Pretending by Shanna Clayton

Author:Shanna Clayton [Clayton, Shanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Coming of Age, Romance, Contemporary, New Adult & College
Amazon: B00IYDO0RO
Goodreads: 20879074
Published: 2014-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

Everyone in the room is quiet as Francisco explains the details of my dad’s will. I’m listening, but I don’t hear him. The things he’s saying, what my dad wants me to do—it’s too much for me to swallow.

My mom tenses in the chair beside me. No one else apart from me knows her well enough to know she’s barely suppressing her anger. I send her a look to tell her to stay calm. Her face tightens, but she doesn’t say anything.

“So you’re saying he wants me to enroll at the university?” I ask Francisco. My voice sounds as confused as I feel. He’s already explained it once, but I can’t seem to let the information sink in.

“That’s right.” He shuffles a pile of papers together, then pushes them toward me and my mom. “It’s all there in his will. You and Dahlia must remain in Kent House for the term of four years, obtain any bachelor’s degree of your choosing, and then you’ll both stand to inherit the house, Harland’s belongings, and all of the monies in his accounts, which total to approximately four and a half million dollars.”

“Why does he want us to live together?”

I glance across the table at her, examining the girl my dad decided to stick me with. Dressed in all black, she’s sitting there staring out the window, a lifeless look on her face. I don’t think she’s heard a word that’s been said, but then again I haven’t paid attention too much either. I wonder what’s going on in her head. They say my dad’s death didn’t come as a shock. Apparently he’d been sick for months, but the girl looks like she’s in shock. I’m not sure if I buy it—the tear-streaks on her pale face, the sadness in her eyes—who the hell cares that fucking much about my dad? I sure as hell don’t, and I’m the only family he had left.

“Wes? Wesley? Are you listening?”

I look up at Francisco. How long has he been trying to get my attention?

He points to the envelope with my name on it. “I don’t know his reasons, Wes, but I imagine they’re in that letter. Maybe when you read it, you’ll get a better understanding.”

I fling the letter across the room, missing the trashcan by a few inches. “I don’t give a shit about understanding Harland Kent.”

Francisco’s face drops into a pained frown. I immediately feel like an asshole, because Francisco isn’t a bad guy. He’s just doing the job my dad left him to do.

When I look up, I notice I’ve caught the girl’s attention. Her eyes are glued to the envelope I’ve thrown. I hold my breath, wondering if she’s one of those hysterical girls, the kind that burst into tears. God, I don’t think I could fucking handle hearing someone cry right now. All I want to do is bring my dad back to life so I can strangle him for what he’s put my mom through—what he’s continuing to put her through even in death.

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