Page 19 of Hell to Pay

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lilah. Aren’t you a pretty thing! Do come in.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever met someone so… perky. It was nice, sweet, but also, well, a lot. And so unlike quiet, thoughtful Jude.

We entered the house and I tried not to stare at the winding staircase leading to the second floor, the chandelier dripping with crystals, an obviously antique console table by the door. It was the most extravagant house I’d ever been in, so diametrically opposed to the warm, modern mountain house Jude had helped design that it was hard to imagine he could have come from so different a place.

We took off our jackets and Jude’s mom led us down a long hall that seemed to travel the length of the house.

“Why don’t you go talk to your dad?” Mary told Jude outside a set of closed double doors. “He’s with Luke in the den. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked her.

“Oh no! But thank you for asking! You go enjoy yourself with the boys.”

The boys? I felt like I’d fallen into an episode of that 50s show my mom liked.Leave It to Beaver, I think it was called?

Except I didn’t think the family in the show was rich.

I thought I heard Jude sigh in the moment before he took my hand and opened the doors.

We stepped into a large cozy room with wood paneling — the kind I’d seen in pictures of old mansions, not the kind I’d seen in old basement rec rooms — and dark green walls. An older man sat in a chair near the fireplace where flames crackled softly. Across from him a younger man sat on a leather sofa.

“Speak of the devil,” the younger man said.

He flashed a strained version of Jude’s smile, but that was where the resemblance ended. Jude had obviously inherited his fair hair from his mother, but his brother had the same dark hair as their father, although the older man’s hair was threaded with gray.

Where Jude’s features were sharp, with high cheekbones and a cut jaw, his brother’s were soft, bordering on doughy. I noticed the drink in his hand and wondered if he was a heavy drinker. He had that look about him: spoiled frat boy already on his way to alcoholism.

I shut the thought down. I wasn’t being fair. I didn’t know Jude’s family.

The older man got to his feet but Jude’s brother stayed put.

Jude’s dad extended his hand. “Good to see you, son.”

Jude shook his hand. “You too.” He turned to me. “This is Lilah. Lilah, my dad, Richard, and my brother, Luke."

Jude’s dad glanced at me for about two seconds before he gave me a bland, disinterested smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Lilah. Welcome to our home.”

Our handshake made me feel like I was on a job interview.

“Thank you for having me. It’s beautiful.” I looked at Luke. “It’s nice to meet you.

He looked me over slowly from head to toe and I felt my skin crawl, my fingers itch for my knife. I tried to tell myself it didn’t mean anything, that I always felt better when I had my knife, but the truth was the guy gave me the creeps.

“You too, Lilah. That’s such a pretty name.”

I swallowed my annoyance. “Thanks.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Jude’s dad asked.

“No, thank you.” I’d had fun with the wine in Greece, but I doubted I’d ever be a regular drinker. The fact that the current situation felt mildly unsafe despite the traditional environment — that the only thing that made me feel safe was Jude, one of the perpetrators of my high-school trauma — was something I didn’t have time to analyze.

“I’m good,” Jude said.

I wouldn’t say I was surprised that Jude declined the drink, but it did make me realize something I hadn’t noticed before: the Bastards weren’t big drinkers either.

“Have a seat,” Jude’s dad said.

I was grateful when he put himself between me and his brother.

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