Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(3)

“Oh, Joclyn,” my mom said, “it’s beautiful.” I didn’t need to have my eyes closed, I could hear the soles of her non-slip shoes squeak against the floor as she danced in joy.

“Mom, don’t...” I pleaded, but I knew it was useless.

“That color... with your hair... Oh, please wear it to dinner tonight, without that darn sweatshirt,” she added. I could feel her tug on the hoodie, but I hung on to it for dear life.

“Mom. No.” My eyes snapped open in my attempt to retort, and I froze. Ryland stood right in front of me, a huge grin on his face. My jaw dropped as my heart went into overdrive.

Ryland LaRue was the son of my mother’s boss. Ry was two years older than me and stood a good head taller. We had been friends since my mother first started this job when I was five, playing together in the kitchen and hiding on the grounds of the estate. Ryland would always be my very best friend, but lately, it was hard to see past his dark, curly hair, crystalline blue eyes and “private school Rugby muscles” without feeling like my heart was getting restarted. This heart-slamming was for a different reason though: he hadn’t seen me wear anything other than a hoodie since I hit puberty. I felt uncomfortable, and Ryland’s appreciative grin wasn’t helping matters much.

Mette and my mother broke out into huge bouts of laughter at their little joke. The look of surprise on my face must have been hysterical. Rather than join along, as part of me wished to, I squeaked and moved to put my hoodie back on. I slid into it as quickly as I could without revealing my scar. I had kept it hidden from Ryland for this long, thanks to Band-Aids and carefully-placed hoods or hair; I didn’t need him seeing it now. It would only give him a reason to run away.

“Ah, come on, Jos... It’s pretty,” Ryland pleaded.

“No,” I spoke as sternly as I could, turning to repeat the word to my mother who was in stitches with Mette against the confection mixer. My mother’s laughter stopped.

“Joclyn, you have to wear it tonight,” she pleaded. “Your grandmother bought you a matching skirt.”

“Skirt?” I gasped. There was no way they were getting me into a skirt. Although, I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that I was trapped. My birthday dinner was the only time of the year I saw my father’s parents. It would break their heart if I said no.

“Ugh. Fine. Fine!” I snapped, ignoring my mother’s look of triumph before rounding on Ryland, one finger pointed into his face. “One word of this to anyone, even mentioning it to me, Ry, and I will kill you.”

“Uh huh,” he laughed, his blue eyes rolling. “What are you going to do, Jos? Hide from me? It does look very pretty on you, you know.”

“Ryland LaRue, so help me...”

“Yeah, yeah, I got ya.” He smiled, grabbing my hand that still pointed in his face. “Come on. I’ll have her back in an hour, Mrs. Despain.”

“Better make it two, Ryland. I don’t need her moping around while I try to get the chicken broiled.” My mother smiled so brightly that I could have almost guessed what was on her mind. More gifts.

“No problem, Mrs. D.”

“Oh, and Joclyn,” my mom’s voice called after us. I turned back to her, halting Ryland’s departure. “Please try to avoid Edmund and Timothy. I think my job has been threatened enough for one week.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. She was always the first to get in trouble over my friendship with Ryland.

I nodded in understanding before Ry pulled me out of the kitchen and into the servants’ quarters. We gained the usual snickers and side-glances as we scampered past the many rooms occupied by the live-in staff, heading to the back corridors that the servants used to move around the massive house.

At first, our friendship had been tolerated by Edmund, but a few years ago that had started to change. For a year or so, it had been labeled unacceptable and then last year, we were told we were not supposed to be friends at all. Ryland had been warned and threatened by his father to stay away from me, while my mother had been under constant “warning” of losing her job. I wasn’t surprised. To King Edmund I was nothing more than a dirty peasant. We probably should have taken it seriously, but Ryland insisted everything was okay, so my mother and I followed his lead.

We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an unusually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly-trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm to move me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.

Timothy Vincent was the Vice President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their millions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved forward quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable, even on his best days.

“Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing.

A deeper gait entered the hall, and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways, Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depths of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as the polar icecaps. They always cut into me with a frigid, poisonous edge that made my insides repulse.