The Aristocrat

They call it recipe for disaster

Saturday 21st

The whole way back to mine, Asher and I stayed close. A slither of a gap sat between our legs in the back seat of the taxi, our forearms pressed together and occasionally our hands brushing against each other's. We angled our heads towards the windows, except for the every few seconds when I would inch my eyes a fraction sideways till I could see him. He'd done the same a couple of times, I'd noticed through the thick silence and darkened back seat.

We didn't dare speak, there wasn't much left to say after our confrontation at Hugo's party. That and our kiss had practically altered me speechless. Enough so that even when we got out the taxi and walked through the lobby of the hotel, we still never said a word. It was only when we hit top floor that he finally broke the brooding silence.

"Is anyone home?" Asher asked me as I slid in my keys and inched open the door. We both stepped forward, cautiously treading forward into the dimly lit entryway. I barely looked sideways to him as I softly put my keys and clutch onto the side table and kicked my heels off to the side.

"I'm not sure," I told him, my eyes running up and down the hallway for traces of my mother. Nothing of hers was out, no bag, no shoes, no coat. But that didn't mean she wasn't home.

Slow and hesitant I crept through our apartment, looking ahead to the living room which I couldn't yet see into. Asher followed behind me till I stopped and he did so too.

"I'll just check," I told him, briefly glancing at him with a reassuring smile, "Wait here?"

Asher nodded, fixing himself to the spot as I began to move forward again in the direction of our living room. From inside the soft chatter of voices reached my ears and I walked in slowly with the expectation of my mother and Mr. Young inside. But it wasn't them.

It was my brother and Grace, stretched out comfortably together on one our lounge sofas. Oliver propped his back on the arm of the sofa, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Cuddled into his side, Grace relaxed back, a drink of wine in one hand and laughter bubbling out her mouth.

The scene wouldn't have disturbed me so much if it weren't for the two-other people sat in the room with them. Positioned on the other sofa, opposite my brother and his girlfriend, was Isaac and Andrew. Each slung back into one side of the sofa, they laughed along, a drink in their hands too.

Isaac, comfortable in a pair of jeans and a hoodie I remembered from his days at school, noticed me first. He was cut off mid laugh as his eyes took me in, stood awkwardly in the entryway of the living room.

"Andra," he said notifying the rest of the rest of my appearance. Everyone else on que took their attention away from their conversation and looked to me.

"Hey," Oliver chimed the second he noticed me, a grin slung across his lips. By the glossy glint of his pupils and multiple empty bottle on the glass coffee table, I took it that he was once again a little buzzed, "You're back."

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat with a rough and abrupt cough. With hesitance I took another step into the room and smiled stiffly in the direction of Isaac and then Andrew.

"Andra," Grace managed to, as soberly as she could, say my name and take me in, "You look so pretty."

"Thank you," I uttered through a feigned tilt of my lips. I looked to my brother then, a confused arch to my brows, "How comes you're here?"

"We're having our own little party," Oliver told me, stretching out his arm and exaggeratively motioning towards the array of beer and wine bottles laid out of the table. I noticed the lack of coasters beneath them and thought to myself of all the ways mum would disapprove of their 'party',