Page 132 of Dirty Grovel

Sydney and I are clearing up the table when she sidles a little closer to me, her head leaning towards my ear.

“We need to talk, Sutton,” she murmurs, her voice more compelling than I’ve ever heard it.

“Okay… what’s up?”

Sydney’s gaze snaps back over her shoulder, to where Oleg is pacing back and forth on the balcony. “Not here. Not now. But… tomorrow. Alone, please.”

The urgency in her voice makes my stomach clench. I have a feeling those secrets of hers are about to rear their ugly head.

I need to brace myself for impact.

41

SUTTON

Dawn breaks over Palm Beach like a cracked egg. All golden yolk and promises of another perfect day in paradise.

Except I know better than to trust perfect things.

Perfect things are just pretty distractions, designed to make you forget that there are always,alwaysconsequences.

I clutch two tall venti Starbucks cups as I make my way up to the penthouse. Alone this time, as per Sydney’s request.

I miss coffee all the time, but never more so than when my nerves are at their peak and I need to relieve some tension.

Right now, I’m just a raw wound, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for the pain that, in my experience, is never too far away.

The penthouse is quiet when I enter. Expectation hangs heavy in the air like storm clouds.

I find Sydney in the master suite, sitting on a chaise that she’s pushed up against the window. She stares out at the ocean waves, her blue eyes equally watery and far away.

“If you’re looking for answers, you’re not going to find them out there,” I tell her.

She startles upright, blinking back tears.

My stomach clenches as I hand her the coffee. “Iced mochaccino with a double shot of espresso.”

“Bless you,” Sydney sighs with a grateful nod. But she just sniffs the drink without actually taking a sip. “You wanna sit down?”

“I’d rather stand.”

The corners of her mouth twist downwards. “Please, Sut.”

Sighing, I join her on the chaise. It’s impossible, even under the circumstances, not to enjoy the view. The sunlight hits the water at an angle, spraying rainbows up across the horizon. Bright turquoise, russet red, tangerine orange.

I could get lost in daydreaming here all day long. That’d be nice, because it would help me pretend that my sister isn’t about to tell me something that will break my heart, make me want to rip my hair out, or both at the same time.

We sit like that for a few minutes, stewing in the silence, enjoying a few moments of peace before the lightning strikes.

“Tell me,” I say at last.

She meets my gaze. “I’ve been talking to Drew.”

Betrayal washes over me, hot and cold at the same time. Is this what Oleg felt when he found out I’d been in contact with Drew?

Because I finally understand why he reacted the way he did.

My caffeine-free cup is in danger of exploding in my hand. I set it down at my feet, doing my level best to breathe and not erupt like Pompeii.

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