Page 9 of The Enemy

I grabbed the large, iced coffee I picked up on my way here because something about carrying an iced cup of coffee with you made everything seem more bearable. I was just glad there was a coffee shop next to the florist.

One foot in front of the other, I approached Neo and his two best friends. To his right was Wesley Miles, and to his left was Tatum Park. I lifted my chin higher as I felt their gazes on me. Was it just me, or did all women feel some type of way being stared at by a group of men? I don’t know if some found it emboldening while others were cautious. It made me feel judged, and I hated that a part of me cared, but then again I felt the same way with a group of women.

My body issues and mommy issues needed to take a back seat today.

Tatum did go to our same private school. He was a late bloomer, which is probably why he was never popular, and despite having money, his father was considered a tad bit eccentric and on the newer side of the spectrum, so the fact that he made friends with Neo made sense. Wesley was someone he met in college. He was African American, the son of a runway model, and a football player. He was handsome, with white teeth and beautiful, gleaming skin. With his connections, I was surprised he didn’t try to make a run for Hollywood, but he was also wicked smart and liked challenges.

“Oh look, Neo, it’s your little sister,” Tatum leered.

He didn’t hide the fact that he was checking me out.

“Not yet,” I said as I turned toward Wesley since he was the only one with manners.

“Hi, Wes,” I greeted him first. He extended his arm so I could shake it. I’d met him twice already when Neo brought him over for the holidays.

“Muy bonita,” he smiled at me.

“Gracias,” I replied.

Then, I finally greeted my soon-to-be brother.

Neo’s jaw was set in a firm line. He did not look happy. I wondered if he was as ecstatic about our parents’ union as I was. That would certainly explain his attitude.

He was wearing an all-black tuxedo. The only color on him was a bow tie the exact shade of my dress.

“My father asked me to pick this up for you,” I told him as I handed him the box from the florist that contained his boutonniere. There was an edge to my tone since I was displeased that they asked me when he clearly had time to do it.

He looked down at it, and then his head tilted slowly until he made eye contact with me. It always made me feel off-kilter when our gazes locked. He always made me feel like an afterthought, something to be dismissed.

For a moment, I thought he was different from everyone else—that he had seen past prejudices, ignored social norms, and saw me. But no, he was just as blind as everyone else.

Slowly, the anger disappeared, and his face morphed into a smirk, which made me brace for whatever would come out of his mouth.

“You’re not going to put it on me, little sis?”

He made it sound sinful, and I wondered if it was because his friends were here as he usually disregarded me.

“That would require I get close to you, and I have no desire to do that.”

Both his friends chuckled at this. Neo rolled his eyes. “Aw, but aren’t little sisters supposed to dote on their big brothers?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve heard of cases where they end up killing them.”

I’d had enough of this nonsense. Instead of going around him and his friends, I cut between him and Tatum since they were closer to the side door. I purposely bumped Tatum with my shoulder, and then, as I passed Neo, I pushed the box against hisstomach. He grunted, clearly not expecting me to use as much force as I did.

Once inside the church, the planner was running around everywhere, telling people where to put what floral arrangements. People would begin to arrive in the next half hour, and then Pricilla would make her grand entrance because you only get married once—I mean twice.

I scanned the church until I found my father. He was sitting down looking pensive, and I wondered…maybe hoped, that he was regretting this.

“Are you okay with this, sweetheart?”

At the time, I just shrugged. It was his life, and as a legal adult, throwing a tantrum didn’t feel right.

“Father,” I greeted him.

His focus was on me instantly, and he gave me a warm smile. “You look beautiful, Lulu.”

I bit my lip because that was my mother's nickname. Everyone else said Lou, so they didn’t have to try to pronounce the Spanish consonants, but she preferred saying Lulu.

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