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“You’re so pretty,” Grace laments with an adorable pout, after kissing both of my cheeks. “Why do I get a sister who’s prettier than me?”
“Well, that’s quite simply not true,” I argue empathically. “You’re shorter, and therefore, more adorable.”
“But I don’t have your tits.”
I can’t deny that, as the sweetheart neckline of her burgundy skater dress emphasizes. “You have two years to catch up on that front.”
“I wish my sister was as awesome as you,” her friend Lucinda says with a deep sigh. “Mine would have just told me I could only dream of ever being half as cute as her.”
“That would be because your sister is evil,” Bella retorts. “Mine is awesome. And if I ever dare say she’s prettier than me, she’d launch into a three-point thesis about why I am absolutely wrong. Even though it’s true.” She smiles at me warmly, like I’ve passed some sort of test. “Shall we get drinks now, or wait for the birthday girl?”
As if summoned by the offer of drinks, Astrid strides in, wrapped in a shimmery gold dress worthy of the Oscars.
I’m smiling at her, until I spot something my eyes can’t help but drift towards.
He’s here, dressed in a dark suit, with a silky blue shirt, seated next to an incredibly gorgeous, tanned beauty with dark waves and smoldering eyes. She’s everything I’m not.
Callum holds her hand across the table. They’re seated with an elderly couple—a man with salt-and-pepper hair and an elegant, older beauty who can’t possibly be anyone except his woman’s mother.
Oh my fucking god.
CHAPTER 14
liv
I’ve never considered myself someone with a temper. I don’t tend to get angry. I’m a problem solver. When someone causes issues or breaks my trust, I tend to just remove them from the equation, never bothering to think about them again. My reaction to seeing Callum Noble having a lovely dinner in a trendy restaurant with a girl he’s clearly serious about and her fuckingparentsnot even a week after railing me in the restroom should be to cut him out of my life for good. Which happens to be handy, as I’d decided to do just that even before today.
Except I’m not surgically removing him from my mind, the way I’ve done with countless other scum. I amfuming.
I try to make myself focus on what’s going on around me—my newfound sister, who’s epic; her friends, who are pretty cool; the adorable birthday girl, who loves my present so much she immediately throws it over her gold outfit—but my eyes keep drifting back to the asshole.
He’s all touchy-feely, kissing the brunette’s knuckles, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, making her laugh. I never considered myself a violent person, but I’m clutching my knife so tight the metal digs into my flesh. I suddenly understand crimes of passion. If he were closer, I could imagine myself plunging it into his stupid hand.
Here’s the thing: I don’t like cheats. The very notion of a person betraying someone else’s trust is disgusting to me. And up until now, I’ve prided myself on never having so much as flirted with a guy with a ring on his finger. Sure, some married guys found their way to the strip club where I worked, but it was their business, and I never directly interacted with any of them. That’s one of the many reasons I was never interested in lap dances. I don’t want to be an accessory to infidelity.
But turns out, the guy made me the other woman, by fucking me when he’s quite clearly taken.
I hate him. I hate him IhatehimIhate?—
“Who are you staring at?” Grace asks, following the direction of my gaze.
Shit.
“Oh! That’s Cal and Camilla.I didn’t see them.”
Camilla. A ridiculously perfect, posh name to go with the perfect, posh girlfriend. I bet he’s not fucking her in any public bathrooms.
It takes a mountain of effort, but I do force a smile. “Looks like it.”
“Where?” Bella cranes her neck. “Oh, yeah. Ugh. Don’t they match ridiculously perfectly together?”
Astrid snorts. “Too perfectly. They look like brother and sister.”
She’s right: both have dark hair, light eyes, the same-ish complexion.
I try to help it, but I can’t. I clear my throat, then the question’s out before I can stop it. “How long have they been together?”
“Forever.” Lucinda rolls her eyes. “Like, I moved from England when I was, what, twelve? And they were already an item.”
