The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Twenty-One

They weren’t big things. They were little. Seemingly inconsequential. Not the kinds of pranks someone over the age of, oh, twelve would actually do.

It started with sand instead of salt.

The night Eric arrived, after the waxing debacle, we were eating dinner on the grand patio next to the west wing of the house. Maybe it happened after Eric had poured me my third glass of Sancerre and winked at me. Maybe it happened when he draped his hand over the back of my chair and traced circles on my shoulder for a solid five minutes while Caitlyn and Nina stared at us, stony-faced, from my other side.

Or maybe it happened when he caught me watching his full lips as he smiled, then snuck another kiss just because he could. Just because there was an audience, I supposed.

At the far end of the table, Celeste de Vries hid a smile behind her napkin and made another comment about my hair.

Eric tugged a strand and said he hoped I dyed it purple next time.

Everyone laughed, but his eyes shone. And my heart gave a big, chest-shaking thump.

I didn’t know what was happening between us anymore. So maybe that was why, when I took a bite of my perfectly seared scallops, I almost didn’t realize that someone had sprinkled sand over the top of them instead of salt.

“Everything all right?” Eric asked. He still hadn’t moved his arm from around my shoulder.

I wanted to ask him why he was touching me like that. We had agreed to be somewhat affectionate around his grandmother so she wouldn’t think this was a complete farce, but he hadn’t stopped touching me all night. Gripping my thigh, caressing my fingers. Some weird door had opened, and Eric was charging through it. But I had no idea where it started. Was there a lock? Had I inadvertently tossed away the key?

His eyes, so gray and deep, seemed sincere in their concern. The mask had dropped again.

I blinked, staring at my food. Took another forkful and examined it. Yeah, that was definitely sand, not salt.

Luckily, pushing one’s $39.99 per pound food around seemed to be a normal habit at this table, so I wasn’t alone in not finishing my plate. I was just probably the only one who had actually wanted to consume all of its contents.

“Don’t give her a hard time, Eric,” Caitlyn called out. “She’s got a wedding to prepare for.”

“I’m fine,” I said as I took a bite of potatoes, which were thankfully sandless.

Eric pressed another kiss to my shoulder and went back to his food. I shivered and stared at mine, unsure of what to do.

“Gordon’s food is so heavy, isn’t it?” Caitlyn said conspiratorially as some of the other serving staff whisked away our still-full plates.

“Gordon?”

She smiled. “The cook, silly. He’s been with the family for years. I swear, the scallops were swimming in so much butter, I’ll have to double my trainer’s hours next week.”

“There was a lot of butter,” I said, more wistful than not. I wouldn’t have minded the butter. All of it.

Was it the kitchen staff? Or the other girls, Nina, and Carly, one of Eric’s second cousins, winking at Caitlyn across the table?

“Everything all right?” Eric asked for the fourth time.

“I…” I started to tell him what I’d eaten, but ended up remaining quiet. I honestly didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to make a fuss. They wouldn’t do this. Not now. Not after I had spent months at this point trying to endear myself to a family that really didn’t seem as given to drama as Eric had described.

Whatever happened with his fiancée seemed like a long time ago now.

“Well, good,” he said as the salad course arrived. “I just hope you’re getting enough to eat. You barely touched the fish, and beurre blanc is one of Gordon’s specialties.”

“Oh, E, be reasonable!” Caitlyn cackled, reaching around my shoulder to touch Eric on the neck.

He grinned. My stomach turned to ice.

“Jane has a wedding to prepare for,” she said. “For my last one, I didn’t eat for a month so I could fit into my dresses.” She winked conspiratorially at me.

On the far end of the giant dining table, Skylar glared at Caitlyn. “How many times have you been married, Caitlyn?” she asked casually.

“Just twice,” Caitlyn said through a thin smile. “Sometimes it takes a moment before you find the right one. Isn’t that right, E?”

Eric shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose.” He took a long drink of his wine.

“It’s too bad your wedding won’t be a quieter affair,” Caitlyn continued as she toyed with her beets. “Since, Jane doesn’t seem to be one of those appearance-driven types. Lucky her. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all lived like that?”

I put my fork down on my plate. What in the hell?

“Actually, Jane’s got a pretty amazing eye,” Eric said. “You should see what she’s done to our apartment, Cait.”

“Is that right?”

Eric nodded whole-heartedly and smiled at me in a way that made my chest bloom. “It’s amazing. She does the same thing with clothes. You know she designs, right?”

Caitlyn looked me over with renewed appraisal. “Really?”

I nodded, somewhat shy. “I do. I made this dress, actually.”

“She made her dress for the party,” Eric continued to brag.

From down the table, I caught Skylar watching him over the rim of her glass as she elbowed Brandon in the side.

