Page 36 of Vicious Sentiments

After a moment he fills the silence. “It upsets me too,” he says thoughtfully.

“Then why?” I drop my sandwich on the plate.

He seems to mull over my question, stirring the ice cubes in his glass with the straw.

“I could say because you need time, or because Margo would kill me,or because it’s just the right thing to do—to make sure you actually want me and not because you think you’re supposed to…” He pauses, capturing my eyes. “But maybe.” He leans forward. “Maybe I want you begging, starving for it by the time you turn eighteen, absolutelycrazywith it.”

My heart speeds up in trepidation, imagining it. I already feel crazy with it, how out of my mind will I be by the time I’m eighteen?

“The idea that you’ll want me that badly…” he lets out a soft groan.

I want to tell him that I already do want him that badly but I don’t think it would change anything. I also think that he would like it. So I narrow my eyes and pick back up my sandwich. If I have to suffer, then so does he.

Chapter Twenty-Three

We make it back to the house with only ten minutes to spare before having to leave for the recital. I have to rifle through all the bags filled with everything Julian insisted I wanted, and I have to do it quickly. I fling on the knee length dark green dress, the matching shoes that the sales associate recommended, four-hundred dollars—I wanted to strangle her. I dig out a perfume I barely sniffed before Julian ordered it to be purchased. It really does spell heavenly and even though I’m rushed, a glimpse in the mirror has me gawking.

My god, what a little money can do. My hair, slightly wild, still looks sultry, thanks to the new cut, and the dress doesn’t have a single awkward bit. Even if I wanted to feel out of place at the recital, full of pristine moms in chignons and fathers in pressed pants, I can’t. I look every bit the part and I feet it too, especially with Julian’s arm hooked in mine.

My eyes have now adjusted to the dark venue, I see Margo waving us over from the center aisle.

“Come. Come.” She herds us into our seats in a flurry once we reach her. She’s dressed in a nice black maxi dress, a long golden chain nestled between the fabric and her breasts, and her hair is done up not too similarly to the other women. She may be older and a little rounder than she wishes, but she’s absolutely stunning. She out doesall the other women with their botox and face lifts. There’s a realness to her that is easier on the eyes.

I shimmy past Dillon, who seems to be admiring her beauty as well, and cringe. Isn’t she supposed to be like a mother to him?

When he notices me he blinks a few times and runs a hand down his shirt.

“Full house tonight,” he says absently.

I’m not sure what he means until I take my seat and give an awkward glance to the man sitting next to me.

Cape.

He doesn’t acknowledge me as I choke back my surprise. Unlike the rest of the attendees, his attire does not match the event. He’s wearing a leather jacket, dark blue jeans and his boots. His hair is slightly in his eyes, clearly not putting in the effort that Dillon has, who slicked back his hair in an old school style.

Julian takes his seat on the other side of me and pulls out his phone. I notice the tic of him turning it to silent but also the numerous notifications.

He frowns as if surprised by them and then flicks his phone open. I quickly avert my eyes, not wanting to seem nosy. I try looking ahead at the still closed curtains, fiddling with my hands in my lap.

The room has taken on a hushed quality and I hope it starts soon because I feel uncertain. I’ve never been to a ballet show, even if it is for thirteen-year-olds, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be. I’ve never even been to a movie theater. The one that Bridgerock had sat shuttered since before I was born.

The seniors used to take projectors out to the mountainside and let movies play out on the smooth side while they got drunk and hooked up. But that was long over by the time I was old enough. The person who probably owned the projector went off to college and got out of Bridgerock.

At least, that’s what I convinced myself. It probably just broke, but the idea of someone getting out gave me hope. A hope that dwindled when I realized college wasn’t going to happen for me.

I try to squash the sudden melancholy, focusing on the fact that I did get out of Bridgerock, and here I am, dressed up, waiting to watch a ballet show of all things.

I look to Julian, hoping for a little guidance, but he still has his phone out and the frown has turned into a hardened line. His jaw is locked as he narrows his eyes at whatever he’s reading.

Taking a deep breath, I sneak a glance at Cape. He may be under-dressed but he’s exuding a confidence I hope to copy. Apparently, it’s not so sneaky because his eyes catch mine and gone are the soft edges from last night. Back in place are the two little lines between his brows, and the intimidating presence I’m used to is front and center.

“I’m not the brother you should be looking at,” he says, not whispering, and drawing attention from the woman sitting in front of us. She shoots us a high brow when she notices the source of the words. In addition, Dillon cranes his neck back with a scowl on his face.

Jeesh.

Luckily, Julian is still intent on his phone and doesn’t see my cheeks burn.

I face forward, accepting I’m on my own when, thankfully, a man steps out from the curtains.

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