“Yeah?” Trent snorted under his breath. “Why don’tyoujust tell him you don’t want to marry Gregory?”
My throat tightened so fast that it hurt. “That’s different.”
“Really?” He glanced at me, and in the dimming light, his gaze felt sharper. Like he could see through whatever lie I was trying to tell myself. “How?”
I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a weak exhale. I wished I knew how to put it into words, how much it meant when my dad finally paused long enough to look at me. How rare it was to feel like I mattered to him at all. How terrifying it was to risk losing that.
Deep down, having his attention felt too good, like being eight again and getting a pat on the back for something I’d actually done well. Only, the stakes were much higher now and the spotlight burned so much hotter.
“I just…” I sighed as I trailed off, picking at a loose thread on my dress. “It’s been so long since he’s paid this much attention to me and I want to make him proud. Just not like that. Not with Gregory. Anyone but him.”
Trent didn’t say anything, but his jaw flexed in a way that made me suspect he was trying not to argue or lecture me. A wave of defensiveness rose up from deep within and I lifted my chin, turning to face him fully.
“I’m hoping Alex’s plan works because then it’s not on me,” I said firmly but quietly. “That way, I can stay in my dad’s good graces. At least until he finds out about you. By then, hopefully Alex will have fixed it all and we won’t have to deal with the fallout.”
“He doesn’t know yet?” Trent tapped the steering wheel twice, like he had something to say about that, then seemed to change his mind. “Okay, well, it’s not dealing with the fallout that I’m worried about. It’s Alex’s plan.”
We passed a pair of old stone gates marking the entrance to Pacific Heights. A row of grand houses lined the slope, glowing warm and perfect under the dusk, but I kept my attention on him. “Why are you worried about the plan?”
“You know this is going to blow up at some point,” he said, his voice low and steady as he took a quick look at me. “When it does, you need to be ready.”
I nodded and let out a soft sigh. “I know.”
“Do you?”
Instead of answering right away, I turned my face toward the window, watching the world get richer and cleaner the closer we got. “I’m choosing the option that doesn’t break my dad’s heart or dash his hopes. I don’t feel like I need to apologize for that.”
Trent didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Tonight, we were playing pretend again, smiling and holding hands, letting the gossips do their work. For everyone else, it would look like a perfect match, but for me, it was starting to lean toward something messy. Something that was becoming more complicated the more time we spent together.
We pulled up to a massive, fancy old building with the neatly manicured lawns of the golf course stretching out on either side of it. Not surprisingly, Trent’s huge, gleaming truck wasn’t the only one in the lot. Welcome to Texas.
He parked and came around to open my door, then helped me out and led me to the wide, double doors, the scent of old money and expensive cologne wafting out before we were even inside. Once we stepped past the threshold, I realized it was the same as the country club we belonged to back home, withpolished wood, crystal glasses, and the faintest hint of chlorine from the pool out back.
People turned the second we walked in and Trent’s fingers slid between mine, warm and sure, as if he’d been holding my hand for years. Those full lips also spread into a cocky but somehow warm smirk and he said hi to just about everybody on our way in.
There was a chorus of, “Evenin’, Trent,” “Welcome back, son,” and, “You bringin’ your girl home again for the holidays?”
With each greeting, I expected him to drop my hand or to push me aside the way the very important men in my life always did when they turned their attention to the very important business of networking, but it never happened. Instead, Trent tugged me closer. Every time, without fail.
“This is Charlotte,” he said over and over, my name coming out on a charming smile. When asked what I did for a living, he fawned over my volunteering like it was his own greatest achievement. “She does a lot of charity work with kids in Chicago. Support. Fund-raisers. Youth development stuff. The whole deal. It’s incredible.”
People lit up at that—and heletthem. He asked my opinions when they started talking about some of the issues the youth and schools were facing, and when I spoke, he didn’t interrupt or correct me. He didn’t translate my words into something more convenient. He actually listened, and because of that, so did everybody else.
They nodded like I was the leading authority on this, accepting that I actually knew a few things. It was, sadly, potentially the most validation I’d ever received.
We drifted from group to group, his thumb brushing lazy circles on my hand whenever someone made a joke or asked a question. Sometimes he’d lean down, whispering sarcastic commentary in my ear that made me snort into my drink.
I was actually having fun until I spotted a woman watching us. She was gorgeous, probably in her early thirties with blonde highlights, a body honed from Pilates, and the sheer will of someone who competed with every woman in a ten-mile radius. She swept through the room like a force of nature, smiling big at Trent’s friends when they made eye contact, and I swore, the second she came near us, she made the air change.
Trent’s posture shifted subtly, not leaning into me or staring at her. It was more like awareness, and not the happy kind.
Her smile tightened when she reached us. “Well, look what the wind blew back to town.”
“Savannah,” Trent said curtly, starting to turn back to me when she leaned over to tap his arm, her fingers lingering longer than necessary before she gave me a cursory onceover.
“And who’s this?”
“Charlotte,” he said coolly. “My girlfriend.”
