Page 68 of The Ruling Class
Vivvie looked from Henry to me. “Tess?”
Vivvie trusted Ivy—and sheneededto trust someone.
“Henry,” I bit out. “A word?”
We retreated slightly from the group. “Vivvie’s been through hell, and right now, Ivy is the one person she is counting on to make this right.” I willed Henry to hear me. “You can’t take that away from her.”
“Vivvie didn’t come to your sister for help on this.” Henry’s tone was unapologetic. “When she saw that article in the paper, she came toyou.”
I swallowed, trying not to feel the weight of that. “She trusts Ivy.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t.”
I took a step closer to him. “This isn’t about whatever unforgivable sin my sister committed to get on your bad side—”
Henry closed what little space remained between us. “My father didn’t die in a car accident.” Henry lowered his voice, whispering those words directly into my right ear, his lips brushing against the side of my face as he did. “He killed himself, and my grandfather hired your sister to cover it up.”
I froze. I’d read articles about Henry’s dad’s death. Hisaccident.
“Your sister staged the wreck,” Henry continued. “She greased the right palms, and she put out the right story. My mother doesn’t know.” Henry was still so close that I could feel his breath against the side of my face. “I wasn’t supposed to know, either. But I do, Tess.I know.”
I thought about what it must have been like to carry a secret like that, to watch his family mourning his father, knowing that the man had taken his own life.
“I get up every day, and I lie to everyone I care about in this world. I don’t get to be angry. I don’t get to ask why. I’m complicit. She made me complicit.”
He had a problem, I’d said to Ivy, of Theo Marquette.You fixed it.Her reply had beenSomething like that.
“I told you,” Henry said, taking a step back. “Fixers are experts at covering things up. Your sister’s practically an artist.”
Vivvie’s father’s suicide hadn’t made the papers.
“Whatever Ivy did,” I said, my throat tightening around the words until I thought I wouldn’t be able to get them out, “your grandfather was the one who hired her to do it.”
How could he hate Ivy and not the old man?
Because it’s easier. Because he’d just lost his father. Because he needed someone to blame.
“My grandfather and I never discussed it,” Henry said tersely. “And now we never will.”
CHAPTER 42
I made it through the rest of my classes like a sleepwalker drifting blindly down a hall. My mind was a mess, tangled with questions I didn’t want to ask and thoughts I couldn’t banish.
The photo. The gala. The president moving toward nominating Pierce. Ivy.
Five minutes into my last class, I was called to the headmaster’s office. If I’d done anything to deserve his attention, I wasn’t sure what it was. I half prepared myself for this to be another round of John Thomas Wilcox Tries to Get Tess’s Locker Searched, but I couldn’t bring myself to really care about John Thomas or Headmaster Raleigh or my continued enrollment at Hardwicke.
“Tess, dear.” Mrs. Perkins greeted me with a smile. “They’re waiting for you. Go right on in.”
They?I barely had time to process that before the door to the headmaster’s office opened, and Headmaster Raleigh stepped out. “Tess,” he said. “Excellent.”
Excellent?That wasn’t exactly a response I’d ever provoked from the man.
“Come in, come in,” he said. The moment I stepped into his office, I realized why the headmaster had changed his tune.
“Tess.” Georgia Nolan greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I stiffened. In the corner of the room, a Secret Service agent looked on, his expressionless face never wavering. “I am sorry for surprising you,” Georgia continued, “but I was scheduled to meet with Headmaster Raleigh about the upcoming Hardwicke auction, and I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.” She squeezed my arm. “You had a bit of an upset last week.”
I cast a glance at the headmaster, who seemed altogether pleased with himself for being able to accommodate the First Lady’s request. He probably would have tied me up with a little bow if he’d thought there was a chance of ingratiating himself further.
