Page 75 of Best In Class
“Really, Dom, you think I’m going to be with someone like you?”
“I think one should date one’s peers, don’t you agree?”
Even then, I knew she was only hurting me because I hurt her. Still, it had a significant impact because she said what I believed—that I wasn’t good enough for her, I wasn’t her equal.
Still not, Dom.
True!
She comes from money.Real money.
Wealth that allows her to fly in private jets if she wants. Buy whatever she desires without thought.
But Luna doesn’t show off her status or her dollars. Neither does Lev.
I don’t know how it happened because Nathaniel is the worst kind of snob, and Jenn…well, she’s always been missing in action.
According to Lev, the credit goes to Mama.“Miss Abigail raised us…all of us. Of course, we turned out to be half decent.”
I look at myself in the mirroragain.
What the hell am I doing?
I’m wearing cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. I’ve got a backpack slung over one shoulder—blanket, sunscreen (because Luna always forgets), mosquito repellent, a Bluetooth speaker, and two oversized water bottles already half frozen to stay cold.
I’m picking up the picnic basket from Mama. She’s promised me the works.
I can’t take Luna to the Steele Estate, not while Nathaniel lives there, so I found a new place—one I hope we can make ours.
Noah clued me in, and helped me rent a boat as well.
Mama opens the door of Luna’s house when I knock. She looks me up and down before letting me lean down and kiss her cheek.
“I thought you’d be taking her to some fancy place with fancy food.” She walks to the kitchen, and I follow.
“I am taking her to a fancy place, and we’ll be eating fancy food.Yours.”
Mama chuckles. “You always were smooth, son.”
There aretwobaskets. “How much do you think we’re going to eat?”
She rolls her eyes. “One basket for food and another for wine and drinks.”
I open thedrinksbasket and find a bottle of Ruinart in a closed chiller, and a bottle of white Burgundy that Luna likes.
“Mama, you’re a miracle.”
Mama has her hands on her hips. Not threatening at all. “You be good to my girl, yeah?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The girls have been here getting her ready,” Mama says, trying—and failing—not to grin. “Nova, Stella, and Aurora…they’ve been here all afternoon. Just left.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“Yeah, that’s what you’re going to say when you see her.” It’s not a question. It’s a knowing, maternal warning dressed up like a joke.
She’s right.
