Page 62 of Pretty Little Lies

Cairo’s face doesn’t move from placid, which means it’s something he’s not interested in allowing me in on.

Not that I’ve earned it.

He walked out of The Stowaway three seconds after the bitch caught on fire. His boys can cover for him. Maybe he wasn’t responsible—maybe. However, the best way I can describe him is a snake in the grass.

“We’re thinking of a Winter Wonderland wedding,” Vivian replies, looping her free arm with Cairo’s muscular bicep. Hergolden hair cascades in curls down the front of her baby pink top and her nails possessively clasp around his arm.

Reeve scoffs, but it’s barely audible; however, all I can do is just stare.

“What?” she presses, a hint of annoyance laced in her haughty tone.

“I think you’re going to have an accident before you get my brother to walk you down the aisle, Viv.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she retorts. “We’ve talked about it.”

I’m…confused.

I thought she was just an annoyance, not a fiancée. He went to bat against her for me the night of the big fight at the races a few weeks back.

Yet, I see what’s happening here. She’s Sherriff Muncy’s daughter. What better way to get away with shit when your father-in-law is under your thumb?

“Just be careful,” I mutter. “He’ll burn the place down.”

“I didn’t burn down that bar,” Cairo grounds out, turning his head slightly in the process for me to hear. “How many times do I need to point that out?”

“Did you carry me out then?”

“Carry you out from what?” Vivian censures, fitting the spoiled little rich bitch that she looks like. Her gaudy studded diamond earrings are worth my whole damn life. “Cairo, what is she talking about?”

“Chill, Vivian,” Reeve warns, and it sounds like a growl. “Start a fight here and you’re gonna look like the psycho bitch you are.”

“Fuck off,” she snaps back, causing the people in front of us to glimpse over their shoulders, but when they land on Cairo, they quickly right themselves back forward. “I’m not going tohave someone insult meormy wedding. Nor am I going to allow this slut claw her way into my relationship and?—”

“Vivian…” Reeve sing-songs, but it’s laced with impending danger if she doesn’t shut her mouth. I can feel the impatience radiating off his skin, and I wonder how pissed looks on him.

“What?” Her face turns beet red, which isn’t very flattering against her porcelain skin. God, she’s like a buck ten, maybe, probably wears a size zero, and I’ll bet money she’s been on a diet since she was ten. “She can’t even come here without a hole in her shirt and you want to bring her around people who make more money than she’ll ever see in a lifetime?”

I glance down at my white tee and notice the small hole underneath the red Puma logo I picked up at the Salvation Army that I hadn’t noticed before. “Well, shit. I liked this shirt too.”

“Still makes you look fuckable, McQueen,” Reeve pipes in as if he needs to keep my self-esteem intact. “What’s a small hole when it’s just easy access to rip it off later.”

“It’s called decorum, Reeve. Get fucking educated. You only go to college that—“ My head whips over to him.

“Yougo to college?”

He pushes the inside of his cheek out with the tip of his tongue. “Definego.”

I smile, because why doesn’t that comment surprise me? “You’re missing out on all this decorum. What is that? We don’t have that in South Shore.”

“Well”—he twists his body to face me a little more—“it’s where they try to teach you how to find a proper mate and wait until marriage to fuck.”

My face twists. “Sounds awful.”

“It is. And you pay six figures to get it drilled into your head while everyone around you believes they can take a shit and it smells like roses. Take Vivian, for example. She was born to marry someone powerful, but she chose to marry Cairo.”

We both laugh, and Cairo grumbles out, “Go fuck yourself, Stanton.”

“Oh, I will,” he replies. “Later, with my hand, after I drop Bay Bay off.”

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