Never Trust a Blackwood.

Ivy's POV

My mother has sent me twelve text messages in the last forty-three minutes, and somehow, not one of them contains the information I actually need.

Mom: Have you landed in the states yet?

Mom: Ivy?

Mom: Your father isn't driving, is he?

Mom: Tell me your father isn't driving tired.

Mom: I know what he's like when he's tired.

Mom: Ivy...

Mom: Answer your mother.

Mom: And don't go to the old house.

Mom: I don't live there anymore.

That one probably should've come first.

I read the last message twice before looking across at Dad. He's driving with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh while the wipers fight a losing battle against the rain. We've been back in Seattle for less than an hour after spending three months travelling through Europe, and somehow my mother has already managed to make me feel like I've missed an entire season of my own life. "Did you know she moved?" I ask.

Dad keeps his eyes on the road. That alone tells me everything I need to know. "Dad."

He sighs. "Define know." he says back and I stare at him. "That is never a good answer." His mouth twitches. "Your mother said she wanted to tell you herself."

"She had three months." I tell him, to which he says "You were busy not picking up her calls to begin with." As if it makes a difference

"I had a phone which was turned on and no, I did not ignore her calls." I sigh which only makes him laugh harder because we both know I was dodging her. "Apparently not, considering she's sent you a dozen messages already."

I unlock my phone again and scroll back through Mum's texts, looking for anything that might explain why she no longer lives in the house she's owned since I was eleven. Nothing. Just reminders to message when we landed, questions about whether I'd remembered my coat and one very dramatic warning not to let Dad drive if he was tired.

"Where am I supposed to go, then?" I ask. Dad nods towards my phone. "She sent an address."

She did. I open it, tap it into the satnav and frown when the route loads.

Bellevue. Of course she would joke ab out that. I look at him again.

"Why does Mum live in Bellevue? Is this a joke or something?" He shrugs and only gives me two words which piss me off more. "Ask her."

"You know." I tell him and that's one thing I do hate about it all. I wasn't exactly a mistake per see but they had a one night stand and still remained friends through out the years. Even when mom dated, he didn't care as long as we were both treated well and the guy was a total sleaze bag that put me in harms way. It was very rare that she dated anyway, she worked a lot and took care of me so when I hit high school, she dated and then she found someone. Someone I have yet to meet and I have a gut feeling it isn't going to go well.

"I know a lot of things." He says and I roll my eyes as I type back my response to her. "You are unbelievably annoying."

"And so are you. You get that from your mother." he says and I nearly laugh. Nearly. Then I notice the way he's trying not to smile, and my suspicion kicks up another level.

Mom has been seeing someone called Alex for almost a year. I know he likes sailing, makes decent coffee and apparently cooks steak so well that my mother once spent eleven minutes describing it to me over the phone. I've never met him. I was busy finishing school, applying for university before I got accepted to Blackthorne and spending most weekends at Dad's, then we left for Europe.

Mom suggested a video call once. I pretended the Wi-Fi was bad. Not because I disliked Alex. I didn't know enough about him to dislike him. I just wasn't interested in being forced through an awkward introduction while Mum watched us both like she was waiting for somebody to perform. If he made her happy, fine. Great, even. I'd meet him when I got home, be polite, ask something boring about sailing and then move into university four days later. That was the plan.Apparently, my mother had other ideas.

Twenty minutes later, the houses start getting ridiculous. Big becomes huge, huge becomes gated, and gated becomes the kind of property where I assume somebody inside owns either a yacht or several politicians. "No," I say when the satnav tells us to turn left. I repeat the single word but Dad does it anyway and follows the road up, "Absolutely not."

He glances at me and says "What?" while I point through the windscreen. "That gate." I say. Black iron stretches between two stone pillars at the entrance to a private road.

There's an intercom, a camera and enough security to make me wonder whether Mom's new boyfriend is secretly in witness protection. "She sent the wrong address." I try to say but Dad ignores me and pulls up. Before I can reach for my phone, the gates start opening. I slowly turn my head towards him. "Why are they opening?" He looks straight ahead. "Probably because we're expected to be here honey." He laughs but even I know that its forced. F*ck!

"Dad."

"Ivy,"

"What do you know?"

"Enough to know I'm staying out of this." he says and I have to bite my tongue before I scream to turn around like a petulant child.

Coward. I laugh despite myself. So he's probably in whiteness protection then.

The driveway feels like it goes on forever. By the time the house comes into view, I'm no longer annoyed. I'm confused. Properly confused. It's enormous. Not flashy in a gold-statue, footballer-mansion kind of way. Worse. Quiet-money enormous. Grey stone, black-framed windows, multiple floors, landscaped grounds and a circular drive with a fountain in the middle because apparently one entrance wasn't dramatic enough. I stare at it. Dad gives a low whistle. "Nice place."

