Page 45 of Little Do You Know

“Nothing.” I slide into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. “Why?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Because you look like you swallowed a lemon after the coolest girl agreed to give you a chance. Nothing should have been able to dim your smile,” she teases playfully, in a much better mood than when I got here.

Damn, if hearing Lia say that doesn’t put a smile back on my face. She is the coolest. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” I insist as I start the drive down the mountain. “I guarantee that tow will still cost Owen a pretty penny to fix the damn thing.”

We spend most of the drive back in silence, but it’s a good kind of silence. I convinced myself that Thalia was a distraction, but maybe the distraction was denying myself what I wanted. Plenty of guys on the team have girlfriends, and they’re fine.

The only problem is Owen.

Fuck, he’s going to be so mad at me. I know, at some point, he’ll get over it, but it’s a crappy situation, no matter what way you spin it. I might leave out the kissing and hooking-up part when I tell him. I don’t think he needs all the details.

Thalia isn’t the only thing I need to come clean about.

I know it’s not fair to hide the truth of Mimi’s condition from Owen and Thalia. I haven’t found the courage or words to explain to them that Mimi is a ghost of the person they love. I’m just not ready.

“Now what are you thinking about?”

I glance over at her. “Truth or lie?”

Thalia smiles at me, which will take some getting used to. I’ll miss her scowl—actually, I’m sure I’ll do something at some point to deserve seeing it again. “What do you think?”

“Owen.”

She rests her hand on top of mine. “What if we just lie low until after my birthday? I mean, what are two weeks going to matter in the grand scheme? That gives us time to figure this out without Owen piping in how he feels.” Thalia falls silent for a moment before asking the real question. “How mad do you think he’ll be?”

Based on his reaction to Brooks saying something pretty harmless not long ago, I’m going to expect the worst. “I don’t know. He is going to have to get used to it.”

Her hand tightening around mine gives me hope of a reality that I haven’t let myself consider.

A reality where I can hope for more.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thalia

I COVER MY mouth to try to hide my laughter. Bash let me take his car to the airport to pick up Penelope; he made me promise I wouldn’t crash it, but it took some convincing. I’m not sure he was complaining about my methods.

I’m starting to question the level of intelligence my brother has, because Owen hasn’t picked up on anything. It’s only a matter of time before we get caught, but hopefully, we can make it to my birthday. Except we’re not exactly being very careful. I fell asleep in Sebastian’s room last night and barely made it out this morning before Owen woke up.

However, watching Penelope meet Owen and Sebastian has me forgetting all about the close call this morning. Penelope leans up to kiss Sebastian’s cheek in greeting, but he backs away so quickly that he nearly trips over his feet as Penelope laughs before moving on. Owen is at least more prepared for it than Bash, but I can tell he is still shocked.

“Have you never met anyone that’s French?” she asks in her thick accent, and Sebastian looks at me wide eyed.

“I think you scared him,” I say to Penelope in French, and she laughs, nodding her agreement.

“I think so.”

I look at him, trying not to laugh at him. “Bash, that’s how people say hello in France. You can relax.” Sebastian is still looking at me like I’m trying to trick him.

Owen looks at me in shock. “That’s how everyone says hello? Damn, I should have gone to France with you.”

“We have fun in Paris. You Americans take everything so seriously. It took Thalia forever to completely understand,” Penelope says, and I grab her bag to drop off in my room since she’ll be staying with me. Realistically, it’s doable for a few weeks because it’s not like I sleep all that often anyway. I’m sure I’ll end up in Sebastian’s room most nights since his mattress is more comfortable than mine.

“It didn’t take me that long,” I point out, disappearing momentarily. When I walk back into the room, she’s telling some story about profiteroles, my favorite pastry.

“Madame Thomas said that with the amount Lia spent there on the profiteroles daily, she could have opened a whole new store.”

“Penelope, what exactly are you telling them?” I ask, plopping down next to her on the couch.

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