“I obviously like photos,” I explain my wall uneasily. “Keeping them in my phone has never made much sense to me.”
“Yeah, these are great.” He points to a picture from a summer spent at the shore. “Are these folks your family? I see a resemblance.”
I stand and walk over to the photo wall.
“Yes, these two are my parents.”
“You favor your mom a lot except you’re taller than her.”
“Yeah.”
“They look a lot younger than my folks.”
“They married kind of young I guess at least by today's standards.”
“You’re an only child, right?”
“No, I have an older brother named Benji."
I point to the only picture of him I have on the wall.
"Are you two close?"
"No," I say curtly. I don't like to talk about Benji.
Matthew singles out another photo, a group picture which includes a photo of Knox, his parents, and his twin brothers Seven and Bronx when we were much younger.
“And them?”
“More family.”
“Your family is so cool. You all kind of look like you’re part of the United Nations.”
Every single person in my family would roll their eyes at that comment. I mean, we live in a country which is basically the melting pot of the world. Isn’t everyone a mish-mosh of cultures these days?
But Matthew is the son of a conservative banking family from Boston and our backgrounds couldn’t be any more dissimilar from each other. I think he finds our differences appealing though, and truthfully, I find his predictability comforting.
“Yeah, we’re definitely unique.”
He stares into my eyes and smiles gently, being careful when he grabs my hand.
“I don’t know about all the people in these photos, but to me you are the most unique and beautiful girl I’ve ever met, Gigi.”
I’m not used to compliments. In fact, they make me uncomfortable. My family isn’t the type to give each other flattering remarks like this. It’s not that we don’t think that we’re all exceptional, it’s just not something that we have to vocally share with each other all the time.
Actually, it’s a wonder how my parents ever got together at all. Mom is tough as nails and my dad is a quiet storm. I bet my father has never even told my mother how beautiful she is because it’s just assumed that she already knows.
“Thank you, Matt.”
I look away for a moment because I’m slightly embarrassed by the sweet words, but then pop my eyes back up when there’s a sudden pounding at the door.
“Are you expecting someone?” Matthew asks, probably concerned that someone is knocking on my door like the goddamn police.
“Nope.”
Another lie.
I know exactly who it is, but for a split second I totally forgot that he threatened to pop by.
“Open the door, Gigi, or I’ll knock on every damn door in this building.”
“Who the hell is that?” Matthew fiercely demands to know.
“It’s someone from the United Nations,” I say sarcastically.
“Huh?”
“Forget it. Listen, why don’t you find something on Netflix for us to watch while I handle this.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? That dude sounds a little off and no girl of mine–”
I quickly cut him off because for one, I never want Matt and Knox to meet because that could be catastrophic; and two, I’m nobody’s girl. I don’t belong to anyone.
“I’m sure. I’ve got this. It’ll only take a moment.”
I unlock the door and slip through to the other side of it, making sure to pull it shut behind me. I suck in a small breath and swallow the violent words I was about to say as I stare up at a smirk that I haven’t seen in over five years or maybe longer.
Holy hell.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Knox Masterson got a whole hell of a lot taller, muscular, and I hate to say it, but way more attractive than I remember.
“Queenie,” he greets me in his signature smug manner.
I offer him the same.
“Jackass.”
Six
Gigi
* * *
“Huh.” Knox rakes his tempestuous eyes from the top of my head to my feet and back up to my face. “You don’t look anything how I remembered.”
It’s rather a cruel twist of fate that my archenemy seems to only age better with time, as I continually consider on an almost daily basis whether I was adopted. I don’t feel like I inherited either of my parents’ good looks. My butt is massive, my breasts sag slightly and my curls won’t behave with even the creamiest conditioners slathered on.
“What are you trying to say?” I say self-consciously as I smooth some of the flyaways of my phony ponytail.
Knox chuckles lightly as if I’m some little kid who amuses him.
“Is that a fake ponytail on the back of your head?”
“Be quiet.”
“I don’t know why you’re even bothering with that. Are you still obsessed with your hair?”
He leans in and purposefully twirls some of my disobedient strands around his finger. It takes me aback for a moment. Knox has never touched me before. I mean, we don’t touch each other. We don’t hug. We don’t shake hands. That’s not what we do. So I quickly jerk my head back because it makes me unsettled.
“I was never obsessed with my hair.”
Knox tosses a dark designer duffle bag over his shoulder.
“Can we go inside and argue? I’ve had a long night.”
“You’re not staying in my house, Knox. I have nothing to do with whatever craziness you and those people who raised us agreed to.”
“This is not a negotiation, Queenie.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop calling me jackass.”
My front door cracks open and Matthew’s curious face peeps out.
“Is everything okay out here, Gigi?”
Knox’s back straightens, and his obsidian-colored eyes darken like the sky before a thunderstorm. He looks at me and then glares back at Matthew.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Matthew opens the door wider and extends his palm out for Knox to shake.
“I’m Matthew Anderson, Gigi’s boyfriend.”
I cringe a bit because Matthew just jumped the gun with the whole girlfriend reference, but what’s worse is that Knox is probably going to believe it…and run with it.
“Boyfriend?”
Knox gives me a sickening look, like the cat who swallowed the canary. He knows how my parents feel about me bringing strangers into my life, especially men. If this was a hundred years ago, they would no doubt have arranged a marriage of their choosing for me by now.
I offer Knox a look in return that wordlessly begs him to “play nice”. One thing we were always good at since we were kids was being able to communicate with each other without words. Too bad we never liked each other enough for it to matter.
Matthew’s arm is still extended in midair. He isn’t used to this type of rudeness and has no idea of the world that Knox and I come from. He thinks I’m some interesting girl who attended a prep school on scholarship and works for Temple. He doesn’t have a clue how wrong he is and I never want him to know.