Page 26 of Even Beneath the Stars

There's a sudden escalation in the high pitch of Finn's squeals that makes me think Xavier just scooped him up or is wrestling with him.

"Yeah, takethat!" Finn yells.

"Turn back, you timid twerps, before I transform you into tadpole tapas!" Xavier bellows. And now they're both laughing, and my hatred for Xavier just melted a tiny bit.

Which, in itself, I hate. I don't want to like him. He's a total jerk to me. A tremendously tyrannical twerp. And entitled and arrogant and self-centred.

But also, really sweet with his little brother. When he isn't spoiling him rotten.

Their easy banter continues as I sort through Finn's winter gear, making sure everything's dry for tomorrow. About thirty minutes later, Finn comes bounding down the hall, looking for me. Solo, thankfully. He wants to do his bedtime stories in the blanket fort we built, so I read him three chapters of Captain Underpants under swaths of silky sheets and fluffy blankets while he giggles and points at all the pictures.

When it's bedtime, he pouts but doesn't argue, which tells me he's extra tired. Either that, or not tired enough for his emotions to disintegrate into a full-on meltdown. Either way, it still takes me almost an hour before he stays in his bed and finally falls asleep. By this time, there's no sign of Xavier. His bedroom door's open now. He’s somewhere in this palatial estate. Or maybe out at another party. Or a salacious brothel. Or whatever rich kids do on the last night of winter break.

Whatever.

The important thing is he’s not here to make me feel like I’m overstepping or invading his space or privacy or being a general thorn in his aristocratic side.

Which means I get to spend the rest of my evening setting up my diorama supplies on a sturdy puzzle table tucked into a semi-private turret nook off the upstairs sitting room.

I settle in, carefully painting rust effects onto a tiny Ferris wheel in my crumbling dystopian amusement park overtaken by nature. And I let the details—tiny cracks, streaks of age, the slow takeover of vines—push away thoughts of shirtless rich boys and their stunning companions.

And the way they make their little brother laugh when they think no one’s listening.

Chapter Ten

Maggie

The next morning, I follow a bouncing Finn down the stairs, his backpack thumping against his spine with each hop-step. The scent of butter and herbs draws us to the boy's kitchen, where we find Denise perched on a gold stool at the island tapping away on her laptop while Candice works her magic at the stove. Candice is the chef mostly responsible for the boy's meals.

"Hi Candy." Finn scrambles onto a barstool.

"Good morning, my little sugar snap." Candice smiles, light brown waves framing her full face. She winks at me. "Morning Maggie. Coffee's fresh."

I pour myself a cup while Finn settles next to Denise, who looks up from her computer and asks how we both slept. I tell her the pillows in this place are a life changer, and she and Candice both laugh.

"Is it pancake day?" Finn asks, swinging his legs and accidentally kicking the island.

"Next best thing, little man," Candice tells him. "omelets with the fancy cheese you love."

Finn's face lights up. "The stinky one?"

"Gruyere." Candice slides a child-sized omelet onto his plate.

I hover awkwardly, still not used to having someone cook for me. "Can I help with anything?"

"Sit. Eat." Candice points her spatula at an empty stool. "That's an order. Can't have you running on empty."

I obey, sliding onto a stool next to Finn, even though being waited on feels weird.

Denise runs through Finn’s after-school schedule while I cut into my omelet, the cheese stretching in perfect strings. She and Candice chat about some big lunch Barron is hosting today—presumably in the elusive East Wing.

Ten minutes later, Xavier appears, damp-haired, in worn jeans and a navy hoodie. He runs a hand through his hair, fist-bumps Finn on his way to the coffee machine, mumbling good mornings to everyone but me. Although his gaze does flick over mine for half a second before shifting to the counter. "Something smells amazing," he tells Candice, taking a long pull of coffee.

She smiles. "Thanks sunshine. For a minute there I was worried you'd sleep through your favorite breakfast."

He takes another sip from his mug. "Went for a bike ride on the trails."

I’m guessing a fat-tire bike, unless he somehow mastered riding through two feet of snow.

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