Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Holy shit, it’s Mount Olympus,” I breathe as I stand in front of the Vanderbilt Manor, all forty-thousand square feet of it. According to Tristan, there are two art galleries, a ballroom, a winter garden, a library, a billiard room, a gun room, and … there are so many freaking rooms, I literally don’t remember them all.

“Might as well be,” Zack snorts, “because the people who live here think they’re gods.”

“Oh, like you’re any different, Brooks,” Tristan says, sweeping past and heading up the steps of the white stone manor. The staff greets him warmly which I find surprising. I figured Tristan was the type to treat those around him like ‘the help’. But he actually gives an older, silver-haired man a hug. A hug. How many times have I seen Tristan Vanderbilt hug anyone?

We head into the main hall, and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the amount of space and the lavishness of the decor. There’s a stack of papers on a table with a fresh floral bouquet that’s as big as my car. Tristan grabs it and starts passing out maps.

Literal maps. Of his house.

Maybe, if you need to give people a map of your home, it’s a little too big to begin with?

“Your rooms are labelled,” he explains, moving over to one of the walls to point out an intercom. “If you get lost, or need help finding something, just press the button on any of these and one of the staff can help you out.” He pauses for a minute as we all study the maps, taking note of our names scrawled onto the page. While it looks like there are plenty of guest rooms, he’s placed us all on the upper level, in the east wing, near his personal bedroom.

Lizzie bites her lip, and I look up, meeting her amber eyes.

It hasn’t escaped either of our notice that she’s sharing a room with Andrew, while I’ve got my own suite … right next to Tristan’s.

“Come on, Charity,” Tristan says cheekily, “I’ll show you to your room.” He takes my arm and guides me to the right, through the east foyer and the

banquet hall before we finally get to the stairs. The others follow along behind as we sweep up the curving staircase, and Tristan starts directing people to their rooms.

The staff follows, loaded up with our bags. It makes me slightly uncomfortable, having other people wait on me, but now that I’m upstairs and looking at the door to Tristan’s bedroom, I forget all about it.

“Come,” he says, dragging me forward and into a sitting room, a study, and finally … his room.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

My eyes immediately go to the black silk coverlet on the bed.

“This isn’t a room, this is a … wow, holy shit, Tristan.” He lets go of my arm and then sweeps over to a liquor cabinet, opening it up with a hidden key that he pulls out from beneath a potted plant. Once again, I’m so struck by the casual way in which he pours alcohol from a glass decanter that I have to shake my head to clear it.

“You like it?” he asks, turning to look at me and offering up a glass.

I look at it for a long, long while, and then shake my head no. Tristan simply smiles, and my back straightens as I hear Lizzie come into the room like she’s been here plenty of times before.

“It hasn’t changed a bit, has it?” she says, taking the alcohol from Tristan’s hand and throwing it back in one go. She leans back against the wall in her denim short-shorts and suspenders, looking casual and cool in a way I’m not sure that I ever will. I’ve sort of just accepted at this point that I’m a little clumsy, a little awkward, and that’s okay.

“William doesn’t like change,” Tristan says, moving over to stand beside Lizzie. I watch them carefully as he leans over and opens the window, letting in the cool, night breeze. It’s so quiet out here, I can’t hear anything but the sounds of the household, a distant owl, and some rustling in the brush that could be a deer or a raccoon.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I start, as Creed joins us next, pulling me into his arms and hugging me close. I shiver, wondering if he’s going to sneak into my room and join me tonight. I’d like that. I’d like it quite a bit. Having only had sex with him twice, I’m more than ready for more. “How is it that your family’s out of money? It looks like you’re doing just fine to me.”

Tristan’s face gets tight as he stares out the window at the pregnant roundness of the moon.

“We have the house, and the yacht, the cars, the businesses … but no cash flow and too much debt. Even if he sold off everything we have, William wouldn’t have enough to keep us out of the hole.” Tristan turns around and nods with his chin in the direction of the liquor cabinet. “Help yourself, Cabot.”

“I always do,” Creed drawls, holding on tight to me.

“Someday soon, a debtor will come calling, all our assets will be seized, and …” Tristan trails off, his eyes going cloudy, and then he just shakes his head, that layer of haughty arrogance crashing over his face in a stone mask. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

The others filter in, and drinks are poured.

We end up downstairs in the movie theater, sitting in a small cluster in the back row. This time, we put on a series of zombie movies, but everyone’s too busy talking to pay much attention.

Tristan, though, seems so far away, and I find that most of my attention is on him … and on the way Lizzie puts her hand over his, giving a small, private, little squeeze.

She’s going to make a move soon, I can feel it. But am I ready for it?

Creed does slip into my room at night, and we spend hours worshipping each other’s bodies. When I get up in the morning, he’s still asleep, so I sneak out and down the stairs to find the kitchen.

True to form, I get lost for about twenty minutes before I find my way into the breakfast room. Tristan’s the only one in there, eating a plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and sipping a cup of coffee. He doesn’t look seventeen-nearly-eighteen right then, more like he’s in his late twenties or early thirties. There’s so much darkness inside of him.

My hands clench in my robe, and I make my way into the room to sit beside him. He looks up briefly, and then reaches over and pulls me into his lap.

“Are you okay?” I ask, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tries to feed me a piece of bacon, which I, of course, accept. His fingers end up brushing my lips, and I shiver as I swallow.

“Fine,” h

e says, but he sounds anything but.