"Shut up." I laugh. I love my dad and when I go to university, I won't see him as often as I would like to but he calls all the time anyway.

"I didn't say anything."

"You and Your face did." He parks near the front steps. I look from the house to him, then back again. "Who the hell is Alex?" I ask, because if my Mom is in trouble then we have to help but but Dad suddenly finds the dashboard very interesting. My stomach drops. "What?"

Again, he says nothing so I forge ahead and use my no b*llsh*t tone he uses with me. "Dad." He winces. That's when it happens. The single worst choice of words he could possibly make. "Your mother's husband seems like a decent guy." Silence. Complete silence.

I turn slowly. "Her what?" Dad closes his eyes for half a second. "I may have phrased that badly."

"No. I think you phrased it very clearly, but I may need you to repeat that and a little slowly for my slow brain today." My phone buzzes in my hand before he can dig himself any deeper.

Mum: We're outside.

I look up. The front door opens and my mother walks out under the covered entrance with a man beside her. She looks exactly like she always does, which somehow makes it worse because I was expecting her to look sad, depressed and probably worse for wear and maybe I could've taken her from here straight away but she looks almost...happy and excited.

She has the same blonde hair, same cream jumper she always wore, same nervous smile she used when she told me she'd accidentally thrown out my favourite boots when I was sixteen and stood on my lipstick that cost a fair bit of money. But what also catches my attention is the man beside her... tall, broad and dressed like he's just walked out of an expensive office. His hand settles at her back. Then she lifts one hand to wave.

A wedding ring.

I stare at it. Then at her. Then at Dad. "You knew she got married?" I ask, feeling a little hurt. He unlocks the doors while also holding my arm slightly with a sad smile. We don't do emotions and I try not to get too hurt but when he says ."Good luck, kid." I find myself tearing up and feeling a little sick.

"You are not leaving me alone for this." I grab his sleeve before he can escape.

He gives me a look that leaves no room for arguments but I'm up for one right now. "I brought you here."

"And now you're getting out of the car." I snap at him.

"Ivy —"

"Get out, with me."

He gets out. Smart choice. The second I step into the rain, Mom starts towards me.

"Hi, sweetheart." I hold up one hand to warn her off for a second to take in my surroundings.

"No." I say quietly and to her credit, she stops.

"You got married?" Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. And then the words come out.

"Surprise?" she says and I laugh, a little bitterly and only once because surely that has to be a joke.

"Mom, a surprise is changing the living room around. Surprise is getting a dog in a midlife crisis. Surprise is booking a holiday. You don't secretly get married while your daughter is in another country and call it a surprise." Dad makes a suspicious noise behind me. I point over my shoulder. "You're next." I snap and that shuts him up and he immediately looks away. Mom rubs her lips together. "It wasn't planned."

"That does not help."

The man beside her steps forward before any arguments can properly start. "I'm Alexander." His voice is calm, which already makes him the bravest person here.

I look at him. "Alex?"

"That's usually what your mother calls me." he says with a smile.

"Right." I shake his hand because none of this is technically his fault, even if he has clearly participated in the crime.

"Nice to finally meet you, I suppose." His mouth twitches. "I was hoping for slightly warmer." he jokes and I find myself twitching to smile.

"Give me ten minutes."

"Fair enough. It's a lot to handle I'm sure." he says and Mom shoots him a look that says he is not supposed to be encouraging me. I like him more immediately. Not enough to forgive either of them, but enough that I don't hate him on sight. Mum steps closer and hugs me before I can stop her. I sigh and hug her back. "I'm still angry." I tell her as I rest my forehead on her shoulder, "I know."

"Very angry."

"I know."

"Dinner is on you." I say which makes them all laugh. "Obviously."

"For a month." She pulls back. "Now you're taking advantage."

The inside of the house is somehow worse. Huge staircase, marble floor, chandelier, rooms disappearing off in every direction. I stop in the entrance and look around. "Mom."

"Don't."

"Did you marry Bruce Wayne?" I ask in awe which makes Alexander laughs so loudly Dad has to cover his mouth. Mom closes her eyes like she regrets every decision that led to my birth. "It's just a house." She says grabbing my bag and putting it on something posh. "It has more square footage than my old school."

Alexander takes one of my cases from Dad and nods towards the stairs. "She said the same thing when she moved in."

"See? He understands."

"Please don't team up with him," she says. "I've been here for four minutes."

"Exactly." Dad follows us into the sitting room looking far too entertained by all of this. I make a mental note to punish him properly later. Right now, I want answers, coffee and preferably proof that my mother hasn't joined a cult.

