Logan?
I swing the door wide open and freeze mid-breath. Standing before me is my least favorite person in the entire world, arms crossed over her designer top, eyes gleaming with something sinister.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Victoria says, forcing her way inside with a shoulder bump.
She’s here to gloat. I can feel it in my bones.
Victoria’s laser-focused gaze lingers on my half-packed suitcase for exactly one heartbeat before sliding over my floral sundresses, canvas sandals, and the solitary cardigan I brought. Her inspection makes me want to throw a bedsheet over everything before she starts criticizing. Instead, I instinctively hug myself, some primal defense mechanism against the judgment radiating off her in waves.
She looks like she just stepped off a fashion shoot. Those white pants hugging her hips scream designer labels and three-digit price tags, while her gauzy floral blouse probably costs more than my entire wardrobe back home. The nude high heels look like they could pierce the floorboards, and her hair falls in perfect cascades, not a single strand daring to rebel. The difference between us is jarring.
Should I feel intimidated? Because I do. A little. Maybe a lot.
“Where’s Logan?” I ask, not wanting to have a conversation with her.
Victoria’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Outside. Cleaning the grill.”
Great. No witnesses for whatever character assassination she’s about to perform.
My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater as I search for courage. Why hadn’t I just stayed home? Or better yet, why hadn’t I pushed harder to make Logan send her packing the moment she showed up uninvited?
I square my shoulders, trying to appear unphased. “What do you want?”
Her heels click against the floor as she circles my bed like a shark sensing blood in the water. One immaculately manicured finger drags along the edge of my luggage. “I don’t know what his obsession is with you.”
My brows knit together so tightly they might permanently fuse. “Excuse me?”
“You’re so . . .” Her eyes travel up and down my body in a deliberate appraisal. “Plain.”
Surprisingly, the word doesn’t land like the slap in the face I usually feel when she offends me. On the contrary, I’m rather proud to be so plain. She can’t stand the thought of being overlooked for someone like me, and it’s glorious.
“And yet here you are,” I say, “uninvited, doing your absolute best to ruin our weekend.”
Her laugh rings hollow—sharp-edged and empty as a prop on a soundstage. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a small-town nobody. Logan is destined for the world stage, and you’re holding him back.”
The rudeness in her tone ignites a primal desire to fight back. My mother would tell me to be civil, to kill with kindness. But Mom isn’t here.
“And I supposeyou’rehis main act?“ I cock an eyebrow, my hand finding my hip in what I hope is a stance full of sass. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll steal your spotlight?”
Her smile tightens like shrink-wrap. “Don’t test me.”
The warning drips with menace, but some reckless part of me wants to step closer to the fire instead of retreating. And so, I take one deliberate step forward.
“You showed up here to break us up,” I say. “You clearly see me as a threat.”
In an instant, she storms toward me, and my bravery falters as instinct flattens me against the bedroom door. Her brown eyes—deep as poison wells—bore into mine with unchecked ferocity.
“He belongs with me,” she hisses. “On tour. In LA. Not tangled up in some small-town fantasy with a girl who teaches music notes to six-year-olds.”
Something snaps—the last thread of my patience, perhaps. I push off from the door, chin defiantly high. The sudden movement forces her to stumble back a step.
“What I do with Logan in private is none of your business,Vicky.”
Her face contorts into the most atrocious scowl I have ever seen. “No one calls me that.”
“Well, first time for everything.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s face flush scarlet with such alarming speed. She looks ready to blow up. For a split second, I’m afraid for my life.
