“And pretty.”
“Beautiful,” I agree.
His eyes narrow again before he looks down at his plate. “Are you really gonna let your friend have her?”
“I never said that.”
His head’s tipped over his dish, but his eyes rise at the tone I use when saying the words. Hard. Resolute.
“Hmm. If you let her go alone on some ski trip, and she’s like this—like champagne that sparkles and bubbles, he’ll see it and he’ll want it. You may not get a second chance. In life, timing is everything.”
“She’s not going anywhere with Declan. Or anyone.”
“No?”
“I’m not my dad at twenty, Pops. I’m you.”
This brings a smile to his face.
At the table, Avery gasps. Our heads swivel toward her, and I stalk over to see what’s wrong.
She tries to cover her phone, but I pull it away from her and stare down at the screen, reading the text exchange.
Avery:Why did you say Shane’s grandfather is dead?! He’s not dead! I’m having dinner at his house. he’s lovely. I like him a ton.
Mom:Where are you?
Mom:Ave, where are you???
Avery:Boston. At Mr. Sullivan’s house in Back Bay.
Mom:OMG. how did you get there??? Leave right now. Do you need Ethan to pick you up?
Avery:no. I'm with Shane. he drove
Mom:we’re coming to get you
Avery:why?
Mom:Joe Sullivan is the head of the Irish Mafia.
12
SHANE
Staying overnight in Back Bay wasn’t the plan until our parents pulled the trigger on driving over. I figure if I take Avery back to Granthorpe, they’ll show up there and discover she’s living with me, which will lead to even more drama. Yesterday, someone trying to get her to leave my house would’ve been fine. Tonight, it’s not.
I put Avery in a guest room, claiming I’m too buzzed to drive. She tries to ask questions about Pops, but I shut that down, saying we should talk about it in the morning. I also convince her that it’ll be better for everyone if Ethan and Sheri don’t find out she’s been drinking. Avery agrees and lies on the bed on top of the covers. She’s out in about five minutes.
Pops heads to the media room to watch sports recaps, leaving me to deal with Ethan and Sheri. That suits me fine. The less people involved the better.
I’m back in the kitchen by the time my phone rings with the third call from my dad. This time, I pick up.
“You at home? Or nearly in Back Bay?” I ask calmly.
“What’s going on, Shane?” He’s calm, too, but his tone is grim. He’s not using his lawyer voice. This is his disapproving dad voice, one he hasn’t tried to use on me in a long time.
My fingers drum a staccato beat on the island’s marble top. “Nothing’s going on. I came to Back Bay for dinner.”
