“She’s still being difficult?”
I bob my head, swallowing hard over the lump in my throat. “My happiness clearly doesn’t mean much to her. She knows she’s hurting me by continually refusing to acknowledge Stevie’s place in my life, and denying her invitations, yet she keeps doing it.”
“I’m sorry, Garrick. That sucks.” Sympathy is etched upon her pretty face. “Ivy is such a snob at times.”
“Ivyisa snob, period.” I take another mouthful of the whisky hoping it will disguise the sudden sour taste in my mouth.
“What are—”
“There you are!”
Speak of the devil.
Mom rushes up to us, cutting across whatever Pepper was about to say. “I’ve been looking for both of you. The photographer is waiting because we want to get some group shots.”
“Of course.” Pepper drains her drink, urging me to do the same with her eyes.
I knock my scotch back, dreading this next part. I don’t know how socialites, influencers, and celebrities do it. I hate getting photographed at events as much as I hate wearing this monkey suit.
“You look stunning, dear.” Mom sweeps her eyes up and down Pepper’s fitted red dress. With her jet-black hair and her gorgeous face, she really does stand out in the crowd. “Gucci? Am I right?”
“Yes. Daddy’s assistant organized it as I was far too busy this week to go shopping.” Pepper smiles at me. “Unlike some who were lazing around under a hot Cypriot sun.”
I’m tempted to tell her it wasn’t even close to lazy. Stevie and I fucked like rabbits nonstop the entire vacation. Our sex life is off-the-charts hot, and I’m a very lucky man. The only rooms we didn’t christen were Dad and Dawn’s room and the twins’ bedrooms. We even fucked in the pool, out on the loungers, and on the balcony in the dead of night when we were sure no one was around.
As much as I’d love to see Mom’s face if I said all that, I won’t disrespect Stevie by discussing our private business. It wouldn’t help our cause either. Mom would only feel justified labeling her a gold-digging whore. “It’s a tough life for sure,” I say, smirking.
“Doesn’t Pepper look gorgeous?” Mom says, pinning me with a sharp look as she puts me on the spot.
“Pepper always looks lovely,” I say, not wanting to embarrass my friend by saying nothing. The truth is, I barely notice what Pepper wears although I know she is always impeccably dressed. You can’t grow up the way she did, or mix in the circles she does, and not look the part. “Red is definitely your color, and the dress really suits you.”
Her face lights up at my compliment. “Thanks, Garrick.”
“You two look striking together. Think of how pretty your babies would be!”
Pepper grimaces, looking awkward in the extreme, and I grind my teeth to the molars, wondering if I’d get away with gluing my mother’s mouth shut.
When neither of us dignifies her remark with a comment, Mom loops her arm through Pepper’s and smiles at her with deliberate fondness. I’ve seen that look on her face before, and I can’t decide if Mom genuinely likes Pepper or it’s all an act. It’s getting harder and harder to tell these days. Mom ushers Pepper forward and glances over her shoulder. “Garrick. Get a move on. We can’t keep the governor waiting.”
Pepper’s parents are already in the room cordoned off for official press photographs, standing in front of the large Autism Awareness logo affixed to one wall. Freestanding heavy-duty lighting is arranged around the area, and a group of about ten photographers is lined up in front, like vultures, waiting for the money shot.
Mom steps into the frame alongside Cristelle Montgomery while Pepper gravitates to her father’s free side. I move over beside Mom, and she attempts a scowl. “What are you doing?” she hisses, grabbing my arm. “Go stand beside Pepper!”
“What difference does it make where I stand?”
“Don’t start with me, Garrick. I ask so little of you, and I’ve hardly seen you all summer thanks to that—”
I glare at her. “Say one nasty thing about my girlfriend, and I’ll walk. I swear.”
“Just go stand beside Pepper,” she says, shaking her head as she looks behind me at someone.
“I’m not being photographed beside a woman who isn’t my girlfriend,” I reply, working hard to keep my tone calm.
“The jealous type, is she?” Mom sneers, and I clench my fists at my sides.
“Stevie isn’t jealous at all. She trusts me. She knows I only have eyes for her.”
Mom waves her hands in the air. “So, what’s the problem then? It’s only a picture, Garrick. It’s not like I’m asking you to take her to bed.”