The story, apparently, is that Mum and Alexander flew to Vancouver three weeks ago for a weekend away and came back married. Six people were there. Dad found out two weeks ago. Mum moved into Alexander's house straight after. This explains why every call I had with her during the last month involved her standing in front of a suspiciously blank wall. Alexander owns an investment company. I don't ask how much money he has because I have functioning eyes. Surprisingly, he's easy to talk to. He doesn't try to act like my new father, doesn't overdo the friendliness and doesn't look offended when I tell him the fountain outside is ridiculous. "I hate the fountain," he says.

"Then why is it there?" I ask which he follows on with "My grandmother liked it."

"How long has she been dead?" Mom nearly chokes on her coffee but Alexander smiles. "Eleven years." He says at the same time my mom says "Ivy!"

But I don't listen. I simply smile and say "You can remove it now."

"I'm starting to see why your mother warned me about you."

Then Mom says, far too casually, "Alexander has a son." I pause with my coffee halfway to my mouth. "Of course he does." She frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means apparently today has levels."

Alexander leans back in his chair, looking entertained again. "He'll be pleased to know you're already thrilled about him."

"How old?"

"Twenty-one." he says and it isn't so bad I guess. Two years older than me.

"Does he live here?" Alexander's expression changes just slightly. Not enough for Mom to notice. Enough for me to because I've been watching him like a hawk.

"Sometimes." That's it? Sometimes. I silently mock in my head.

"That sounds healthy." Mom gives me a warning look as she chastises me. "Ivy."

"What? I didn't say anything" I tell her as I look back at Alexander. "Will I meet him?"

"Eventually." What automatically sets me on edge is that there is No name given. No photo shoved in my face about him being great and achieving so much. No proud-parent speech and that is fine by me. I've had enough family surprises for one day. His mystery son can remain mysterious.

In four days, none of this matters anyway. I'll be at Blackthorne University, living in my dorm trying to remember which building is which and pretending I understand whatever nightmare my timetable turns out to be.

Blackthorne was the one thing I wanted badly enough to obsess over for an entire year. The application, the interview, the acceptance email I read seven times before believing it was real.

It's mine. Not Mom's. Not Dad's. Mine. That matters more than whatever strange new version of family is waiting in this oversized house. I'm not moving here permanently. I'm staying here for a few nights, unpacking just enough to avoid living out of a suitcase, and then I'm gone. His son can come and go from the house whenever he wants. We'll probably nod at each other across a hallway once every Christmas and spend the rest of our lives pretending the word step-sibling means more than it actually does.

Dad leaves a little after six. I walk him outside because suddenly three months together feels far too easy to lose in the space of one afternoon. He hugs me beside the car and tells me not to make Mom's life too difficult. I tell him he's asking of the impossible. "Blackthorne in four days," he says. "You ready?"

"Obviously." I say with the enthusiasm I don't feel. He looks at me for a second, then smiles. "Liar." But I simply hug him to hide my tears.

"Drive safely."

"Shall I avoid the fountains on my drive down?" he asks with humour to try and ease the growing tension and the pain of him actually leaving me alone here.

"That would be a strong start."

He gets into the car, and I stand under the entrance of the house until the taillights disappear past the gates. My phone buzzes less than a minute later.

Dad: I'm proud of you, kid. Go cause problems.

I grin because I don't cause problem, I just find myself entangled in someone else's problems.

Me: Genetics guarantee that I will land in something one day.

His reply is immediate.

Dad: Unfortunately true. Message me every day so I know you're safe and alive.

I pocket my phone before Mom can catch me getting sentimental.

Four days. Then university.

That's what I focus on as I head back inside the house and think of my future.

New room. New people. New life.

I have no interest in my mother's new husband beyond being happy that he seems decent enough for her, and even less interest in the twenty-one-year-old son who apparently treats this place like a hotel. He can stay mysterious. I can stay out of his way. Mom can enjoy her ridiculous new house, Dad can go back to pretending he's a competent driver, and I can finally start the part of my life I've been waiting for. Simple. That's what I tell myself as I follow Mom towards the kitchen with a smile on my face. Simple is good. Simple is exactly what I need. And if I'd known then what was waiting for me at Blackthorne, I probably would've laughed at myself for ever believing I was going to get it.

ROMAN

There are thirteen seats around the table.

Tonight, twelve of them are occupied.

Nobody asks about the empty one.

They know better than to do that.

I sit at the head with my phone facedown beside my hand while Cole, spends the better part of five minutes making the man standing across from us believe they're having a friendly conversation. They're not. That's the thing about Cole. He smiles when he's angry, laughs when he should probably be throwing punches and can convince almost anyone that he's on their side long enough to get exactly what he wants from them.

I've watched professors apologise to him after catching him breaking rules. I've watched women forgive him for things they should've slapped him for, probably stabbed him for. Right now though, I'm watching a twenty-year-old junior make the mistake of thinking Cole's smile means he's getting out o