Eric just looked at me. “She’s really talented.”

I didn’t even know what Caitlyn said next. All I could see was the way Eric continued to hold my gaze like I was the only person in the room. And the only thing I could think about was the way I couldn’t stop looking back.

A plate of fresh, impossibly green spinach salad was placed in front of me, and the scallops and dresses were forgotten as Eric slipped a hand under the table to clutch my thigh again, his fingers drifting just above the spot he had touched much more intimately only an hour or so before. Unable to help myself, I lay my head on his shoulder, and I thought I could feel his smile against my hair.

“Thanks,” I said, quiet enough that only he could hear.

A brief, but tender kiss was pressed to my forehead.

“Anytime, Lefferts,” he said just as quietly. “I got your back. Don’t forget it.”

I sat up and turned back to my food, relieved to find that there was no sand on my salad.

But when I took a drink of my wine, it suddenly tasted like vinegar.

* * *

The next day,after spending the morning playing croquet with the Crosby-Sterlings, I returned to my room to find that all of my shoes had gone missing. Every single one. The only thing that remained was a crudely drawn map. A treasure map of the sort small children make when they pretend they are pirates. It took a while, but eventually I found them in a pile on the beach, close to a half-mile away. Buried in the sand with a sign over them in clumsy letters that read “X marks the spot.”

“Buried treasure,” I said to Brandon, who had walked with me out to the crime scene. I hadn’t bothered to tell Eric, not wanting him to worry. “You know, like a pirate digging for gold? It’s actually kind of witty.”

Brandon squatted down and helped me dig shoe after shoe out of the dune. Nothing was too severely damaged, though they had been there for hours. I was mostly pissed off that the Jimmy Choos I’d purchased for the engagement party were left by the saltwater for so long. Leather shrinks, you know.

“I’m more concerned that whoever did this thought it was a good prank,” I said as we trudged the shoes back to the house. “It took too long, you know? And the gold digger reference is kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

Brandon didn’t look amused. “Jane, who doesn’t want you here? This isn’t just a prank.”

I looked down at my armful of shoes. “Um…well, how about everyone?” I tried not to sound bitter.

“Celeste seems to like you,” he said. “And I have it on good authority that she pretty much hates everyone.”

“She hates my hair,” I said as we maneuvered around a big driftwood log.

“Yeah, but that’s pretty obviously in a loves-to-hate sort of way.”

I pondered that as we continued past kids flying kites and other people sunbathing on the wide, white beach. Finally, we reached the trail that led back to the house, and Brandon followed me between the grassy dunes.

“It’s just a prank,” I said. “No harm, no foul, right?”

Brandon glanced at me over an armful of shoes. “I think the real concern is why you felt you needed ten pairs of shoes for a weekend getaway.”

I shrugged, clutching my favorite gold strappy sandals to my chest. “A girl has to have options, you know.”

* * *

I had hopedthat would be it, but when I returned to my room, there was another surprise. Brandon and I dropped my shoes in the closet only to find a giant pile of dirt on the bed, along with a shovel. And a note that read, Happy digging.”

Brandon shook his head. All humor had deserted us. “I’m going to get Eric.”

He left, and I didn’t argue as I surveyed the mess. There was at least five pounds of sandy soil in the middle of this pristine bedroom. I glanced around. It wasn’t anywhere else. Not in my closet—all my clothes seemed untouched. And there was no trace of who might have done this. No silly map or drawing. Nothing.

But as I approached the pile, I noticed something peculiar: it gleamed.

“What the hell is that?”

I looked up. “That was quick. Did Brandon find you?”

Eric shook his head as he strode into the room somewhat sweaty, dressed in a white polo and shorts, carrying a tennis racket. Whatever he said, he seemed to be getting back into the groove of family routine more smoothly than he’d initially let on. Tennis whites looked damn good on him. Plus, I saw him at night, fingering the pictures scattered around the house and in our room. There was a part of him that missed being a part of this massive clan after all these years.

But he was still wary. Especially in moments like these.

I stood up, revealing the mess, too preoccupied to notice the way his polo shirt stuck to his body. Sleeping one room away from the man had been nearly impossible last night after our strange interlude.

“What is that?” he asked again, oblivious to my gawking.

“It’s dirt,” I said. “And…” I bent down. “Well, if it’s not gold, it’s supposed to be, mixed in. It’s almost creative, actually. This is better than the shoes. Or the sand. Although now I’m wondering if that sand was supposed to be gold as well. I didn’t look very closely. It might have been camouflaged by the butter.”

“Jane, what are you talking about?”

I sat on the edge of the vanity across from the bed and recounted the pranks of the last twenty-four hours.

“Who did this?” His voice was sharp, demanding. Almost like he blamed it on me.

