Chapter 8
Howell was already plotting. This girl’s a knockout–she’ll be married off in no time.’
Maybe even like him: cranked out a kid every few years, built a whole football team. And those kids? Bound to be gorgeous.
Finally, a way to ditch the family’s streak of single grandkids.
Joanna blinked, totally lost. ‘What’s wrong with these people? Am I not gritty enough? Not small–town enough to get dirty looks? Why are they so weird about me?‘
Simon, meanwhile, looked like he’d been hit by a truck. “You’re my sister? Damn, and I was about to ask you out.”
“Ask out your sister? Boy, you nuts?” Howell gave Simon a playful smack on the head.
Simon sighed, slumping onto the couch, legs crossed. His eyes scanned Joanna, a rare hint of realness in them. ‘Sister, huh…‘
That explained why he felt so drawn to her. ‘Is this what a real family connection feels like?‘ he wondered, something he’d never truly known.
Truth was, Joanna didn’t share a single drop of blood with him.
Somehow, Joanna had Howell and Simon wrapped around her finger without even trying.
She figured she must’ve screwed up somewhere for them to like her so much. Time to dial up the annoying.
‘How could I get them to show me the door?‘ she wondered.
Howell and Simon, who hadn’t had a real father–son talk in ages, were now all buddy–buddy over their new “daughter” and “sister.”
Simon handled her room. “Didn’t see a sister coming, man. She looks like she hasn’t eaten a square meal in forever.
“Growing up in the sticks probably didn’t help–bet that’s why she’s got that nervous, deer–in–the–headlights look. Kinda sweet, though, right? Makes her seem… real.”
“That room on the second floor, left side, has a killer view,” Howell added. “Gets that nice morning sun. Some light’ll perk her up, make her less jumpy.”
Then Howell tackled the food situation. “She’s way too skinny. Gotta be strong for kids someday, right? Can’t have her lookin‘ like a stick. Yo, Matthew! Get some cooks to whip up some hearty grub for her!”
Ariel was steaming. Her face twisted with jealousy, her sleeve torn to shreds in her grip.
“When I showed up, Dad and Simon didn’t do jack for my room!” she hissed. “Joanna’s just here to steal my spotlight! She wants everything that’s mine!”
Samara couldn’t believe it. ‘A country girl like Joanna? What is so special about her to get Howell and Simon acting like this? It isn’t fair to my darling Ariel.
“Sweetie, your dad and brother love you,” she soothed. “Your room’s the biggest in the house. No one’s got a better one, so how can you say they don’t care?”
Ariel wasn’t having it. “No way! There’s that one bigger room. I wanted it, and Dad flipped his lid, told me to get the hell out! He almost kicked me out for real!”
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Chapter 8
Joanna’s ears perked up. Almost kicked her out? Oh, that is perfect.
Samara sighed. “That room was your dad’s first wife’s. The woman he… loved. It’s Joseph and Ryan’s mom’s room. Nobody’s
allowed in there.”
Joanna stashed that info. A chance to cause trouble? She was all in.
The house was hopping as people rushed around, setting things up. Joanna didn’t waste a glance on Ariel’s jealous, pinched
face.
Instead, she wandered up to the second floor, hunting for the forbidden room that might get her booted from the Newburn
estate.
The place was massive–like a freaking mansion. The second floor alone was huge, with soft carpets and walls covered in fancy paintings by big–name artists.
Joanna stopped at one painting. It was pitch black, dotted with hundreds of white specks, big and small.
The black–and–white contrast gave off a heavy, almost hopeless vibe.
It was just a flat canvas, but staring at it felt like falling into a dark hole.
Rumor had it this painting–The Night–was trouble. Folks with depression couldn’t handle it; some said it drove people over the edge.
Others claimed they saw weird stuff, like their dead mom in those white dots.
The painting had been banned, sold off at a shady black–market auction to some unknown buyer.
Joanna tilted her head, studying it. “Huh. Everything else here’s the real deal, but this one’s a fake,” she muttered.
A scoff came from behind her. “You saying that’s a fake? Based on what?”
Joanna shrugged, chill as ever. “Because I painted the real one. I’d know my own work.”
The guy behind her let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
She turned to see a tall dude–six feet, easy–in a baggy white tee splashed with paint and worn jeans.
He looked lanky, with dark circles under his eyes and lips so red they almost looked bloody.
His bloodshot eyes glared at her, his mouth curling into a sneer. “You? Painted that? That’s a laugh. Who the hell are you to diss my idol’s work–or my favorite painting?”
Chapter 91
