“Go upstairs and get ready, sweetie,” Mom says.
As I turn toward the staircase, her voice halts me in my tracks. “Do me a favor and wear the sleeveless blue halter dress we bought last summer.” Her eyes soften as her lips curve. “You look so pretty in it.”
I pause on the first tread as my face scrunches. I don’t give a damn about impressing these stupid people. They’re lucky I’m bothering to show my face at this shindig.
“I’d rather wear the short pink one,” I say carelessly.
She shakes her head. “No, that one is too—”
“Too what?” I ask, brows rising in surprise.
Her shoulders straighten. Any tenderness that had been filling her eyes disappears. “It’s not appropriate for this gathering. Wear the blue one. You look so sweet and innocent in it.”
Sweet and innocent?
What the hell is that about?
Unsure how to respond, I sputter out a disbelieving laugh. “Come on, Mom, you can’t be serious.”
“Actually,” she snaps, “I am. Please, don’t argue. Just wear the dress.”
My eyes widen in shock. The request is so strange and uncharacteristic that I’m not sure what to make of it.
She’s stressed. That’s all this is. Tomorrow the party will be over and we can move on with our lives. Sort of.
“Summer,” her sharp voice cuts into my thoughts, “did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” I grumble, “I’ll wear the stupid dress.” I stomp up the staircase to the second floor, mumbling under my breath the entire way before slamming into my room. Any good vibes flowing through my veins from the run are long gone.
With hasty movements, I jerk off the athletic top and mesh shorts before stalking to the bathroom and running the tub. To get through this, I’m going to need a long hot bath.
To drown myself in.
I snort at the thought.
The bizarro conversation with Mom continues to play through my head. There’s more going on than what my parents are willing to acknowledge. Maybe after this is over, I’ll have to snoop around in the study and see what I can uncover.
Once the tub is filled, I strip off my panties and sports bra before sliding into the water. Warmth surrounds me as I rest my head against the smooth porcelain and allow my eyelids to feather closed. Tension seeps from my body as if the water has the ability to leech it away.
My mind wanders, and I end up dozing off. When my eyelashes flutter open again, I’m startled to find Kingsley sitting on the edge of the tub staring at me. I blink, needing to make sure he’s not a figment of my imagination. When the vision doesn’t shimmer into nothingness, I jerk to a sitting position and draw my knees to my chest before banding my arms around my legs.
“What are you doing here?” As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing further to discuss. I’ve done my best to push him to the far recesses of my brain and pretend he doesn’t exist.
Has it been working?
Not one bit. But what other choice is there?
One side of his mouth hitches into a lazy smile as his gaze drops to my naked body. “You realize that’s unnecessary. I’ve already seen the goods.”
True.
“But that doesn’t mean you’re going to continue to see them,” I snap, exasperated to find him invading my space with the same persistence he invades my brain.
The arrogance dissolves from his expression as his eyes soften. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
Ha!
“Then why are you here?” It takes effort to keep the waver from my voice.
Glancing away, he trails the tips of his fingers through the now lukewarm water. “We need to talk.”
I force out a laugh. “In that case, you can leave as quietly as you snuck in because we have nothing further to say to one another.”
Ignoring me, he asks, “Did you mean what you said about liking me when we met at the beach?” Uncertainty flickers in his mahogany-colored eyes as he lifts them to mine.
The conversation from the Dairy Barn crashes through my head.
“Yes,” I reluctantly admit before continuing, “But that’s not the real Kingsley Rothchild, is it?” That knowledge is like a painful vise around my chest, making it impossible to breathe. All this time, I’ve been holding out hope that the boy from the beach would gradually reveal himself. That has yet to happen and I’ve finally come to a place of acceptance that it never will.
He presses his lips together as my heart thuds. “What if I could be? What if it was possible for us to start over again?”
I can’t resist flinging his own words back in his face. It’s so much easier than allowing them to burrow under my skin, giving me nothing more than false hope. “But that’s not possible, is it? There is too much family history standing between us.”