Page 29 of Covetous

She laughs. “My dad knows better. Victor would never.”

My shoulders relax. Why were they tense in the first place? “Gotcha.”

“Victor and I are the same when it comes to my dad. Sure, I’m going to law school, but it’s because I want to practice law, not because dear ole daddy wants me to.” Isabella takes a sip of her daiquiri and smacks her lips. “Damn, that’s good. I can definitely taste the rum.”

“I told you before. My cooking can use some work, but I make a mean cocktail.” Leisurely taking a sip from my glass, I let the smooth blend of flavors confirm my point without another word.

“And you can bake your ass off. Which is why we’re baking cookies tonight.”

With an exaggerated roll of my eyes that could nearly check the ceiling for cobwebs, I let out a halfhearted chuckle. “Don’t tempt me. You know I’m trying to lose weight.”

She scrunches her nose, seemingly offended. “Where and for what? What are you, a size eight?”

I let out a wistful sigh, where dreams of perfect fittings mingle with my love of buttery sweets. “A size ten.”

“Girls around here pay top dollar for a body like yours.”

“I’m not trying to get super skinny, but a few pounds can’t hurt. Ian and I set a date for the wedding.”

“Oh my God, really?” Her reaction is instantaneous, her hazel eyes widening to the size of saucers.

“July 19th, next year.” Last week, Ian and I secured our date, with my dad putting a deposit on the Astorian.

Isabella is as enthusiastic as all of my friends and family, which rubs off on me. We toast my wedding, downing our glasses before pouring another. We discuss all the fun details, like my colors, the members of the wedding party, and, of course, the bachelorette party, while we prepare chunky chocolate chip cookies from scratch.

“Does Victor know?” Isabella asks, putting the cookies into the oven.

“Know what?” Victor asks, startling us both.

Isabella jumps. “You scared the shit out of me.” She closes the oven door before turning around and glaring at her brother.

“Know what?” he repeats.

I’m sitting on the counter near the stove, buzzed after consuming my third daiquiri. I’ve had way too much to drink in such a brief time, and I’m sure it shows by how flushed my cheeks probably are. Not to mention, I’m sitting on this man’s countertop like it’s my own. “I’m getting married.” Holding out my left hand, I dangle my fingers.

“I’m aware.” His deadpan tone cuts through my drunken giddiness, sobering me up instantly.

“We set a date.”

“When?” His voice is gruff, his eyes piercing as he watches me.

“July 19th, next year.”

He dips his head in a single nod before turning to his sister. “I’m heading out. No other company when I’m gone. And by company, I mean guys.”

She shifts her weight to one side and props her hand on her hip. “Who am I going to have over? Skylar has a man, and Smith’s going out with you, so…”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Make sure Izzy behaves. You know how crazy she gets.”

“I learned from the best, big brother.”

I swallow a burp and then giggle. “You got it.”

His lip twitches. “Never mind.”

“Did you know?” I hadn’t planned to ask Isabella this particular question, but it must be because I’m faded and relaxed after smoking some of Victor’s weed stash. And what a stash it is. Twenty perfectly rolled blunts that he keeps tucked away under his bed. His unmade bed. The bed that I’m lying on as my eyes follow the beams in the ceiling. His sheets don’t smell like him. They smell like they’ve been freshly laundered, which I guess is a good thing, based on all the sex he and Esme have had on this very bed. I should get up from this incredibly personal space, but Isabella is stretched out on the only love sofa in his room. He and Esme probably fuck there too. Ugh.

I hadn’t planned on making myself comfortable while Isabella searched for his stash. But now that I’m lying here, I find moving nearly impossible. Not even for more pizza that we left downstairs in the kitchen.

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