Willa," Sloane chirped.

Lina nodded sagely. "To a Gregory, the only thing worse than being dead is being poor."

"You're a genius, Rose." Madge grabbed Rose's hand, pressing something small and hard into her palm. When she pulled away and opened her fingers, she saw a long gold chain with a tiny key attached. Her heart began to pound.

"What the h.e.l.l, Madge?" Lina barked. "We talked about this. You can't give her that key. We don't know anything about her."

Rose should have been used to being talked about like she wasn't in the room, but she wasn't. Maybe that was one of those things you never got used to.

"She's proven herself." Madge narrowed her eyes at Lina. "I trust her."

Rose's head was spinning. She had proved herself worthy of the War. She might not have money, but she had information, and Rose was beginning to believe that real power came with knowledge, not a checking account.

July 4th, 9:57 P.M.

Rose had never been on a boat so big that you didn't even notice the gentle rocking of the water. The deck floor gleamed in the clear moonlight, waxed and shiny. A low mumble of voices mixed with the thump of distant music poured from every direction. Cl.u.s.ters of people hung along the perimeter, chatting, sipping, laughing. If they noticed her, she probably would have just turned around and left. She was sure if anyone actually looked at her they would have laughed at her outfit or feigned sympathy for the lost expression permanently creasing her brow.

But as usual, Rose was invisible, and tonight, she was glad for it.

Tonight invisibility gave her a chance to figure out which direction to go. Up, down, around? The yacht was so large that the options seemed endless. In truth, she was terrified. She'd lied to her parents about going to some lame church festival with school acquaintances because she knew they'd never let her within twenty thousand feet of the S.S. Gregory. Yes, the Gregorys actually named their yacht after themselves without even the slightest hint of irony. Well, all of them except James anyway.

Wasn't that what brought her here? The thrill of James, and the time they'd spent together in secret? The way they'd laughed about how ridiculous his self-involved family really was? The look on his face when Rose told him about her parents' fights? The way his lips grazed hers lightly whenever he said goodbye, a whisper against hers, like a promise he intended to keep? James had begged her to come. His family's annual Fourth of July bash was his own personal h.e.l.l. Last year he'd fallen off the wagon. It was almost impossible to avoid the temptations aboard the ship. But if he had someone to escape with, someone like Rose, then maybe this year would be different.

Rose yanked her dress down to cover her b.u.t.t as she climbed the stairs to the main deck. She was deeply appreciative of Willa's impromptu makeover, but she was also 99% sure that it was going to result in another ma.s.sive, a.s.s-baring wardrobe malfunction.

Maybe the generous expanse of leg on display tonight would finally be enough to tempt James into doing more than just kissing her. They'd snuck off into hidden corners of the Club every chance they had since the night of the Swing. But he never tried anything besides kissing, and Rose was too shy to let her hands roam anywhere south of his chest. Tonight was the night. It had to be. Rose shook her head. Even thinking about being with James made it feel too much like a jinx.

She stretched her neck to the right, evaluating the cl.u.s.ters of people in the moonlight. The music she'd heard when she walked aboard had all but disappeared, replaced by the drone of conversation. Diamonds sparkled on necks and ears and fingers. She watched as an older woman laughed, raking her manicured nails down the arm of a man who eyed her hungrily despite being nearly surgically attached to the woman on his other arm. The adult section of the party: exactly where she didn't want to be. If anyone from the Club recognized her, it would get back to her mom, and she couldn't imagine what might happen after that. She turned the other way. The stairwell to the bottom deck of the ship was blocked by velvet rope. A bouncer in a tux held a basket of cell phones in one hand, embossed cards in the other. He bowed as Rose approached. "Welcome aboard, Miss. Please take a phone."

"Um, I already have my phone, so I'm all set." Rose tried to push past him, but the bouncer deftly blocked her entrance.

"Every lady must accept a phone."

Rose looked behind her, confused. One of the boys she recognized from the pool approached and grabbed a card from the basket. He nodded at the bouncer and gave Rose's all-too-accessible b.u.t.t a little squeeze.

"Wouldn't mind dialing your digits tonight." He winked and disappeared into the crowd of people dancing and mingling inside.

"What the ..."

Just then, Willa Ames-Rowan scooted around Rose and grabbed a phone. "It's like spin the bottle," she whispered. "Guys text girls to meet up in one of the fancy rooms."

Rose blinked. She began to feel sick.

Willa touched Rose's arm, grazing her skin just as lightly as James's lips had grazed her mouth. Her expression was serious. "Don't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay? If it rings and you're not into it, just hit ignore. Easy." She grabbed a phone out of the basket and turned around to look at Rose again. "Oh, and stay away from James. He's spoken for tonight." Willa waved her phone in front of Rose's face, her smile so disarming that it took Rose a minute to understand what she was saying.

"Um, yeah. Okay?" Rose tried to avoid Willa's eyes, questions flooding her brain but never making it past her lips. She knew Willa liked James. Everyone knew Willa liked James. But now that Rose had spent so much time with James she thought it was just gossip. Rumors. Truthfully, she hadn't really thought about it at all.

Willa pressed a phone into Rose's hand. "Everything is going to be fine. No, better than fine, it's going to be fabulous," and she smiled her heartbreaking smile again.

Rose looked at her closely, trying to see past the perfect teeth and the sparkling blue eyes, searching for a hint of anger, resentment, or even laughter. Maybe this was all some big joke. But that smile was genuine. If Willa did know about the time Rose was spending with James, she didn't hate her for it. Or maybe she just didn't see Rose as compet.i.tion. Maybe James had been in love with Willa all along, and Rose was just some pathetic Club employee's daughter he'd been stringing along for fun.

The phone felt like a time bomb ticking in Rose's hand. Taking it felt like making a promise she had no intention of keeping, but Rose couldn't force herself to let it go. She wanted to make a run for it. To throw the phone back at the weird guy standing there in the tux. Willa walked into the party to join her friends, and Rose looked back toward the upper deck, searching for a way out. The adults looked like they were beginning to feel the effects of all that top-shelf gin. Rose stiffened as she saw the Captain grab a pet.i.te woman with long black hair toward a shadowy corner at the top of the stairs. His third wife was a statuesque blonde. Something about the way the other woman moved reminded Rose of her ...

Mom.

Rose recognized Pilar the second the Captain tipped her face up toward the moonlight. His lips were on hers almost immediately. Rose's stomach twisted. She couldn't move, but she couldn't look away. The Captain's hands moved under her mom's dress. She stared so long and so hard that some long defunct mother-daughter bond must have been activated, because all at once her mom froze and looked down to exactly where Rose was standing.

She tried to duck into the shadows, but the look on her mom's face told her it was too late. So, in the end, the choice was made for her. Rose squeezed the phone and walked into the party. The tears p.r.i.c.king her eyes only made her more determined to find James. She'd find him and ask him why the h.e.l.l he'd invited her to a party when there were girls like Willa Ames-Rowan falling all over him. She pushed through the crush of teenagers dancing, drinking and laughing. Her eyes scoured the crowd for his s.h.a.ggy blond hair, those dark blue eyes ... for the one person who might actually be able to redeem this horrible night.

And then she saw him.