No one let me in. Her parents and Rosie had gone to the farmer’s market or some shit.

She dropped her backpack by the door and walked over to her dresser, pulling out some fresh clothes. I loved how she was wearing a crop top with the name of a band only she knew and another pair of Daisy Dukes. She looked tan, and a golden necklace was glistening against her soft bronzed skin.

I also liked that she’d called me Vic.

But I didn’t like that she didn’t even look at me when she said it.

“You need to leave,” I said.

“I think that’s my line.” She sighed. “I need to take a shower and fix myself a sandwich. Whatever you need will have to wait until I’m done. Or maybe until I start taking orders from you.”

“I don’t mean leave the house. I mean leave this town, this state, this fucking planet.”

Maybe not the planet. I didn’t want her dead. I just wanted her out of my life.

Help slammed a drawer shut with her hip and squatted down to fish her toothbrush from her backpack. “Let me ask you something. Do you know you’re crazy, or do you see yourself as a sane person? I’m genuinely interested in knowing.”

She waved the toothbrush handle at me, then dumped clothes from her backpack into the laundry basket in one messy heap.

“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars to disappear.”

She rolled her eyes. She thought I was joking. “As tempting as the idea of putting a state or two between us is, I have nowhere to go.”

“Twenty thousand dollars,” I fired back, narrowing my eyes at her. I was going to withdraw the sum from my own account. I doubted my dad would even notice, and if he did, it would still be worth it. I was losing my sanity, fast, because of her.

“No,” she chuckled, resolute. “What the hell makes you think I’d do what you’re asking?”

I figured she wouldn’t just leave because I told her to, so I shrugged and picked up my cell phone, staring at her, blasé.

“I’ll fire your parents, and then you’ll all have to move back to some shithole in Virginia, and poor Rosie—poor fucking Rosie—won’t have access to the nice health care plan my dad is paying for. That’s what makes me think you’ll do what I demand.” I smirked.

Her eyes turned to slits and her lips thinned. She hates me. I hated myself too. For the both of us. But I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. It was too much. She was too much. Maybe because of the way she looked exactly like a younger Jo. Maybe because of how I still wanted to fuck her regardless. It made me hate myself.

“You can’t do that,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gathered her fresh clothes and toothbrush to her chest. She loved her family so much. Especially Rosie. “They work for your parents, not you. They wouldn’t cave to their moody teenage son.” Emilia was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.

“They wouldn’t?” My eyebrows jumped as I feigned surprise. “When’s the last time they even bothered being here? Let’s test your theory. I’ll call my dad right now.”

To everyone else, it seemed like I’d always had Baron Senior by the balls. Even though he was too busy doing the New York-Cabo-wherever-the-fuck-Jo-wanted-to-sunbathe route to actually be a parent, he rarely denied me.

I assumed it was because of the guilt that plagued him from what he’d done to my mom.

“Hey, Dad, it’s me.” I spoke into the phone, swinging my legs up on her bed and crossing my feet at the ankles. I was still wearing my muddy sneakers. My phone was on speaker.

“What do you want, Baron?” There was no mistaking the impatience in his tone.

Help’s mouth opened slightly.

I popped my minty gum in boredom, sighing. “Just so we’re all on the same page, since you guys are barely at the house anymore, am I correct to assume the staff is under my supervision? Meaning I can hire and fire if someone isn’t meeting my needs?”

I heard the splashes of the waves against my father’s yacht—Marie, after my mom—and ice clink in a glass. Scotch was my guess.

“Yes,” he said. “You assume correctly. Why? What’s wrong? Somebody giving you trouble?”

I nodded with a triumphant smile even though he couldn’t see me. She could, though.

Help’s face whitened beneath her golden tan. Upset. Horrified. I was sending her packing at eighteen, with no prospects and no place to go, and I’d threatened to fire her family if she wouldn’t leave.

“No, everything’s good,” I said, still watching her. “Speak soon, Dad.” I hung up on the fucker—he and Jo and Daryl were going to pay, but they were a problem for a different day. I snapped my gaze to meet hers.

She tilted her chin up. The contempt she held for me was rolling off her rigid posture in waves.

The silence was suffocating and so was the idea that I was essentially ruining her life. I was choosing myself over Emilia, my feelings over hers, and it wasn’t noble or honorable, but it was who I was.

“Can I finish out the school year, at least?” she asked so quietly it took me a few seconds to decipher her request. She was perfectly composed. Proud.

Fuck, she was beautiful when she was strong. I was doing the right thing getting rid of her.

I nodded.

“Leave the week after school ends,” I instructed, getting up from her bed. I already missed it. “And it goes without fucking saying that you and Dean are done. This is the second and last time I’m telling—not asking—you to stop this shit. Tell him you’re leaving because you’ve met someone else online. Insist that he never contact you again. One glitch, Emilia, and I promise you, your family won’t just lose this job. I’ll make sure they don’t find another one.”

She didn’t answer, but I knew she got the message. She wasn’t the kind of girl to puss out when it came to her loved ones. Her family was her everything.

When I walked out of the servants’ apartment for the very last time, I asked myself if there was a chance Emilia would ever forgive me.

I wondered how much groveling I’d need to do if I ever wanted to get back in her life.

No. The price was too high. We were done.

But so were she and Dean.

The Present

I WASN’T GONNA DO IT.