I shrugged him away. “How would I know? There are about twenty-five people staying in this house right now along with a whole menagerie of children. Honestly, it’s just as possible one of the kids overheard someone else using the term and decided to play a little joke. Haze the newcomer or whatever.”

I looked away, not wanting to show how much that idea hurt. I’d been getting along with the kids here more than anyone else aside from Celeste, thanks to Jenny, my goddaughter. That they would be this cruel felt pretty shitty.

“That still means that someone has been saying those things, Jane,” Eric pointed out. “It’s not okay.”

“Hey.” I reached out and touched a hand to his sleeve. His arm was tense—very tense.

Eric looked down at my hand, then back up at me. And then, before I could stop him, he slipped his hand behind my neck and kissed me, hard and fast. So quickly, that by the time he finished, I had only just registered what was happening as I stumbled back and my legs hit the bed.

“Sorry,” he said as he released me. “I just had to. You’re a brick, Jane,” he uttered. “Fucking amazing.”

He stared at my mouth, like he wanted to do it again. Hell, I wanted him to do it again. That little interlude in the bathroom hadn’t done a damn thing to stifle this utter craving I was dealing with. But we still hadn’t talked about what happened last night. Instead, we’d both fallen into our separate beds with wine-addled good nights. I couldn’t speak for him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for where that conversation might go.

“Eric…”

“I know, I know,” he said, stepping back with a rueful shake of his head. “You gotta give me these moments, Jane. I can’t always be as in control as you.”

I frowned. I was the one in control? Most of the time when he was around, I felt two seconds from spinning out.

“Well, if we’re not going to confront anyone, what do you think about getting out of here for the afternoon?” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “I could use a break from these assholes. You look like you could too. Want to go into town while we have someone clean up this crap?”

Relieved, I nodded. “Oh, hell yes. I’ll meet you in the car in thirty minutes.”

* * *

Eric tooka shower while I pulled on a pair of cutoff shorts, a boatneck striped shirt, and tied my hair up with a red scarf, Bridget Bardot style. With my oversized glasses and a pair of espadrilles, I thought I was making the vintage look work for me in the Hamptons.

Apparently not. As I circled a hedge on my way to wait for Eric near the garage, the voices of several women floated over the roses.

“Mother can’t be serious,” remarked someone I recognized as his aunt Violet. “She’s really going through with a full engagement party? Wedding? The whole nine yards for…that?”

“He seems to like her.” That was Nina. Considering how icy she had been to me for the last month, it was somewhat of a relief to hear that she saw the merit in Eric’s and my charade. Or at least wasn’t overtly hating on it. Perhaps she wasn’t the prank culprit.

“And that atrocious hair,” said Violet. “She looks like a character from that game the grandchildren play. What is it called? Candyland?”

“Violet, we’ve all seen that hair,” put in another woman whose voice I didn’t know. “All of Manhattan has seen that hair for the last two months.”

“Dreadful, isn’t it?”

There was a brief eruption of laughter. My stomach knotted up even more.

“It must be killing Celeste to have had her little game backfire like this,” said the unfamiliar voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Nina, please. She never had any intention of Eric actually marrying that harlot. The entire point was to bring the boy to his knees. Make him beg for a way out. If I know Celeste, she was planning the whole time to trade the five-year contract for a ten without a marriage requirement.”

“I see.” Nina’s voice sounded less than enthusiastic about that idea.

“The sad thing is,” started another voice I knew. Caitlyn Calvert’s cloying, dulcet tones would be recognizable anywhere. “Eric doesn’t realize what marrying someone like that will do to the company. What will the shareholders think of a chairman married on a lark to someone like that? The company is going to lose half its value if he’s even voted in at all. Isn’t that what you and Calvin have been saying, Nina?”

Though I didn’t hear Nina’s response, there was a chorus of agreement.

“Oh, I know,” said someone. “We’ve already asked our broker to sell our shares in DVS.”

“Mark my words. If the two of them are in the style section looking like that, DVS will be bankrupt before next year.”

And so they continued. And with every comment about all the ways I would be the death knell of the shipping dynasty Eric was pledging his life to save, I shrank more into the pink and green roses. The more I looked around the idyllic paradise, the more I felt trapped, like one of Celeste’s pet birds.

I turned toward the parking lot and crept away as quietly as I could. I didn’t want to hear any more, since their words were already sinking like rocks into the pit of my stomach.

Was I really that bad for Eric? Part of my appeal had been my shock value—I knew that. But if I was going to cost him so much, was it really worth sticking it to his family?

I approached the car where Eric stood waiting and greeted him with few words. Suddenly, I was no longer sure I wanted to be a tool for such vengeance—or its backlash.