I stand, letting go of her hand before she snatches her back.
“Wait—” She bites her lip.
Don’t do that, darling. Let me do it for you.
I arch an eyebrow.
“Why?” she asks me. “You can’t be desperate. I bet there are tons of girls lining up to do—all sorts of things with you.”
You aren’t.
She never tried to integrate herself with us. Maybe that’s part of the appeal: wanting something that’s not easily available. She’s the forbidden fruit.
“Because I can, darling.”
I leave her to her shock, confusion, and disbelief, making my way to the parking lot and hopping into my cliche Porsche convertible. The car’s fine, but stinks of nouveau riche. So much so all my friends relentlessly mocked me for it. I’ll never tell Mom; she blew three months of pay on my eighteenth birthday present three years ago, and that makes it precious to me. Even if it’s red and stupid.
The house I slowly drive up to halfway up the Thorn Falls hill is equally gaudy, from the fake antique facade to the columns, statues, and marble—a copy of the grand Goltz mansion, except they can afford the best of everything, and ours is in every way lesser. Smaller, less refined, too over-the-top. It says “Dad made his money in tech thirty years ago and Mom never managed nine figure per annum before,” just like my car and my first name—fuckingHector.
For all that, I adore my home. It’s always filled with warmth and laughter. I know my teenage sister, Selene, must have invited her friends around for a late autumn party in the enclosed heated pool from the noise, and I’d usually join her first, but I wander to the kitchen instead. It’s a little early, but my parents usually have lunch at home unless something’s on fire.
Brittany and Vincent Cross are disgustingly in love, and unafraid to show it; I walk up to find them making out against the countertop.
“Woah, take it easy, guys. There are impressionable young people in this house.”
My mother giggles against my dad’s mouth. “Impressionable, you? And you’re twenty-one, darling, not seven.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant your sixteen-year-old daughter and her friends.”
My father’s more reasonable. He lets go of her butt and sits to hide his erection. “What can we do for you, son?”
“Can’t a guy just come home to see his family?” I joke.
We all know I wouldn’t be here in the middle of the day for no reason.
Mom sits on top of his lap and rolls her eyes.
“There’s a girl,” I say, making my way to the fridge since I ended up too busy chatting with said girl to get some food at the cafe earlier.
“I’m interested.”
My mom’s left eye twitches. “What else is new?”
I’m always interested in something, someone. For a time.
“I’vebeeninterested since September,” I continue, retrieving leftover lasagna from yesterday. “You remember when I missed your speech at the start of the year, right? That’s when I met her.”
Her jaw drops as her gaze seeks my father. They’re used to things catching my attention for days, a couple of weeks at most. Three and a half months? That is new.
My father’s the first to speak. “Well, are you announcing it because congratulations are in order? Are we preparing a wedding? A nursery?”
“Both?” my mother weighs in.
I shake my head. “Neither. It’s only been three months. I’m not that insane.”
Neither of them sees fit to comment.
“But, err, she fucked up her ranking and she’s on a scholarship. She can’t stay if we don’t do something. I want her to stay.” After a second, I add, “Please?”
