“Can I see Daisy’s book?” I ask Poppy.
She hands it to me across the table and it knocks into the stem of my champagne glass. I curse under my breath and jump up before the orange juice stains my dress.
Lo quickly grabs a napkin, standing with me. He rests a hand on my arm and dabs the spill around my chest, thinking nothing of it. I guess no one else would either because we’re together (not really), and my mind has begun a serious free-fall. A server enters with more towels, and I am burning too much to actually move.
“I’m sorry.” Who am I apologizing to? Myself for being clumsy?
“Ohh, Lily is turning into a rose,” Poppy teases.
Rose shoots her a glare at mentioning her name within a slight insult, and I only redden further.
Lo sets the napkin on the table, and whispers in my ear, “Be cool, love. It’s just a little spill.” He smiles in amusement and his breath tickles my skin. I practically ooze into his arms. He kisses me on the lips, so light, that after his mouth has separated from mine, all I can think about are them returning.
The staff zips in and out of the patio, cleaning the mess around us like worker bees.
When everyone settles and I reattach my head to my body, I stiffly sit back down, and flip open Daisy’s book. Lo leans into me to peek at the pictures, his thigh meshing against mine.The photos.Yes. I blink, focusing. In most of them, Daisy stands against a white backdrop without any makeup. Beauty shots, I suppose. I turn another page and my mouth falls.
She’s naked! Or nearly naked. She stands with five-inch heels and wears a men’s suit jacket. Nothing else. The shot focuses on her long bare legs and the sides of her breasts. She has slicked-back hair into a tight ponytail, and her makeup makes her look twenty-seven, not fifteen. Daisy’s hips bendawkwardly in the pose, the only indication that it’s high fashion and notPenthouse.
Lo whistles a long note, sounding as shocked as I feel.
“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, careening her head to try and see the photo.
“You’re not wearing anything.” I hold up the book so she can see which photo we’re discussing. She stays perfectly calm, not even embarrassed. “I have underwear on. It’s nude though.”
“Did Mom see this?”
“Yeah, she suggested I try to book mature photo shoots. It’ll increase my value.”
Her value. As though she’s a pig up for auction. “Do you like modeling?”
“It’s fine. I’m good at it.”Okaaay.That is not the answer I wanted to hear, but I’m not her mother. I skip these weekly events for a reason, and attaching myself to situations won’t help me ease out of the Calloway household unseen.
Lo rubs his mouth, finding the right words. “You’re fifteen, Daisy. You shouldn’t be taking off your clothes for cameras.” His fingers brush against my shoulder, and he whispers in my ear, “You didn’t even do that.”
As if I’ve set the sexual standard. I gape and pinch his thigh. He cups my hand, intertwining my fingers in his, and even if I should pull away, I don’t want to.
Rose cuts in, “Don’t big brother her when you can’t even remember her birthday, Loren.”
Lo’s jaw locks, his cheekbones sharpening. He reaches for his mimosa and then grabs my purse, searching the handbag for his thin flask.
My mind goes suddenly blank as the staff starts shuffling inside. I tap Lo on the arm, and he follows my gaze, stiffening to stone.
Our parents have arrived.
For the past twenty minutes, Lo and I have avoided our parents’ focused attention. My mother fixates on Poppy’s toddler who busted her front tooth last Wednesday on the sidewalk. If I have to hear the wordsplastic surgeonone more time, I may need four mimosas and an attractive male server.
Jonathan Hale and my father whisper at the head of the table, enjoying their own private conversation. If their isolation bothers my mother, she doesn’t let on. She fingers a string of pearls on her bony collar and listens intently to Poppy.
“How is Penn?”
I jolt at the question, immediately reanimating from my stupor. Since Rose attends Princeton, it’s safe to say my father is speaking to Lo and me.
“Hard, lots of studying,” Lo says briefly. His arm curls around my waist. I’m too nervous to be lusting after him.
“Same,” I murmur. In my family, I’m “the quiet one” so it’s easy to get away with monosyllabic answers.
My mother perks at the start of a new conversation. “Lily, my little pansy, how have you been?”
