“Romy…” my older sister, Lottie, singsongs through the door.
Seriously? Can I not have two damn minutes to myself?
“In a minute!” I shout, pressing down, rocking, trying to squeeze out enough pee for the second stick.
The knob rattles. “Why is the door locked? Are you alone in there? Or are you with your mystery boyfriend?” She laughs.
“Go find somewhere to bang Brooks!”
My sister and her new husband are always eye-fucking each other, even at family dinners. That kind of thing used to make me swoon, but now it makes me feel sick.
The door jiggling stops. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I hear her whisper to someone else.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
My eyes shut with frustration when I hear my mother’s voice. “Yes, Mom!”
I snap the cap on the second test, jam both sticks back in the box, and shove it into the farthest corner under the sink. Then I face the mirror. My reflection looks… off. My cheeks are flushed, my hairline damp. I practice a neutral expression. Maybe I can get away with saying I have food poisoning or something.
It’s just my family. There’re so many of us, and with whatever is going on out there, there should be so much chaos that no one will catch onto the fact that something is up with me.
I open the door.
Lottie and Mom are plastered against the opposite wall, staring at me as if I just got released from jail.
“Why are you all here?” I ask.
Mom arches a brow and looks right and left. “I think I own the place, no?”
“What’s going on? You look sick. Are you sick?” Lottie frowns. “It’s probably from the girls. Bet they brought something home from school. I tried to tell Mom?—”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt Lottie, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “What’s going on?”
We head toward the barn’s main room, the old beams strung with lights, the vineyard visible through the French doors that lead to the balcony.
Scarlett spots me and claps her hands. “Oh yay!”
Most of the family’s here, minus a few who must still be working.
“Spit it out!” I snap.
Mom shoots me her disapproving look, but I don’t care. My nerves are frayed to threads.
Scarlett raises a finger, then swings open the double barn doors like I do when a gorgeous bride is on the other side, about to walk down the aisle to her groom.
Light spills in from outside, making me squint a bit.
Lottie hooks her arm through mine, her grin way too wide.
And then, DeSoto steps inside and does a double-take, his eyes asking the same question mine are—what the hell are you doing here?
But my stomach drops fully when the man behind DeSoto appears.
Zander walks in as though we should all fall to our knees over sharing the same space as him. It’s his practiced rock star look. Pompous cocky asshole.
Sorry, little one.
