'she's kook fuckin' royalty, man.'
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a lot of things go unnoticed in the outer banks. things like missing millions in gold, underage drinking, and the bruises that litter the skin of the kook princess.
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( fuck you, john b )
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JOSEPHINE CAVENDISH, NÉE BEAUCHAMP, HAD BEEN A DEBUTANTE.
Introduced to high society and promised to her future husband at the age of sixteen, she had always been perfect. She was married by twenty two, pregnant by twenty three.
She had always been perfect, until she had a daughter at twenty four.
A daughter who was spoiled rotten and named after her mother's alma mater, a daughter who was trained to follow in her mother's footsteps, to be soft-spoken and well-mannered. People had always said that Lucy took after her mother. Her parents had been overjoyed when she was born, a beautiful, golden-haired older sister for their son who was sure to follow.
Of course, no one was to know that a miscarriage would come next, and then three failed rounds of IVF. No one was to know that Lucinda Cavendish's birth spelled the end of their family tree.
Josephine and Nicholas Cavendish had done what most wealthy people did with their failures, and adopted a fierce policy of out of sight, out of mind, otherwise known as throwing money at the problem.
She had been fourteen when she was sent to boarding school, a prestigious one, near Chapel Hill.
It had been Lucy's first time away from home for longer than two months, and she was terrified. However, she had reconciled herself to the fact that this was her chance to live like Serena Van Der Woodsen. She may not have been an Upper East Sider, but she was a Kook from the Outer Banks, and having a holiday house in the Bahamas was certainly enough to earn her some friends.
Her parents had barely said goodbye.
"Lucinda?" Her mother's voice echoed up the stairs. Lucy had forgotten just how much she hated this house. Screw you, Agatha. If it wasn't for the storm, Lucy would have been at Tannyhill, or the beach, or at least with Sarah. But no. That bitch of a hurricane had forced her back into the family fold. "Come downstairs, please."
With a groan, she peeled herself out of her sheets, sticky with the humidity that filled the air as Agatha moved closer. The rain had started an hour ago, lashing against their windows in sheets. She treaded down the stairs, a hand draped over the bannister.
Her mother was standing at the bottom, looking up at her as she descended, arms folded neatly over her chest. Her mother never had a hair out of place, all manicured elegance that never budged, not even for her daughter. Lucy stopped two stairs above her. She did not want to lose the high ground.
"I need you to make sure Sirius is tied up," her mother said, shooting a glance over her shoulder to where the white yacht was tossing in the roiling water, barely visible through the rain.
"The storm's already here," Lucy replied, "And you want me to go check knots?"
"Well, I had John Routledge do it earlier, but yes, I'd like you to check." The words her mother left unspoken hung heavy. She didn't trust a Pogue, not even for her dirty work. Her parents had always been more attuned to the socio-economic divides of Kildare.
"You can trust John," Lucy said, exasperated, "He tied up the Druthers, and Ward's not complaining. Look at the rain out there, mom." Her mother lifted her thumb and forefinger, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was an all-too-familiar sight for Lucy. Her mother's frustration. Lucy knew that any attempts to protest her mother's desires were futile.
"Lucinda, please." Her mother's voice was soft, but not pleading. Strict and structured as ever.
"Fine."
That was the extent of their conversation. A few brief words.
Lucy trudged outside, mumbling to herself all the while. She grabbed her raincoat from the closet by the door, drawing the hood tightly around her head. Her sneakers already well-worn enough to deal with the mud, though she felt that pyjama shorts and a white top really wasn't the right attire.
John Booker Routledge had done the knots on the Sirius just that morning, and Lucy knew that not a single one would be loose. He might've been a Pogue, but he was useful. Going out to check them seemed a pointless task, and likely a thankless one too. He'd been helping with the Cavendish boat as long as he'd been helping the Camerons, but Lucy had only ever met him once. Lucy had been watching from the poolside when he'd tripped over the bowline tying Sirius to their jetty, and she'd laughed at him, earning only a salute in response.
"You okay?"
"Never better!"
He'd been bright red, though. No one liked messing up in front of royalty,
The planks of that same jetty were slick with rain as she walked over them now, bending down to check the lines were still tied fast to their moorings. She crouched, grabbing the now wet ropes with her hands, the smooth skin unused to tying knots. Granted, she was perfectly capable of tying a boat to a dock, but she never really had to. They had people for that.
A noise rumbled through the marina, and Lucy glanced up. That was enough for a gust of wind to blow her hood off her head. Still, she fought to see past the rain. There was a boat heading in the direction of the sea — a fucking Grady-White, no less. The same make as her father's fishing boat, just a bit newer. Her parents would be fuming if they saw that. Heavens forbid they didn't have the newest yacht in Kildare County.
Lucy shook her head, shaking the raindrops from where they had settled on her face, and the steady grumbling of the boat's engines was drowned out by the whistling of the wind. The stark white of it was gone, erased by the sheets of falling rain. Whoever was in that boat must've had a death wish.
She coughed and spluttered as the rain ran down her back, her blonde curls falling sticky and matted to the back of her neck. The flimsy fabric she wore seemed useless as it clung to her body, and she pushed the mystery boat to the back of her mind as she set herself to the task of checking the knots.
