Page 24 of Broken Rivalry

She purses her lips, and I realize she must take it as a jab, which could not be further from the truth.

“No, Poppy, I…” I pause, releasing her wrist to run a hand through my hair in frustration. “What I’m saying is that money won’t help, but I could actually use a favor, and honestly, I’ll even be the one owing you one.”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “I’m listening,” she says with a certain wariness in her voice.

“Come with me to the varsity ball?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, surprising even me. I’ve never cared about going with a date before and always preferred the freedom of going stag. But now, looking at her, I realize I don’t want to go if she’s not there.

Her eyes narrow even more. “I’m not going on a date with you, Ethan.”

A grin stretches across my face, a mask hiding the unexpected sting of her words. I find myself wondering why her refusal bothers me so much. “Why’s that?”

She snorts, and it’s oddly endearing. “So many reasons, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with a yes. We can figure the rest out later.”

“No.”

I try to keep my voice steady. Casual. But inside, it feels like something’s cracking. “We’ll go as friends. Honestly, it’s kinda nice not to be fawned over for once. Your… let’s call it ‘dislike,’ it’s refreshing, you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, poor you. It must be so difficult to push away hordes of women.”

My grin widens. “You have no idea.”

“Why me?” she asks, and my pulse quickens as I see her wavering. “You hate me.”

“Hate you? What gave you that idea?”

She shakes her head. “Only years of pranks and mocking.”

“And now I’m not. Come on.” I push a little more. “I’ll take care of the dress, alright?”

In my mind, I add, I’d buy you a million dresses if it meant you’d say yes.

She’s steadfast, shaking her head again. “My roommates…”

“I’ll get them dates too. And dresses. What do you say?”

Her eyes narrow again, and I mentally kick myself. Too desperate, Ethan.

She shakes her head again, and I raise my hands in surrender. “Think about it, okay?”

She looks at her watch and sighs. “I have to go. I can’t miss my bus.” She passes me.

“Is that a yes?” I call after her.

“I’ll think about it,” she replies, keeping her back to me.

I linger, watching her retreating figure, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’ll think about it” isn’t a no, and I’ll take it.

The only person who can tell me things about the Lockwoods—or Donovans now—that Poppy doesn’t want to share is my father.

It’s the only reason why I’m standing in front of my parents’ house on Sunday evening for the tedious dinner I hate to attend.

See what you make me do, Poppy? I think before opening the door.

My footsteps echo in the grand hall, the sound a stark reminder of the emptiness enveloping the opulent space. It feels like walking into one of those museums where you’re afraid to breathe too hard in case you break something worth more than your life. The place is decked out with massive marble columns and a chandelier that probably costs more than Poppy’s entire trailer. The thought that her entire trailer could neatly fit into this hall lingers in my mind, creating an unsettling feeling in my stomach.

“Mr. Hawthorne. What a pleasure to see you! It has been so long!” Arthur, our majordomo, approaches with a warm, practiced smile.

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