Page 94 of Masks and Mishaps

DALTON

“Youjustrollit,”my mother is saying, leaning over Tommy. “You’re pressing too hard on the left. See how it’s uneven?”

Tommy shoots Mom a look. “There’s only one place to press,” he insists while pointedly raising the chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc she gave him to roll out a pie crust.

“Mine is perfect,” Luis comments, lifting his own bottle to admire his handiwork.

“Oh, you’re right!” my mother exclaims, clapping before she puts her arm over Luis.

“His bottle is better,” Tommy grumbles, glaring at Luis’s crust. He bobs his chin at me from across the kitchen. “All that money and you can’t buy your mom a rolling pin?”

Without a word, I tug open a drawer, reach in, and grab one of the five rolling pins clattering around. “Take your pick, Romero.”

Tommy’s jaw drops.

“You can’t drink a rolling pin when you’re done,” my mom explains with a laugh, which prompts Lander to raise the beer he’s drinking in her direction.

Essie is standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island with her back to my mom and her brothers at the prep table. She glances up while she peels potatoes and holds my gaze. It’s the longest interaction we’ve had all morning.

Since I’m a serial killer, apparently.

And Essie, dead-set on giving her brothers a perfect life, made no effort to assuage Christian’s concerns because the alternative—admitting she willingly fucks me and posts it online—is far worse than me putting on a ski mask andmurdering women in my ancestral home.

The fuck.

“Do I really look like a serial killer?” I ask in a hushed whisper, but she shoots me a warning look.

Over at the stove, Cora whirls around with a thrilled expression. I hold up my hand. “Not a word, Flores,” I warn.

Cora has to layer her palm over her mouth to stop herself. This mishap is the highlight of her year—a year that notably began with her getting engaged.

“I don’t know why you think this is funny,” Essie remarks. “After he packed my bags, Christian was going to save you next because he figured Valeria could protect herself.”

The smile immediately disappears from Cora’s face. Now,shelooks like she could be a serial killer. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“I told you to come to Muay Thai with me,” Valeria teases as she grabs a seltzer from the fridge.

I check on my mother and the twins to make sure they can’t hear, and luckily they’re giggling while Tommy tells a story about MIT. I face my friends again and whisper, “This isn’t funny.”

“Hard disagree,” Lander comments.

“I laughed so much that I peed,” Everett chimes in.

“Assholes. I’m going to hunger games the shit out of you,” I warn just as Christian walks into the kitchen. He freezes.

Sick. Fucking fantastic. I’m so glad my future stepbrother—who is convinced I dispose of women in the woods of Upstate New York—showed up at precisely the moment when I’m making a reference to a book where…

…actually, I haven’t read that book, but whatever.

“Hey, pal,” I greet, and immediately regret it because it’s the most serial killer-y shit I could say, second only to,Hey, do you want to zip tie your own wrists and see what I keep in my rusty van?

All I get from Christian is a focused Romero stare. He hasn’t spoken to me since before the library incident, and the only other time I saw him was at breakfast when I offered him half an English muffin. He looked at me like I had presented a tennis bracelet handmade from molars and melted wedding rings, which is disrespectful either way because the craftsmanship for that type of souvenir would be exceedingly time consuming. It’s rude to reject a gift.

Christian faces Essie. “Are you good?” he asks her.

“I’m fine. Everyone is fine,” Essie assures him, even though Valeria and Cora have turned their backs to the island while they convulse with laughter. Their shoulders are quivering like they need an old priest and a young priest.

Christian shoots me one more look, steals one of the apples I was peeling, and leaves.

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