This scene was accidentally not included in the first release. It will be re-added in the 3rd edition ebook and 2nd print edition, both paperback and hardback. For everyone else, here it is.

 

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

William's pov

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When I see Arete’s house for the first time, I’m too awestruck to fully process that I’m going to be living here. I can’t imagine why she would rather stay in a tiny dorm than live here. I expected a large house because only a woman with deep pockets would hand me a hundred dollar bill without noticing it’s missing, but that was a gross underestimation. We’re pulling into the driveway of a 1920’s old money estate straight out of The Great Gatsby. The Main Line is so extravagant and beautiful in a way that it doesn’t even feel like we’re still in Philadelphia. Now I understand why Elijah was pressuring her to make this move. I thought his apartment was nice, but this is a major upgrade.

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All of my remaining worldly possessions (including the souvenir shirts Elijah gave me) were shoved into one of his old gym bags, which I held on my lap as he drove me here. When I get out of the truck, the first thing I see is Arete sitting in a black, patent leather swivel chair, watching other people unload her things while she sips at her hard lemonade from a bendy straw. I look closer and notice the purple bendy straw is formed in the shape of a bat, and her cooler is plastered with stickers of Goth band logos and cult films. I’m sure her fans and hate-stalkers would be pleased to know that her real life looks just like one of her Instagram posts, with even the most mundane objects getting the Gothic touch.

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She spins around to wave at us—no, sorry, to wave at Elijah—but does not otherwise budge from her throne. Elijah rushes to embrace her as if he hasn’t seen her in years, and she humors him even though it’s been eight hours at most. For a woman who complains about how he’s always “up her arse,” she basks in his attention like she needs it to survive. Then again, she is an Instagram girl, so it’s not a stretch to guess that attention is her sole source of serotonin. I stand by the truck awkwardly as I wait for them to finish; I don’t have much to unpack myself and, to be blunt, I don’t want to fill my idle time chatting with Elijah or helping him move his overstuffed boxes. I’ve had enough of him this week, and the first thing I’m going to do in that house is find a quiet place where I can tune him out.

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When Elijah’s done with his PDA, she resumes talking to one of the movers. The life slowly drains out of his eyes as she drones on and on about god knows what. When Arete finally shuts her mouth, he nods in response and promptly turns around to accost one of his fellow movers for not carrying her stuff carefully enough. I can’t believe she ordered the poor guy to yell at someone because she couldn’t be bothered to do it herself. Another mover brings her a new hard lemonade and a plate of cheese and crackers, and she points him in my direction. He comes over and asks me, exhausted, if I want any “oar durbs.” I turn down the alcohol but accept the food, feeling somewhat guilty and wondering how much he’s being paid to put up with the bratty wannabe monarch stretching the limits of his job description. He’s been told to come fetch me, apparently.

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Meanwhile, Elijah paid movers to take his stuff over as well, only to end up helping them load and unload the van anyway. The movers assume he’s being considerate, but I’m convinced he’s only helping because he can't surrender any control. He should be occupied with that for a while, so I accept the invitation to sit on a cooler next to Arete while she eye-fucks Elijah’s biceps and runs me through a limited history of the Konstantinou Manor.

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According to Arete, the house is actually a lot newer than the Great Gatsby vibes were letting on, and was commissioned by her father (Georgios Konstantinou) in the late 80’s after the booming success of his business, Konstantinou Enterprises. Her family left Australia “more or less kind of permanently and stuff in, like, 2001, I think.” Before that, they went back and forth a lot. Arete's parents constantly fought over whether they should stay in their much larger mansion in Australia, which was best for “Arete” (actually Simone), or if they should stay in Georgios’ dream mansion. Eventually, Simone won, I assume through the same soul-sucking chastisement that Arete is torturing the movers with. She had to have learned this from someone.

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Even after they moved in “like, 2001,” her father still stayed here on business for half of the year, since “the family business” was founded in Philadelphia alongside his brother, 49% owner Antonis Konstantinou. Her family would stay here during the summer, when it was cold in Melbourne, until Georgios was on his deathbed. Now he's buried alongside his wife in Australia, but this house is almost like a monument to his memory in a way. Most men don’t ever achieve the dream of designing their own space from the ground up with a team of elite architects, but Georgios Konstantinou did, and his imagination rests here. Perhaps that’s why Arete wanted to avoid living here, but I don’t ask because I don't want to sound rude. I don’t know if I can hide how excited I am to live here from this woman who is so unsure about it. The idea of living here is almost worth the anxiety of having my DNA on a dead body… No. Never mind. It comes close though.

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Arete is waiting for her maternal grandparents to ship the rest her things from the other side of the world. My renter’s insurance money has yet to come in as the investigation is still ongoing, but Arete at some point slipped a $100,000 check in my bag without me noticing. The memo says “housewarming gift.” I’m not going to cash it. No amount of cash can make up for being kidnapped and famed for murder, and I don’t want her to think we’re even. We can be friends, but we can never be even.

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By around three o’clock, the movers are finally finished. Though originally anxious, Arete is starting to get excited about the move—she takes Elijah and me on an hour-long tour of the entire estate. It’s all disgustingly lavish—there’s a six-car garage, seven bedrooms, ornate bathrooms, a kitchen as big as Elijah’s whole apartment, a dining room with a crystal chandelier... It makes me dizzy in a way to know that people live like this. I spent my life poor, and all the while people lived in places like these. And now I’m one of them in the blink of an eye. Without a frame of reference, I have no way to guess if I’ll be able to fit in here or if I’ll easily adjust to living in luxury. Because of that, this move is more nerve-wracking than it should be.