I roll my eyes. He doesn’t have to break it down to the second.
“Five minutes,” he says. Obviously he can read my mind.
“Fine, fine,” I say. “I’m going.”
And I do. But by the time Grandma’s finished, I wish I’d been run over by a truck after a plane has landed on me.
* * *
Dominic
Kristen looks stunning in the blue dress she borrowed from Liza. Diego’s a handsome kid—a senior—with a wide, friendly smile and good manners. He won’t be making any moves on her though since I put God’s fear into him while Kristen went to her room for final makeup check.
“Have fun,” I say, hugging Kristen. “Just not too much fun.”
She rolls her eyes, smiling as she puts her hand in the crook of Diego’s elbow, and they leave.
/> I stretch my arms over my head, then grin when my gaze lands on the thick stack of papers on the table. I’m officially working as an intern at OWM—just had my first two days, including an hour orientation. It’s a big deal because the firm rarely hires undergraduates. But my interview with Gavin Lloyd went great. And he liked me well enough to have me report directly to him.
Yes, yes, yes!
Gavin doesn’t believe in having his interns make coffee. He works me hard, which is exactly what I want so I can learn from the best. The excellent pay—more than what I make at my two part-time jobs—is just the cherry on top.
So many amazing things have happened since Liza walked into the bar. And I plan to spoil her. I already made a reservation at Morton’s for later this evening—a surprise. A local jewelry artist will send a commissioned piece next Wednesday. I can’t wait to put it on Liza, watch her eyes sparkle with joy.
Two brisk knocks at the door. I answer it, and Aunt Dorothy is standing on the other side.
My mood changes instantly. I haven’t seen her for fourteen months, since our final court hearing. Irritation and hostility surge through me. She wanted to steal Kristen away, ostensibly to provide a more “stable and normal” home. It sounded good on paper. If I were an objective third party, I would’ve probably bought the bullshit. After all, Dorothy is a DA, and she’s married to a local politician, and they live in a nice three-bedroom house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with their adopted son, Andy.
I didn’t buy any of it. I know how much she hated our parents…and me…and Kristen.
Thankfully, the judge saw right through Dorothy because he asked to see some photos of us together.
“If you love them the way you say, surely there are pictures and memories.”
She wasn’t able to produce any. The only memory I have of her is her glaring or screaming at my parents or telling me what kind of fuckup I am. I’m certain she did the same to Kristen when nobody else was around.
Dorothy hasn’t changed—the suit, the aggressive body language, the thin-lipped sneer. She starts to push her way into my home, her eyes full of superiority and triumph. They alarm me; I was certain she’d given up on taking Kristen away.
Not bothering to hide my hostility, I block her, staying in the doorway. I’ll be damned if I let her come in.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Looking at you one last time before you’re booked for rape.”
“What?” I blink a few times to make sure I’m processing her right, then laugh. “Rape? What the fuck?” I’ve never touched a girl who didn’t want it, and since meeting Liza, the only woman in my life has been her.
“Statutory, to be specific. Don’t you know it’s illegal to have intercourse with a girl who isn’t eighteen?”
“I’ve never been with an underage girl.”
“Reeeeaaaalllyyy?” Dorothy laughs, the sound like nails raking down a piece of tin. “You had sex with Elizabeth Pryce-Reed when she was seventeen. The age of consent in California is eighteen, in case you didn’t know. Not that ignorance of the law is going to be a valid defense.”
“Who the hell is Elizabeth Pryce-Re—” Then I know.
Liza.
Elizabeth Anne Reed was the name on her license, but…