Page 26 of Whatever Will Be

Gretchen watched from the front seat of a car as I was taken away in my underwear. Danny was yelling. Jules was trying to keep him from hassling the cops. But Gretchen just stared. That was the morning she was being driven to some hospital in order to get her head back together.

I remember laughing at the view of her shocked little face because I’d never had the slightest thing in common with Danny’s younger sister. But there we were, me and Gretchen, both of us imprisoned inside in our messed up realities and feeling sorry for each other.

The next time I saw Gretchen Aaronson she was standing in the dining room of her old house on the day of her sister’s funeral.

I know I shouldn’t have kissed her.

We’ve barely spoken since that night and we haven’t found a reason to be alone together.

No, I definitely shouldn’t have kissed Gretchen Aaronson.

But I’d like to do it again. That, and a whole lot more.

At least thinking about Gretchen for a minute has sidelined my anger. I think I can step through the door of Cassini Brewery and face Liam without guns blazing.

I’m not expecting to walk right into a party but that seems to be exactly what’s happening. The place that I ran through a million times as a kid could have been described as modest rustic style with high quality wood everywhere. It’s been inexplicably reformed into an opulent art deco imitation with lots of black and gold amid splashes of blood red. I think it’s ugly as hell.

There is a group of women in the middle of the room, a knot of high heels, sleek legs and hair extensions. They all hold glasses and some faces swivel in my direction, instantly becoming coolly interested. One of them separates from the collection and sashays over.

“Hello.” Her smoky eyes sweep over me and she tosses a long swath of wavy brown hair over one shoulder. “I’m Whitney Cassini.” She presents an artificial smile and extends her hand.

I shake it, as briefly as possible. “Trent Cassini.”

Her laughter is piercing and phony. “Yes, I already guessed that we are family. You look just like your brother. It’s nice to finally meet you, Trent.”

“You’re Liam’s wife.”

She nods. “Coming up on five years. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to the wedding.”

I don’t know if she’s fucking with me or if she truly knows nothing. I would bet that she knows nothing, or at least very little. With a critical eye, I check off the details of this sudden sister-in-law.

Whitney Cassini looks expensive. She’s all designer clothes and cheek filler and pretension. I bet that Jag sitting outside is hers. She’s also sliding me a look that swears she’ll gift wrap her tight ass if I snap my fingers.

I could do that.

It wouldn’t be much fun. She seems about as interesting as wallpaper. But fucking Liam’s wife would be a pretty sharp knife in his eye.

However, I’m more interested in taking something he can’t replace so easily.

Whitney drinks from her glass and flutters her long eyelashes. I knew Liam was married and remember hearing that his wife is a model, or used to be. I never dug into her history because I don’t give a shit about her.

“We’re all here for brunch.” She gestures to her friends, who are looking at us and cackling amongst themselves. “I would love for you to join us but I’m sure you’re here to see Liam. He’s been hoping you would drop by.”

Bull. Fucking. Shit.

“Is he in the office?” I ask and hear my own tight anger.

“Yes, he’s in his office. It’s just up those stairs and-“

She quits talking when I walk away and don’t give her another look. I don’t need anyone to give me directions to my father’s old office. I can hear Whitney returning to her buddies, full of bubbly excitement, and her annoying words blend together. I take the stairs three at a time, land at the top and turn left. The second door, the one with a view that includes Lake Stuart, is the one I’m heading for.

I don’t knock. Why should I? There was never a lock on the door and there’s not one now.

But I wouldn’t have flung open the door so quickly if I’d known I was about to be treated to the sight of Liam Cassini sprawled in a cushy chair with his trousers open as he watches porn on his laptop and beats the hell out of his own cock.

“Christ,” he yelps and nearly falls out of the chair. Then he groans as he comes all over himself.

I just do not need to be a fucking part of that at all so I slam the door shut.

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