Page 7 of Covetous

“No. I forgot,” he says, his tone indifferent. “But I’ll be there. Izzy’s graduation is in two weeks.”

“You better fucking be.” She whips her hair purposefully—a signature move when anger strikes. “You’re still friends with his sister?” The question comes out tinged with an emotion that looks a lot like being blindsided.

I thought she knew that. “We’re still cool. But it’s been, what…two years since she’s been back in Texas?”

“Yep,” Victor confirms. “Did Izzy tell you she’s moving back for law school?”

A grin spreads across my face at the news. “She did.” Isabella intends to attend law school here at Rice University this fall, wanting to be closer to her family.

“That’s nice.” Esme turns her back to me, facing Victor again and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I can’t wait to meet Izzy and the rest of your family. Your brother was nice. I met him at Yasmine’s baby shower. You know, the baby shower you blew off.”

“Stepbrother,” he corrects. “And I had to work.”

“If you didn’t have to work, would you have gone with me?”

“Nope.”

Esme laughs, shaking her head. “You’re so messed up.”

It’s not the first time Victor has clarified his exact relation, or lack thereof, to Quentin James V—his stepfather’s namesake. He corrected me once as well. Isabella says it has to do with the fact that her father puts Quentin on a pedestal that has always been too tall for Victor to climb. Eventually, he stopped trying.

Victor was a baby when his mother, Eleanor Prescott, married the senator, a single father raising a ten-year-old Quentin. The military-widowed single mother helped her husband reinvent his image after indiscretions during his first marriage nearly ruined his reputation. The senator and his new bride made a dynamic team, restoring hope to like-minded voters through their loving marriage and growing family.

One year later, Eleanor had Isabella, followed by Elizabeth and Stella. Their family has been featured in magazine spreads and television interviews as the perfect family—as if there is such a thing—for as long as I can remember.

For a few years now, Victor has been noticeably absent in his family’s publicity efforts. And with a face like that, it’s a real tragedy. But the longer I stare at his profile, the more uncomfortable I become. It’s feeling like three is a crowd as Esme and Victor start kissing, tongues dueling. “I better get going. I have class,” I say, though I don’t expect them to hear or care.

“Bye, Skylar,” he says, turning his head from Esme. But she grabs the sides of his face, turning his head back to focus on her. I quietly exit when their mouths meet, and the sound of their deepening kiss follows me out of the kitchen.

Chapter Three

Chic mannequins stand at attention throughout Posh Boutique, clad in high-end outfits and accessories. The walls are lined with shelves displaying handbags and expertly folded clothing, and a crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a glittering display of light over the room. I’ve worked here since high school and was recently promoted to the role of assistant manager.

“The beach house is available for Labor Day weekend if you still want it for your girls’ trip,” Ian informs me over the phone as I put the finishing touches on our shop window before we open in an hour.

“Really?” I’m so happy I could scream. I can’t wait to tell the girls. When Liv got accepted into USC, we decided to plan one last girls’ getaway before she leaves for California, and I suggested Cape Cod. They could both use some good news right about now. Esme’s been moping around for the past two and a half weeks, ever since Victor took off for Rhode Island, and Liv’s housing in California fell through at the last minute.

“Everything I have will be yours one day, including the Cape Cod beach house. But if you’re going to stay at our beach house without me, I have one condition.”

My face stretches into a wide smile, excited to find out what his condition is. “Anything.”

“Cancel your plans this weekend. I’ve booked us a luxury suite at the Brathwaite.”

“This weekend, as in my graduation weekend?” My hands pause over the buttons of one of the mannequin’s shirts.

“I believe I was clear.”

“But what about the party? I can’t just not be there.” Missing out on my own graduation party seems like a betrayal to myself and everyone who wants to celebrate with me. Is this really a decision I have to make?

“Why can’t you?”

“The girls and I have been planning this party for weeks?” I say carefully, accentuating it as a question to which he already knows the answer. “Can’t we reschedule the Brathwaite suite for a different weekend?”

“No, we can’t,” he grits through his teeth. “It’s a miracle I found a last-minute reservation.”

I take a deep breath, trying to find a solution. “Can we check into the hotel late? Like, after the party?”

Frustrated, he sighs, the sound audible through the phone. “No, Skylar. We need this. I do this for you—for us—and you don’t even appreciate it. Instead, you shit on our plans.”

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