Appealed (29 page)

Her lips peel back in an aggressive smile, revealing glowing, straight teeth. She smacks the lapel of my suit. “How are you, stranger?”

“I'm good, Cazz,” I answer coolly. “How about yourself?”

“I'm amazing! I'm running my own modeling business now out in LA! Everyone thinks they're going to be the next Giselle—though most of them couldn't get a hemorrhoid cream commercial without blowing the photographer first. What are you doing with your fine self these days?”

And here's where that ulterior motive comes into play.

“I got engaged recently.”

Her smile turns forced and her eyes harden. “Really? How nice.”

“It is.” Then I pull Kennedy around from behind me. “My fiancée is Kennedy Randolph. You remember her, don't you, Cazz?”

Her pretense of good humor drops, melting into an ugly scowl.

“Hello, Cashmere.” Kennedy stares her down, her eyes hard like topaz. It's similar to her court stance. Fearless.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Cashmere screeches at me. “I knew it! I always
knew
you had a thing for her! Unbelievable!”

My voice is calm, and deceptively contrite. “Yeah, you're right. I always did. The thing is, I have a little confession to make.”

“What?”

“I cheated on you, Cashmere. All through boarding school. All those nights when I said I had to practice late or my leg bothered me or I had to study—I was really with Kennedy.” I look right into her angry eyes. “It was always her. Always.”

When a stunned expression fills her face, I know she believes me. That my words struck her right in the heart. And Kennedy's final dragon is slayed.

“Are you . . . are you
serious
?”

“Totally.” Then I shrug. “But it's no big deal, right? Kids are assholes. They only care about themselves—they don't give a damn how much they might hurt someone else. No hard feelings, right?”

Cashmere swallows whatever she was about to say, because we're surrounded by her old groupies—and every one of them heard. So she saves face as best she can.

She smiles tightly. “Yeah. No hard feelings.”

“Great.” I stroke the back of Kennedy's hair. “Oh—this is a good song. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to dance with the girl of my dreams. Later, Cazz.”

I turn around and lead Kennedy away.

Once we're on the dance floor, with my arms around her, she smirks at me.

“Why did you do that?”

I press my lips against her hair. “I can't go back and change those years for you, but I can change how she remembers them. She doesn't get to think she was better than you—she never was.”

Kennedy's sigh sounds content and grateful at the same time.

“Thank you.”

She lays her head on my chest and we dance for a few minutes. Then her head pops back up excitedly. “Hey, you know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should drive back out to the overlook.” Her voice drops to sultry. Teasing. “We could . . . make out . . . like we did last time.”

I brush my nose against hers. “Will you let me go all the way this time?”

She bites her lip, like she has to think about it. “I'm not sure . . . I'm a good girl, you know.”

My hands slip down to her hips, squeezing. “But it's so fun when you're bad.”

And hot. She's really fucking hot when she's bad.

Kennedy's head tilts back and her eyes sparkle. All for me. “You play your cards right, things could turn naughty.”

Sweet. I'm a kick-ass card player.

“You know what else I just realized?” she asks.

My hands slide up her thighs, cupping her ass. “What?”

“You never settled on a nickname for me.”

I kiss her softly, with the promise of more to come.

“But I did. The best nickname ever—and in a few months, I'm going to use it every chance I get.”

Her head angles to the side, trying to guess. Eventually she gives up.

“What is it?”

I raise Kennedy's left hand to my lips, kissing the knuckles where her engagement ring sits. Where, very soon, a wedding ring will be.

“Wife.”

“R
obert?” Vivian Mason's voice whispered. “Are you awake?”

She wasn't supposed to be. Her parents had tucked her into bed hours ago. Her mother had softly brushed back her blond hair and kissed her forehead, her mother's beautiful white dress glowing in the dim room like a star in the night sky. And her father had wished her sweet dreams, calling her his Little Fox, because he said she was smart like a fox. He was silly like that, always coming up with funny names for her and her little brothe
r and sister.

