Page 37 of Stay Toxic

Oh, no.

15

I know wealthy. Iamwealthy. But it turns out, I don’t know all-out, splashed over the cover of every magazine in the West Coast, show off Thorn Falls wealthy.

The Goltz mansion is more of a palace than a house, and they have an honest-to-god red carpet leading up the stairs, paparazzi going crazy on either side of the landing to catch a glimpse of some of the more famous guests.

I know why within seconds. Mother made a point of shoving pictures at me so I’d know some of the more obscure yet influential faces in the country on sight. I can recognize half of the people around me in a glance, from everything from pop charts, blockbuster movies, to catwalks, but there also are famous authors, scientists, financial titans and genuine royalty.

Honestly, I might be a Cole but the senator made sure I was sheltered most of my life. Part of it might have been for her own reasons, but she very rarely allowed me to frequent my extended family in New York City, and when I am allowed to see my brother, it’s always in private. No one knows who I am. Mother claims it’s for my safety. I actually used to believe it in my youth, and back then, it could very well have been true. But I lost that delusion somewhere in the back of a dark kitchen cupboard. If she cares about my safety, it’s only about keeping me alive long enough for her to get her claws into my share of the family fortune.

“Shall we?” Sebastian says, offering me his arm at the bottom of the steps.

I note Ari barged ahead to catch up with Calla Beaufort.

I wouldn’t have thought these two got along, but of course, Ari could charm the socks off just about anyone.

“Oh, I—” I glance at the photographers.

He doesn’t miss my apprehension. “They’ll have bigger fish to fry tonight.”

Well, he’s right about that.

I let him guide me up the white marble and into the most intimidating hall I’ve ever entered. Clearly, these people don’t want anyone to feel too comfortable in their space.

“I would blame Auntie M’s husband for the whole dramatic thing—his family’s descended from imperial Russian royalty, and let’s just say, they have a fair bit of…flair. But in truth, the house was clearly designed to my aunt’s taste. She loves Greco-Roman antiques.”

“Right. That explains the columns.” At least, I think it explains them. “And statues. And the general feeling of inadequacy from being a mere mortal in a temple to the gods.”

I’m rewarded for actually managing to string a whole sentence together by a smirk. “I’d say you get used to it, but that would be a lie. My aunt and uncle bought the old Rothford house and had it all destroyed and remodeled into this, what, ten years ago? I still shudder every time I walk in here. I love antique culture and aesthetics as general rule too but I couldn’t imagine living in a place quite so much like the Pantheon.”

“Is your house that imposing?” I ask, making him snort now.

“Oh, I think not. I mean, even the Goltzes used to live in an almost-reasonably sized place until they built this…statement.” He might make fun of his family, but he’s clearly very fond of them, from the way he smiles. “Anyway, my family is actually nouveau riche. I know, I know. A crime. We’re part owners of Flawless, and our fortune is in the eight figures, which would barely pay for the flooring of this place.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s more money than most people see in their entire lives. No one needs more.”

“Agreed. I intend to remain highly comfortable yet non-edible the moment the populace inevitably decides to eat the rich. While you, on the other end, are undeniably a snack. Ah, this way.” His hand slides to my naked back, which causes an embarrassing chain reaction, first affecting my brain, then my entire skin, and finally prompting an awareness deep in my core, burning, yearning.

I’m still churning from the simple contact when he stops us in front of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Auntie M.”

“My boy,” the gorgeous woman in a one shoulder, black Grecian dress coos, wrapping an arm around his back and kissing his cheek. “And you must be Hestia.”

Manners, drilled into me from birth, allow me to smile, shake her hand and say, “Tia, please.”

“Then you must call me Marcella. I was so excited to hear Aurelius was bringing a lady with him. Does that mean you won’t disappear after posing for photos for half an hour this time?” she chides him, lifting an eyebrow.

I lose sight of everything around me all over again, because even in its current state, my brain finally fires answers that should have been obvious at me.

Aurelius.

Aurelius.

How many fucking Aureliuses could there be in a damn university campus?

“What’s that pretentious first name, then?”I asked him the day we met, after he asked to be called by his middle name.