Marrying Her Off

I stared out the car window, my forehead resting against the cool glass as we cruised through Rosewood. Everything looked exactly like the brochures-neatly trimmed lawns, pristine sidewalks, and smiling neighbors waving at each other like they lived in some perfect bubble. A bubble I wasn't ready to be part of.

"This is exciting, isn't it?" Mom's voice broke into my thoughts, her tone overly cheerful. "A new town, a new school... and a new family. We're really lucky, Charlotte."

I pressed my lips together, watching the blur of houses roll past. *Lucky.* That wasn't the word I'd use. Uprooted? Displaced? Totally out of place? Yeah, those fit better.

"It's a big adjustment," she added after my silence, glancing over with that tight smile she'd worn ever since marrying Richard Burn six weeks ago. "But Patrick's a good kid. You'll see. It'll be nice having someone your age around."

I nearly snorted. Patrick Burn. My new stepbrother. I hadn't forgotten how he barely looked at me at the wedding-just a quick glance and a clipped "hey" before disappearing into the crowd. From what I gathered in whispered conversations and curious Facebook stalking, Patrick was the town golden boy. Star basketball player. Honor roll student. Everyone's favorite crush.

And, apparently, my new roommate.

My stomach twisted as we pulled into the driveway of a sprawling stone house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. It looked like something straight out of a magazine-towering windows, polished landscaping, and a front porch big enough to host a party. I stepped out of the car, gripping my phone like a lifeline as I stared up at the place.

"This is home now," Mom said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be great."

I nodded wordlessly, though my heart thudded with nerves. I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk, the wheels bumping over the cobblestone path as we headed to the door.

And then, as if summoned by my worst fears, the door swung open.

Patrick stood there, one hand gripping the doorframe, the other holding a water bottle. He was dressed in a fitted gray T-shirt and black athletic shorts, earbuds dangling around his neck. His dark hair was tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed-or maybe just didn't care enough to fix it. His eyes, a piercing shade of stormy gray, landed on me and stayed there a moment too long.

"Finally," he said flatly, stepping aside to let us in.

Mom breezed past him, either ignoring the tension or oblivious to it entirely. "Patrick, sweetheart, thanks for opening the door. We hit a bit of traffic."

He gave her a small nod, then turned his attention back to me. I tried to meet his gaze, tried to muster up something casual, but my throat felt dry.

"Hey," I said, my voice thinner than I wanted.

"Hey," he echoed, eyes unreadable.

And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving me standing there, suitcase in hand, feeling completely and utterly unwelcome.

I stepped into the foyer, taking it all in. The house was massive. High ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors, an open staircase that looked like it belonged in a mansion. A crystal chandelier hung above us, glittering as sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"It's... huge," I said quietly, dragging my suitcase across the polished floor.

Mom smiled, her eyes bright with excitement. "Richard's done well for himself. It's a beautiful home, isn't it?"

Beautiful, sure. But it didn't feel like mine.

Patrick's footsteps thudded on the stairs as he disappeared upstairs, not sparing me a second glance. I let out a slow breath, staring after him.

"He's just... shy," Mom said, following my gaze. "It's an adjustment for him too."

"Yeah," I muttered, not buying it for a second.

Richard appeared then, all smiles and warmth as he hugged Mom and shook my hand like we were meeting for the first time. He launched into a tour of the house-showing us the sprawling kitchen, the sunlit living room, and finally leading me upstairs to my new room.

"This one's yours, Charlotte," he said, pushing open the door to a space that looked straight out of a catalog. Crisp white walls, a queen-sized bed with fluffy pillows, a desk by the window overlooking the backyard. It was perfect in every way.

Except... it wasn't home.

"Wow," I managed, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you like it," Richard said, patting my shoulder awkwardly before excusing himself. "Dinner at six, okay? Settle in."

The door clicked shut behind him, and I exhaled, collapsing onto the bed. My fingers dug into the soft comforter as I stared up at the ceiling, my mind racing. This was my life now-a new house, a new town, a new school. And a new stepbrother who clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

I unpacked slowly, hanging clothes in the massive walk-in closet and stacking my books on the desk. I was halfway through when a knock sounded on my door. Before I could answer, Patrick pushed it open, leaning against the frame with that same guarded expression.

"I figured you might want to know... your room's right across from mine," he said, jerking his thumb down the hall.

My heart skipped. "Oh. Okay."

We stared at each other in silence, the air thick with something I couldn't quite name. He ran a hand through his messy hair, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Look," he said finally, his tone low and deliberate. "Let's just keep out of each other's way, yeah? I've got my life, you've got yours. No drama."

My throat tightened. "Sure. No problem."

He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say more, then pushed off the doorframe and disappeared down the hall, his door shutting with a soft *click*.

I sank onto my bed, my heart pounding for reasons I didn't fully understand. This was going to be... interesting.

---

Dinner was an awkward affair. Richard chatted about his latest business deal, Mom smiled like everything was perfect, and Patrick... Patrick barely spoke a word, shoveling food onto his plate without looking at me.

"So, Charlotte," Richard said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "You'll be starting at Rosewood High on Monday, right? Patrick's in your grade. I'm sure he'll show you around."

Patrick's fork clattered against his plate. He looked up, his eyes locking with mine, something sharp flashing in them.

"Yeah," he said flatly. "Sure."