No. I’ve been so caught up in stewing over my confrontation with Sterling that I’m only now considering that he came here with Cyrus. Cyrus, who is part of my inner circle, even if he used to tease me about my flat chest. Cyrus, who will be in the solarium with everyone. I doubt Mr. Personality is out making new friends with my mom’s bridge club.
I just taunted the wolf, dangling fresh blood in front of him. Now I’m going to walk into his den.
“I’m not feeling so well,” I lie, hoping to extricate myself from the situation.
Poppy studies me for a moment, tilting her head, her eyes crinkling, in a way that reminds me of my mother. My stomach flips over, grief churning through it. Now I’m not lying. I don’t think I can face my friends any more than I can stand to see that boy again.
Judging by the way Ava and Darcy are huddled in the corner, there’s more gossip to share—more trivial, meaningless information. I wish they hadn’t come. I wish I could turn around and go back to standing silent in my father’s shadow as he shook hands and made small talk.
I’m too late. A dark-haired boy with cold gray eyes spots us, a smile cracking his face. His tie is already loose at his neck, his top button undone. He tosses back the Scotch in his hand. Shaking his head, he calls out, “Where have you two been?”
I manage a tight smile. Trust Montgomery to treat this like any other party. It takes effort to convince my body to move toward my friends. He is holding court between Cyrus and Oliver Hawthorne, who’s still finishing up his last year of prep. There’s a half-empty bottle of West Tennessee Whiskey waiting on the table for the next round.
“Thank you for coming.” I’ve been prepped to say this to everyone—raised by old-fashioned parents who expect their kids to have a shred of manners. That etiquette comes out in public, even among friends.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Your dad always has the good booze.” Montgomery’s thoughtless humor slices through me.
“Don’t be a dick, Money.” Cyrus smacks the back of his head but I see his barely concealed smile. He’s better at pretending not to be a walking sack of hormones than the others, but not by much. He’s as tall as Montgomery—meaning they tower over me—but that’s where the similarities end. Cyrus is fair-skinned, fair-haired, and mostly fair-minded. Of course, he has ambitions to follow his father’s path into politics, but not before he takes over the family’s global hotel chain. He’s lucky he looks like his mother, a Swedish model turned trophy wife.
“I was complimenting her family,” Money says, slurring slightly. This clearly isn’t his first bottle. Big surprise. He swings for Cyrus’s shoulder, misses and slops his drink all over him.
Cyrus jumps to his feet, glaring at him, as he wipes off what he can. “This is Brioni, for Christ’s sake.” His vision shifts to the doorway. “Sterling, come help me drink this. We’re cutting Money off.”
Sterling. I don’t turn to see him enter. Their new friend. My new nightmare.
The other girls—who didn’t bother to look up at my entrance—are very invested in the appearance of Sterling. I can see what draws their attention, even as I dread the next few weeks. They’ll talk about him nonstop. If I’m lucky, some other guy will prove more intriguing.
I’ve talked with Sterling. I’ve looked in his hurricane eyes. There’s not a chance in hell anyone half as interesting winds up at Valmont University this year.
Clutching Poppy’s hand tightly, I will her to read my mind. But when I look over, her black eyes are trained on Sterling. She didn’t meet him that night. He didn’t insult her. He didn’t stick around once she arrived with Felix. Now I’ve lost her, too. I make a mental note to warn her about him at the first opportunity. I can only imagine what a jerk like that could do to someone as sweet as her. For now, I drag her toward the other girls, pretending that Sterling doesn’t exist.
“Fresh meat,” Ava purrs in a low voice. She’s the female version of Montgomery. Usually opposite-sex siblings don’t look so much alike, even if they are twins. The West twins could be an advertisement for genetic engineering—beautiful, perfect halves of the same soulless coin.
“He’s poor,” Darcy says, but she’s staring at him with the same lusty expression. She twirls a ringlet of hair on her finger as though she’s considering how low she’s willing to go. She’s not a bitch so much as a pragmatist. With three older brothers, she’ll get a much smaller piece of her parents’ pharmaceutical company. She started her final year of prep this week, too, and she made no secret that she’s headed to university to catch a husband. She’s the only person I know studying to ace the SATs to ensure she goes Ivy League—where the big bank accounts send their sons. In her mind, getting out of Valmont ensures a fresh stock of potential marital possibilities.
“He’s also a complete jackass,” I inform them.
“That’s no way to welcome him to Valmont.” Judging from Ava’s interest, she plans on welcoming him to town with a private tour of her panties.
There’s no use supplying them with the details. Poppy will listen to me, but Ava and Darcy collect boys like stamps—licking them and sticking them before moving on to the next find.
Ava pats the arm of the wicker chair beside hers. “Sit. We need to catch up.”
I want to run. To flee the memories of my mother watering her plants. To avoid Sterling. To hide. To pretend life hasn’t changed forever.
I sit.
That’s all the invitation they need to continue with their gossiping.
“Cyrus said he’s a scholarship student. From Queens or something,” Darcy tells us. “I didn’t think Valmont gave many scholarships outside
