“Get some sleep, sweetheart.”
“I’ll try.”
The line clicks, and I stare at the screen as the episode banner idles—dim, blue-tinted, waiting for me to pick something else. Not quite blank, not quite bright. Just enough to catch a ghost of my reflection.
The idea of them together sparks something wicked. The teasing. The heat. No more being edged for hours; I could use one to drive the other crazy. The laugh that escapes me sounds dangerous even to my own ears.
I shut off the TV, and the silence presses in, broken only by the sound of the fan and the soft patter of rain against the window.
I wash my face, brush my teeth, then leave the bathroom light on low, and climb into bed. The sheets smell faintly of wine and body spray and something warm that reminds me of Silas. The pillow still holds the indentation from the last time he stayed. I trail my fingers over it before pulling the blanket higher.
Sleep doesn’t come quickly. My brain keeps replaying Talon’s face from earlier, that smirk that tried too hard to look harmless. He’s a problem I don’t have the energy to solve tonight. I tell myself he’s bluffing, that he wouldn’t risk his own secret just to drag me down. But the image of his grin lingers, carved under my eyelids like a warning.
When I finally drift off, the dream feels too real—hands that don’t belong to one man, voices overlapping until I can’t tell them apart.
Morning light filters through the blinds. The rain hasn’t stopped, only softened to a steady tap. I make coffee in silence; the smell chasing away the last fragments of the dream.
The phone buzzes again on the counter, this time a number that makes my stomach sink. I swipe to answer.
“Penelope,” Abi says. Her tone has a bite, the kind that doesn’t invite small talk.
I grip the mug tighter. “Good morning to you too.”
“We need to talk,” she says. “Your father and I expect you at the country club tomorrow. Brunch. Ten o’clock.”
Chapter Sixteen
PENELOPE
I easeup to the wrought-iron gate of Clear View Country Club and already regret not bringing sunglasses thick enough to hide my eye roll. The metal scrolls are all seashells and waves, mounted between stone pillars with little lanterns on top, like this place is guarding the ocean.
Palm trees line both sides of the drive, straight and perfect, throwing thin strips of shade across the pavement. The grass is smugly green. Flowers cluster in expensive-looking beds, too bright and too manicured to be real. Stone benches sit along the drive in case anyone needs to rest from all the wealth.
The building rises at the end, two levels and a wide U shape, wrapped around a slice of blue water. There is a fountain with the CVCC crest spitting water into a smooth basin, right at the foot of the front steps. The valet stand is tucked to the left, a neat row of kids in black vests waiting for keys that cost more than their tuition.
I pull up, throw the car in park, and climb out. The valet kid looks about twelve, acne fighting for its life. I toss him my keys with a smile that is friendlier than I feel.
Places like this have never been mine. Dad joined years ago after Mom passed, said it helped grow his company; networking, appearances, all that polished bullshit. He fits in fine. Abi thrives on it. But me? I stick out like a stain on the linen napkins. The kind of daughter you invite for show and pray she doesn’t talk too much.
Inside, the air is cool and smells faintly like lemons and money. Crystal lights hang from the ceiling. Everything is white and gold and quiet. The Royal Ballroom sits to the right of the foyer, doors propped open, the clink of glass and low chatter drifting out.
I smooth my top before I walk in. It is a pale lilac crop with ruffled sleeves that sit off my shoulders and a tie that pulls tight over my ribs. My shorts are light denim, frayed high on my thighs. My sandals add just enough height to make my legs look longer. My hair is down in soft waves. It is not country club appropriate. That is the point.
Abi chose the tone she used on the phone with me. I chose this as my petty clapback.
They are already at a table near the windows. Talon sits on one side, next to Abi, who is in a cream silk bodysuit and pearls. My father is on her other side in a navy polo.
I cross the room, aware of eyes on my bare skin. Abi’s mouth tightens. That alone makes the outfit worth it.
But Talon, his reaction is instant.
His gaze sweeps over me in one clean, hungry line before he catches himself. His posture shifts, shoulders straightening, jaw flexing like he’s trying not to stare. His eyes darken, heat flickering there for a heartbeat before he schools his expression back to polite.
It’s subtle and controlled.
But I feel it hit me low in my stomach.
“Morning,” Abi says, her tight social smile glued on.
