Page 2 of Kissed and Missed

My mouth is so dry it takes me two attempts to actually speak. “Um. Did you cheat on me?”

There’s an indignant squawk. “Oh my god, are you seriously accusing me of?—”

“I have like a dozen screenshots here, Riley!” I let out a hysterical, incredulous laugh, letting my head drop back against the leather seat, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You’re always doing this, creating a problem when there isn’t one. How could you believe some random creep over me?”

Maybe because acting in her own self-interest, without a care about the effect her choices will have on other people, is exactly the person that my girlfriend has always been. I wipe away the first tear to escape my tightly closed eyelids impatiently. I’m mad at Riley, but more than that, I’m mad at myself. I trusted a selfish person, made excuses for her behavior, convinced myself she cared about me when all she’s done is prove the opposite.

“The picture of your boobs makes it pretty hard to believe that.”

In the front seat, Muscles clears his throat.

Riley is silent for a moment, then makes a quiet, frustrated noise and hisses, “If you’ve decided I did it, why did you even bother calling?”

“Because we’ve been together two years, and you don’t break up with someone you dated for two years in a text message.”

I hadn’t decided that was what I was going to do, not until this moment, but suddenly it became so clear. This persondoesn’t love me, and probably never did. Riley Ballard only cares about herself, and what others can do for her. I, who was always unfailingly supportive and comforting, taking her side no matter what, was the equivalent of her emotional support dog.

And I’m done.

Riley lets out a hard laugh. “You know you’re never going to do better, right? I mean, not to be a dick, but you’re kind of a fucking drag, Honor. Good luck out there.”

My hand holding the phone falls back to my lap, just as the car slows to pass through a large, dark gate. God knows how long I sat here, reading and rereading the evidence of Riley’s betrayal before I actually called her, but by the looks of it, it was long enough for us to already be at her dad’s house.

“Um,” I whisper, struggling to think what to do. Should I go back to the airport? Get a hotel? Call someone? I’ve had relationships end before, but not like this, not when I was seconds away from meeting their father for the first time and a whole country away from home.

The car turns a corner onto a brightly-lit circle of drive that’s arranged before a massive, modern house. My family has money, but notthiskind of money, and I am so out of my element it’s not even funny. Before I can muster a half-baked solution for the situation I’ve found myself in, the car comes to a stop before a sleek wood door, and it’s opening.

My mouth goes dry as I stare through the tinted car window at the man emerging from the house. He’s familiar in that I’ve seen him hundreds of times, usually in reference to one of the internationally traded companies he started. He’s tall and dark-haired, dressed casually in loose-fitting slacks and a deep blue T-shirt.

The media paints him as a robot, an intensely focused genius who can do no wrong. His daughter describes him as a narcissistic, controlling asshole who uses money to get his way.

As the driver pulls open my door and I make eye contact with the man I’ve been told so much about, I know without him speaking a single word that both of those perceptions of Julian Ballard are dead wrong.

“Hi,” he says, drawing forward as I step out of the car onto the drive, the sun beating down on us both. “You must be Honor.”

2

HONOR

PRESENT

Is there anything more awkward than third-wheeling it with your best friend and your father?

Absolutely not.

To their credit, Sophie and Dad have been good about not rubbing my face in their new relationship. While I pride myself on being fairly “chill” I am nowhere near unflappable enough to withstand any kind of PDA from the two of them. Nor am I ready to accept that they almost certainly doiton a regular basis.

There’s no ignoring the signs, though. When two people spend a lot of time together, when they honest-to-god love each other, it’s hard to hide. Which is why I’ve been avoiding prolonged contact with them as a couple in the six weeks since they broke the news of their relationship, hiding behind a meticulously constructed wall of denial and avoidance.

That’s all over now.

Today, my sister is performing her very first principal role in a very fancy sounding ballet I can’t pronounce. It’s a big deal, and she deserves it after several decades of cramming her feetinto the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet, braving stress fractures, pulled muscles, and sticking to an insane diet. I’m excited for her.

I am less excited for myself, because going to support her means enduring a two-hour long car trip into the city with the happy couple, who are trying to downplay how happy they are to spare my feelings. Even going in, I knew the situation was rife with potential awkwardness, and it was only the thought of disappointing three of the most important people in my life that kept me from pretending I had a migraine and watching reality TV all day.

It was bound to happen eventually. I love both of them, and they’re together now, which means I have to get used to this at some point. Ergo, I’m looking at today’s outing as a good old-fashioned session of immersion therapy. With any luck, by the end, I’ll be so desensitized to theircouplenessthat I can stop sprinting into my room and pretending to be asleep when Sophie sneaks back into our apartment every morning.

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