“I went to Penn State, remember? Some of us from the team went to parties in Connecticut a few times. The girls were hot enough, but they were these snooty-ass bitches, and the parties were all like…” I made a haughty face, and adopted a shitty fake English accent, “mmmm, yes, quite—that was the general tone of the parties, and the people. And those were just theaveragerich kids. The sense I get from Eva is that she’s from, like,heavyfuckin’ money. This shit is going to be bananas.”
Right on cue, Corin started singing a Gwen Stefani song, until I threw a matchbook at his head to shut him up. “I call Connecticut preppy because there’s not enough bad words in the English language for how I feel about those fuckers. Made me feel like I was shitting all over their Persian rugs just walking through their front door. I mean, yeah, I know statistically there have to be some cool people that come from Connecticut, but shit man, I never met any. And what’s your point about the Thomas story? Yeah, I was there, and yeah I was listening. We think he’s a tool, sure, but she’s marrying him, man. Obviously she feels different.”
“From what she said, and the way she said it…” Corin shrugged. “I really don’t think she’d marry him willy-nilly like this. Not this suddenly. And especially not so soon after being here with you. Some other girl? Sure, it’d just be a hookup for anyone else, but—and correct me if I’m wrong, here—but I get the sense that she wasn’t that type of girl—that’s she’snotthat type of girl.”
“So what, they’re forcing her to marry him?”
“Situations can be more complex than we’re able to see from the outside,” Lucian said. “And you can’t underestimate the influence family can exert on someone, nor the fear of the unknown. That’s all she knows, that world, those people, that life. Who knows what factors are influencing her? You’re not in her shoes, Baxter. Sure, it seems stupid to you, the idea that someone could force a person to marry someone else. But to her, it may not be so stupid or far-fetched.”
Smart kid, for twenty years old.
I sighed. “Dammit. I hate logic.”
“You’d rather sit around and wonder what could have happened? Live your life regretting not doing something?” Corin asked. “Maybe she’s marrying him because she wants to. We could be wrong. Worst that happens, you waste a ticket to Connecticut and she turns you down, tells you to go the hell away. What do you have to lose?”
I twisted the empty glass on one of its bottom edges, shaking my head when Luce asked if I wanted another. “Fuck it. You’re right. Fuck it. What do I have to lose?”
“Don’t waste the time or money on a plane ticket, though,” Lucian said. “Have Brock fly you down.”
I shook my head. “Nah. I gotta do this myself, on my own. I’ll drive down.”
Corin boggled at me. “That’s like…a sixty-hour drive, you goddamn lunatic.”
“Just me, on Xavier’s bike, hauling ass and not stopping except to pee and drink some coffee? I can make it in less.” I stood up and headed for the door to pack a backpack and ask Xavier if I could borrow the Triumph for a few days. “Besides, the drive will give me time to sack up and figure out what I’m gonna say.”
And what I’d do if she said no.
Shit…I’d have to figure out what I’d do if she saidyes.
For that matter, I’d have to figure out what fuckin’ question I was asking her in the first place.
12
Evangeline
Iwasn’tready for this. I was in no way, in no uncertain terms, ready for this. Not even close. I’d already puked twice, and had nothing else to puke up. My mother had offered me champagne, insisting it was just nerves.
It wasn’t nerves—it was horror.
Dread.
Despair.
Resignation.
I was moments from going out that door and walking down the aisle to marry ThomasfuckingHaverton. The man I’d sworn I’d never marry.
God, you cannot imagine the triumph on his face when he’d swept into my dorm room as if he already owned me. I told him that there was literally no chance he’d ever lay a single finger on me,ever, even when we were married, so hopefully he had a mistress lined up already. He’d laughed and tried to grab me, and I’d slapped him, not once, but twice, forehand and then backhand,bam-bam, movie style. It was awesome—Baxter would have heartily approved.
“I’m marrying you against my will,” I’d told Thomas, “but don’t think I’ll ever feel anything for you but hate.”
He’d left without another word. He would still assume he’d be able to win me over, of course, but he’d find out how serious I was.
Maybe I’d find my own…what’s the male version of a mistress? A mister? I don’t know. Someone to please me sexually.
I despaired of that, though, because I knew I’d always compare anyone I ever tried to touch with Baxter, and any man would by virtue of simple reality fallfarshort.
No one could ever compare to Baxter.
