Page 41 of Darling Obsession

I didn’t ask for bubbly.

I didn’t ask for Champagne, or worse, some overly sweet rosé with a cutesy label featuring a cupcake or high heels, the kind women bring to book clubs and bachelorette parties.

I thought it was obvious that I was looking for more of a straightforward chardonnay; not too dry, not too exciting.

I never would’ve told her to just be herself if I knew she’d be so… sparkling.

When she behaved more like a love-struck girlfriend than a casual lover, it messed with my head more than I’d like to admit. She made our relationship sound more serious than I meant for her to, considering I was already planning for us to “break up” immediately afterward. Hadn’t I made that clear?

“You two make an interesting couple,” my sister concludes.

“We’re not a couple.”

“Could’ve fooled her.”

I struggle not to take the bait, but I can’t resist. “And by ‘interesting,’ you mean…?”

“Things that you keep quiet about, she was vocal about. And things that you seem to be unemotional about, she was emotional about.”

I notice she said “seem to be.”

“And that is precisely why we wouldnotmake a good ‘couple.’”

“You don’t think so?” Savannah actually seems surprised. “I mean, even I was starting to buy into the act that you hate everyone. It’s very convincing. But clearly, you don’t hate her.”

“I never said I hated her. But do I look like I’m about to commit myself to a hyperactive woman with turquoise hair and a sweet tooth? And make hyperactive babies?” I almost shiver at the thought.

Instead of laughing like I might’ve expected, Savannah frowns.

She gets up and walks over to the window, gazes out toward the resort.

“You’ve changed over the years, Harlan.”

“I hope so. Haven’t we all?”

She glances at me, arms folded across her chest. “Change isn’t always for the better.” She gazes out the window again. “Weused to share a bedroom. And do you remember when we were about eight, Mom said it was time we had our own rooms? So we did. But then sometimes you would come into my room in the night with a blanket and pillow, and sleep on my floor? You did that for years.”

“I remember.”

“You did it a lot just before France.”

She doesn’t sayafter Dad died.

But we both know what she means.

“You didn’t like sleeping alone in your own room, so she’d put you in with Jamie.”

“Jamie flopped around too much and always woke me up.”

“So you’ve said.” She turns to face me. “You were much nicer to him back then. You were nicer to everyone. That was just before you really started hating school, I think. I was worried you were going to get kicked out, and we wouldn’t be in the same school anymore.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing. I just never thought you’d be the brother who wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I tell you things.”

She scoffs. “That I’ve blown the budget on the gala, I know. You tell me at least once a week.”

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