His face blanches, and he lifts me up onto my feet like I weigh nothing. “We need to go,” he says, leaving the last few buttons undone. He eyes the clock. “Now.” His worry clears most of his hangover, and I hope that it will be gone by the time we reach Villanova.
CHAPTER FOUR
We’re ten minutes late,but we’re not the only ones.
My father missed his flight from New York back to Philly because his personal pilot had the flu. He had to arrange a new one to fly his private jet. The whole ordeal shouldn’t take long, but my father requires a background check on all his drivers. The new pilot will probably have to prove his competence with at least an hour of test flights. My mother always meets him when he lands, so she’s also MIA from this supposedlyimportantluncheon.
But I’m not complaining. The extra time will help Lo become a bit more responsive. We sit on the patio with a view of a large infinity pool and yellow rose bushes. The mid-morning sun glints against champagne glasses, filled with mimosas. Berries, cheeses, crackers and petite sandwiches systematically line a white-linen tablecloth. Everything stays in its proper place, on tiered platters or doilies.
My stomach gurgles, and thankfully no one waits for our parents to chow down. Jonathan Hale hasn’t arrived either, and he claims he’s caught in traffic, but I have a suspicion he’s waiting in his car, not wanting to be at the luncheon without my father present.
Lo keeps his arm on the back of my chair, settling into the charade. His closeness makes my body tense, and I end up sitting on the edge of my seat, as far away fromthathand as I can be. Hopefully my distance is not too obvious. I ache to be touched more sinfully, but I know I shouldn’t at this inappropriate time. And realize Ishouldbe near my supposed boyfriend. It’s all so complicated.
“Pass the book over here,” Poppy says, holding out her hand. Like the rest of the Calloway girls, my eldest sister stands out among crowds. A small mole on her upper lip screamsMarilyn Monroe sexiness, and her skin looks far more tanned than the rest of ours, like a sun-kissed brunette. When I meet Poppy at malls or outlet stores, she turns heads. Sometimes I do too, but I think it has more to do with my chicken legs—so skinny they could crack like a wishbone. Not attractive, I know, my mother usually reminds me.
Daisy slides her modeling book to Sam, who passes it to his wife. Poppy grins as she flips the pages. “These are gorgeous, Dais.”
The compliment doesn’t faze my youngest sister. She’s too busy munching on tiny sandwiches like she hasn’t eaten in the past month.
“How was Fashion Week? Meet any cute boys?” I bat my lashes, trying to be funny but probably looking goofy and awkward.
Daisy snorts. “I think Mom ruined any kind of game I could have.” She ties her brown hair into a pony, making her unblemished skin and narrow face look all the more striking.
“Wait? Mom went with you?” I shouldn’t be too surprised. Our mother tagged along to every single ballet rehearsal Rose had, even skipping family meals to watch her practice. She could have easily joined the cast ofDance Moms.
“Uh,yeah,” Daisy says. “I’m fifteen, remember? Hell would freeze over before she let me do Fashion Week by myself. How did you not know that?”
“I’m kind of out of the loop.”
“Thatis the understatement of the century,” Rose says.
Poppy smiles. “Don’t be mean, Rose. You’re going to scare Lily off for another two months.” We all know who the nicesister is. Still, I can’t help but love Rose more. Maybe because we’re the closest in age or because she actively tries to be a part of my life. I see her more than I do anyone else.
Rose sips her mimosa with tight lips.
Daisy points an accusing finger at me. “You haven’t been to Sunday luncheon fortwo months?” She scrutinizes me, as if searching for any visible wounds. “How are you not dead?”
“I ask the same question all the time,” Rose cuts in, “seeing as how I get crucified if I miss one.”
“The perks of dating a Hale,” Poppy says, this time sounding bitter too.
Lo’s fingers tighten on the notch of my chair at the sound of his name.
My throat tightens. Poppy spent years convincing our parents to accept her boyfriend and welcome him into the Calloway brood. Since Sam had barely six figures to his name, my parents feared he wanted Poppy for her inheritance. So my father hired him at Fizzle even though Sam only had a high school diploma and a resume with Dairy Queen as his sole employment. Eventually, my father learned Sam’s benevolent intentions and approved of their marriage. And subsequently my mother did too.
Now a small munchkin with Sam’s dark hair and bright blue eyes runs somewhere around here. Poppy smiles often and has more maternal affection than our own mother, but she won’t ever forget the judgment they cast on Sam or all the hassle, even if their intent was pure.
Her resent ricochets back to me since they swiftly embraced my relationship with Lo.
“If I could change my name I would,” Lo says, the room blanketing with even more uncomfortable tension.
Poppy says, “Which one?” And the mood begins to lighten. The girls laugh at Lo’s expense, but laughter is better than taut muscles and furtive glances. Lo has never been too keen on his full name. One reason why Rose always calls him Loren.
“When did you get so funny, Poppy?” Lo asks, tossing a grape in her lap. I’m surprised he chooses not to banter back with a flower insult, considering my mother named all four of us after a plant. It’s only embarrassing when we’re all together in public, so I can deal.
“Resorting to food fights already, Loren?” Rose interjects. “The luncheon hasn’t even officially begun.”
“Now you know why they don’t care if we bail for months,” he tells her. “Mystery solved.”