But how could they expect her to sleep? It was New Year's Eve and there was a grand party in the ballroom below them.

“Robert!” she demanded, louder now.

“Yes, I'm awake!”

The silk sheets whistled as her best friend in the whole world, Robert Atticus Becker, emerged from them. Though they were both eight
, Robert was already a head taller than her. Her rubbed the drowsiness from his ice-blue eyes, pushed a hand through his black hair, and stood next to her by the door.

“Did it start yet?”

Vivian smiled with excitement—because for as long as she could remember, she looked forward to the fireworks display that would soon light up the world outside. Like magic.

“No, but soon.”

Robert took the lead, cracking open the door and peeking out, making sure the coast was clear. Then they crept down the endless hallway, Vivian's slippered feet and Robert's bare ones not making a sound. They stepped into the red bedroom and closed the door softly behind them.

This was where her grandmother kept her most treasured photo albums—the book shelves were lined with them. Her parents had had two weddings—one on an empty beach of white sand and swaying tropical trees—
and another, fancier affair, with hundreds of guests in a building with intricate arches and marble columns. And there were photographs of all her parents' trips and travels. Before she was born, they'd even jumped out of an airplane together. But they didn't travel much anymore, not to anywhere the whole family couldn't go.

Her father once said that having her was their greatest adventure.

The two children climbed onto the velvet window seat. Vivian rose up on her knees, her palms against the cold panes, looking out to catch a glimpse of the guests below.

“I can't believe Samuel got to go to the party this year but we didn't.” She pouted.

Robert shrugged. “He's older than us.”

As the youngest of seven, Robert knew all about having to wait to do things his older siblings were already allowed.

“Just be lucky you're not Nat or Xavier—
they have years to go.”

That was true. Vivian's younger siblings were at this moment confined to the nursery, with Harrison and Nanny Jane keeping careful watch.

Vivian stretched her neck as the crowd of guests stepped out onto the veranda in their shiny jewels, floaty gowns, and sharp tuxedos. She could practically hear the tinkling of champagne glasses as white-gloved servants handed them out from silver trays. She spotted her parents then—her mother laughing at something her father whispered in her ear. There were few things Brent Mason enjoyed more than making his wife laugh.

Then slowly, her father turned, his handsome face tilted up, as if he was looking right at her. And she could've sworn he winked.

For a second she gasped. Until she remembered the room was dark and they were high above him—he couldn't possibly know she was there.

She saw her Uncle Stanton—tall and golden—walk up to her parents, with his arm around her beautiful Aunt Sofia. Beside her mother, she spotted Robert's parents. Vivian thought Aunt Chelsea must be cold, because Uncle Jake had her tucked against his broad chest, his big arms around her, shielding her from the wind.

Sounding slightly bored, Robert asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up? I'm going to be a Navy Seal—they have the coolest assignments.”

Vivian sat back on her heels. “I'm going to be a writer, like my Aunt Vicky.”

Robert's nose scrunched. School was easy for him, he could read something once and remember it word for word. But that didn't mean he liked reading.

“What would you write about?”

Vivian gazed down at the three couples below, who were such a huge, wonderful part of her life. “I'm going to write about three superheroes. Everyone thinks they're just normal people, but they have hidden identities.”

Robert nodded his head. “Secret identities are cool. What will they be?”

Vivian's voice went soft as she imagined. “One will be a cowboy, one a knight, and the other, a prince.”

“Will they kill people?”

Vivian's head whipped around to him. “No. They'll save people. Every day. And they'll have beautiful superhero wives who save them.”

Robert squinted. “I don't know, Viv. Sounds kind of dumb.”

She just smiled. “My stories will be amazing. Everyone who reads them will laugh and cry and know how it feels to fall in love. And they'll end the way all the very best stories end.”

Robert leaned toward her, his attention caught. “How will they end?”

“ ‘And they all lived happily ever after.' ”

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