Page 89 of The Invitation

“What?” I turn and find my brother with his face pushed up against the window by the front door.

“Why’s that fancy car from Arlington Hall driving off down the road?”

I freeze, my mind emptying. “Um ...”Think.“What car?”Idiot.

Clark turns, his lips straight. “My dream car. The rare one. Only two of its kind in the country. And one happens to have been at Arlington Hall, and now is driving out of the close where our parents live.”

My whole face twists. I’ve got nothing.

“Oh my fucking God, you’re seeing that bloke from Arlington Hall.”

Seeing? Fucking? Falling for? “Not exactly.”

“I knew there was something going on after he had me by the throat! A parking space? I knew you were acting weird.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

“What qualifies as ‘seeing’?” I ask weakly.

“Fucking.”

“Clark!”

“I thought you were focusing on your career? That’s why you ended things with Nick.”

“I ended things with Nick because he wanted more than I’m comfortable with right now.” I pace toward Clark, looking over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. “Don’t you remember telling me you thought Nick ruined me?”

“That wasn’t code forfuck the next manyou find.”

“It’s nothing. I had a date and—”

“He dropped you off here the next morning? Just a date?”

Indignant, I huff. “My private life isn’t any of your business. And I’d appreciate it if you keep your big, fat trap shut.”

Clark recoils, injured. “And is that code fordon’t tell Mum and Dad?”

“Scout’s promise,” I grate, throwing our childhood tradition in his face.

“You weren’t in the Scouts,” he grumbles.

“If you include all the nights I camped in the garden with you because you were too chickenshit to do it on your own, I count as a Scout.”

“Low blow.”

“Deal with it.” I pivot and head for the lounge to see Grandpa and Grandma.

“Here she is!” Grandpa sets his broadsheet aside, and Grandma drops her knitting needles. “You’re late.”

“It’s fashionable, Grandpa,” I say, bending and dropping a kiss on his old, wrinkly face before going to Grandma.

She squeezes my cheeks, scrunching her nose and pushing it to mine. Then she stills. Sniffs. “You smell like a man, Grand Girl,” she whispers. “A very lovely-smelling man.”

Fucking hell.“You’re imagining things, Grandma.”

She hums, suspicious, releasing me, as Mum and Dad bowl in. “Ah, finally,” Dad says, looking at his watch. “Can we eat now?”

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