“You don’t get offended,” I finished. It was a fair point; even I had to agree.
She smiled. “Yes. This Sylvester Lewis guy, you don’t care about him. Don’t make it personal, then. Just bring him down.”
We shared an awkward hug, during which I wondered when my limbs had turned so goddamn clumsy, and then I retired to my bedroom before I did something stupid.
I got an incoming text message before I’d even closed the door. Sailor?
Maybe she changed her mind.
Maybe it’s a booty call.
That temple kiss was a killer.
But no, it was Alice, my old flame. The chick my father may or may not have paid a fortune to keep her mouth shut. I never bothered to ask her if she jumped on the bandwagon, because the answer would hurt like a bitch. Still, I’d messed around with her not even weeks ago. What was fucking wrong with me?
Everything, you moron. That’s why you have a babysitter.
I opened the message. It was another thirst trap. This time a picture of her pink-lace-covered crotch with her hand shoved inside the panties. Real subtle. It was followed by an actual text.
Alice: Skype? ☺
I turned my phone to silent and crashed, dreaming of Sailor straddling my face and riding it.
When I woke up, all I had were nocturnal emission, a killer headache, and a thirst for Syllie’s blood.
Hunter used a GPS app to get to his parents’ gigantic mansion.
He didn’t know the way by heart, something he admitted to me with a sullen frown that ripped through my chest like a bear’s claws. We had to be buzzed into the premises after waiting at the iron-wrought gate for fifteen minutes for a servant to open for us.
“Sorry I don’t have a key,” he mumbled sourly. I nodded.
“God. This place looks like the Castle of Otranto. You sure your grandfather’s ghost isn’t roaming around?”
“If it is, I bet it’s taken up residence in the help quarter’s bathrooms. He was a notorious rake.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“I’d be hiding in the showers—not my parents’. But damn, it’d be a good time.”
The trip up the drive went silently, me clad in a sensible, off-white dress—mainly to appease his parents—and Hunter with a sour frown. The gates rolled closed slowly behind us, almost tauntingly so.
My parents were going to crap themselves when they saw me wearing something so feminine, but I knew Hunter was on edge about this visit and wanted things to go as smoothly as possible.
Guilt also gnawed at my gut for shutting him down for the rest of the week leading to today. Part of it was about protecting myself from getting attached to him, and the other part was trying to extinguish public relations fires.
The day after Hunter and I shared sushi and that temple kiss, Lana Alder had challenged me to discuss the feud between us during her appearance on Rise and Shine, America. I watched the video on YouTube on repeat while sitting on the toilet, long after I finished my morning pee. She’d grinned slyly as she turned to the camera.
“I wish I could be as supportive to Sailor Brennan as I am toward my other Olympic sisters. Unfortunately, she did something unforgivable to me. I think it’s high time she addressed it publicly, seeing as she’s been relentlessly promoting herself in the media. People need to know the real Sailor Brennan, not the person she tries to appear to be.”
Lana went on to suggest that someone with heavy pockets must be backing me, but she made it sound like whoever it was also rolled me between their sheets. I got a phone call from Crystal not an hour after the interview aired, her phlegmy smoker’s cough assaulting my ear.
“You have to tell me what happened between you and Lana so I’ll know how to approach this.”
“I can’t,” I croaked. I didn’t want to repeat it in anyone’s ears.
“That bad?”
I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me. I squeezed my eyes shut. “It was an accident.”
Hunter had tried to talk to me about it a few times, but confiding in him would have led to more questions, which equaled more intimacy, which resulted in total disaster.
We finally reached his parents’ house, and our car slid around the circle drive. Hunter parked next to a handcrafted fountain: the silhouette of a maiden holding a bowl above her head, the water pouring from it around her like a waterfall. The fountain—as the rest of the estate—was lit in warm, champagne lights. I noticed my father’s Maserati already parked there, as well as Sam’s matte-finish Porsche 911 and a brand new black Aston Martin Valkyrie that admittedly looked like a squashed ladybug.
Hunter rounded my car to open the door for me, oblivious to the stinking wealth he wasn’t a part of.
Jane greeted us at the door, flinging herself into Hunter’s arms. She received a pat on the back. My parents and Sam were evidently somewhere in the castle, getting their tour from Aisling, Cillian, and Gerald. Everyone was dressed formally, and everyone eyed me like I was a ticking bomb about to detonate all over the vintage furniture.
Which, just like the exterior of Avebury Court Manor, was noteworthy.
Everything here was big and extravagant. The first floor stretched across what could easily be three football fields. The limestone beneath my feet was a dramatic shade of crème, with accents of gold, copper, and bronze. The central chandelier dripping from the high ceiling was made of dozens of vintage champagne bottles with little lights inside them, and the vases across the hallways were the size of a fully-grown person, crammed with fresh, oversized flowers.
“Come, I’ll give you a tour. There’s a bowling alley, gym, two swimming pools, and a candy bar.” Jane tugged at my hand, barely containing her joy at having us around.
A candy bar?
Hunter must’ve seen the look on my face as his mother dragged me toward the other side of the floor, because his palm found my free hand and rubbed the inside of it. “You heard right.”
“I thought my ears were failing me.”
“Nope. Just your panties. Get rid of them.”
We exchanged a private grin as Jane began to babble about the architecture of the castle.
The tour took forty minutes, and we still couldn’t cover all the rooms on the first floor. By the time we were done, I wasn’t so heartbroken that Hunter hadn’t grown up here. This place wouldn’t feel like a home in a million years. For the entire tour, Jane tried to strike up a conversation with her son. She was met with polite, dry responses. Hunter regarded her with distant civility. It reminded me of a potential buyer who was listening to a pitch from a realtor, rather than a conversation between a mother and her son.
Finally, we returned to the dining room. My parents and Sam were there, back from their own tour from hell. I hugged them.
Sam said, “Whoa, a dress.”
I punched his arm. “Take a hike.”
“No, thanks. I’ll get lost in this nightmare of a house.”
Aisling, who stood next to Sam, let out a nervous laugh, blushing as she looked at him. He ignored her.
“Again, I’m right fucking here.” Hunter narrowed his eyes at me.
Sam’s gaze flicked to my roommate. “Is he treating you well, little sis?” he asked, not breaking his hold on Hunter’s gaze.