I don’t have enough time to wash and style my hair, so I settle a quick shower and throw my hair into a ponytail. Thank God for online tutorials, because a five-minute “hair hack” lets me add a little bit of style to it, and I freshen up my makeup. Anytime I’m annoyed, irritable, or angry, I tend to go a little heavy on the eye products, apparently embracing my inner Emo, so I clean up the under-eye area until it looks more like an evening look and less like I’m going to a rock concert.
You’d think Blythe would be happy to see me comply with her dress code, but I’m greeted with a frown when I go back downstairs. She’s waiting with my dad in the foyer, and the look morphs into an all-out scowl when he pays me a compliment. I try to ignore it and take my car keys out of my clutch, already desperate for some space, but Dad insists the three of us go to the country club “together.” He says it’s so that we can spend some time catching up, but that’s kind of hard to do when Blythe dominates the conversation.
Thank God the ride isn’t long, but she still talks for eighty percent of the trip. The remaining twenty is just my dad encouraging me to answer, only to have Blythe interrupt before I can get more than a sentence out. Again, you’d think this would raise a red flag with my dad, because Stepmommy Dearest doesn’t ever do this to anyone exceptme, but when I’ve tried pointing it out, he just blames it on “stress” and that he’s sure“she’s not doing it on purpose.” By the time we pull up to the country club’s front entrance, I’m about ready to hurl myself from the vehicle.
The second it comes to a stop, I open the back door and climb out, despite us not having pulled up directly in front. There are still a handful of cars waiting for the valet, but there’s no way in hell I’m sitting around listening to Blythe for longer than necessary. My excuse is that I need fresh air, which sounds about as believable as a flying pig since it’s over ninety degrees with the heat index.
But I don’t care. I’m just happy to rid myself of my stepmother, even if it’s only a short reprieve. Heading through the front doors, however, makes me immediately regret my decision.
Because I spot Patrick Bouchard, a.k.a. Prince of the Untouchables and Trent’s right-hand man. If he’s here, it’s pretty much a guarantee another member isn’t too far away. Since his sister is in Brazil, that only leaves the terrible twosome, and I’m not going to hang around long enough to find out whether it’s Trent or Sienna. Waiting for my dad and stepmom in the foyer would expose me to the traditions lounge where Patrick is currently yucking it up with one of Dad’s golf buddies.
I have no idea if my brother is here yet, or who the heck the Comptons are, or who else is supposed to be joining us for dinner, but I’ll take my chances introducing myself to a table of strangers. I more or less speed walk down the hallway to the restaurant, not caring that I don’t even know what name the reservation was made under.
Thankfully, I don’t need to, because my brother flags me down as soon as I step inside The Riverside Restaurant. Not so thankfully, he’s sitting at one of the larger tables reserved for a dozen guests…with an identical table pushed up beside it,making our little dinner into a monstrously long party that spans a good section of the room.
I’ve never understood doing this. Once you’re seated, you can’t talk to at least half of the other attendees, but that might play out in my favor. The fewer people I have to talk to means, the fewer opportunities I have to make some kind of faux pas. I join Derek at the end of the long makeshift table, lessening those numbers even more. Small victories.
Despite my brother being an extrovert, he’s not too fond of the company Dad and Blythe keep, so it’s obvious he wants to limit his and Lauren’s own social interactions tonight. I see a couple of people from my periphery approaching, and a few seconds later, my sister rounds the table and sits on the other end. I assume the guy coming over to us is one of Blythe’s other guests, but after sharing a quick “hello” and “congratulations” with my brother, the stranger extends his hand to me in greeting.
I find myself blinking several times, trying to digest the words he’s just said, because they make absolutely no sense.
Because he introduces himself as Vanessa’sboyfriend.
It’s not that my sister is averse to dating or anything. It’s just that Vanessa has a type. And Luke, here, isn’t it. Not even remotely. Every guy Vanessa has dated or even been crushing on is always tall, slender, and rated high on the “pretty boy” spectrum. So color me surprised to see Luke is a couple inches shy of six feet with a handsome face tipping heavily into the “rugged, tough guy” territory. Even with the casual dress clothes covering his body, they can’t conceal the blatant muscles underneath. Yeah, the guy is much less Timothée Chalamet and more MMA fighter, with a physique that screams, “I can break every bone in your body!”
Unlike Vanessa, who acts like I’m not here, Luke is cordial and offers me a smile before heading over to his girlfriend.
I steal a glance at Derek who just shrugs, looking as confused by the pairing as I am. The two play basketball together once a week through a men’s park district league, and as far as Derek can tell, Luke’s a really nice, normal guy, save for the fact that his father founded some multi-billion dollar software company back in the day.
Which is all the more befuddling.
Vanessa likes the “cultured” type, who goes to the ballet, speaks French, and has been to The Pinacoteca di Brera. That kind of man would never dare venture anywhere near the south end of town, too disgusted by the “decadent Philistines” running amuck. Instead, Derek mentions that Luke is a regular at Castelli’s and knows Nico.
My brain is apparently too busy trying to compute these details that I don’t notice Blythe is here until her voice comes from directly behind me. And like the jittery mess that I am, I jump and whirl around with a look that says I expect to see her brandishing a steak knife at me.
Blythe offers a cold smile, evidently trying not to roll her eyes as she starts literally shooing Derek and me down the table. She does the same to Vanessa and Luke, insisting we all sit in the center so that everyone has a better chance of speaking with us.
Because of course.
Derek and Luke make a good show of it, but my sister and I pretty much drag our feet until we reach the middle, where Blythe rearranges our seating placements. Derek is forced to the other side of the table beside our father and Lauren (whenever she arrives), and Vanessa and I are made to sit next to each other while Blythe takes the other seat beside our dad.
To pour salt into the wound, our stepmom side-eyes me as she mutters something to Vanessa about my dress, and my sister simply shrugs.
The exchange is more than a little weird, and by Blythe’s expression, it’s obvious she isn’t the one who lent me what I’m wearing. I want to thank Vanessa, but she won’t even look in my direction and appears all too relieved when the Comptons, a couple in their late forties, arrive. A few minutes later, some more of Blythe’s friends and their husbands join us, and I just keep praying someone will take the free seat next to me before the remaining party members arrive. Or ratheronein particular, but my plea goes unanswered as I spot Lauren, already knowing who will be strolling in behind her.
“Sorry,” she says under her breath to my brother as she takes the seat beside him. “My car was acting up again. Is Jase here?”
The tightness in my chest eases as Derek shakes his head, and she sighs, looking at her watch. Jase isn’t technically late yet, but with the way Blythe is stealing continual glances at the restaurant’s entrance, the two are obviously both nervous about him showing up, albeit for different reasons.
“I saw his bike in the lot. He’s probably at the bar,” Derek reassures her.
Lauren whispers something I can’t hear, and he reaches over to plant a kiss on her cheek before getting up from his seat, no doubt to look for the jackass.
I’m too preoccupied looking around the room, expecting to see Jase in the crowds, that I don’t realizewhotakes the available chair beside me. Not until I settle back in my seat do I see the person, and my instincts are shitty at best. I immediately anticipate seeing Jase’s smug smile beaming back at me.
Only…it’s not.
I’m very much receivingthatlook, but it sure as heck isn’t from Jase.
