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Since I have a day off from Shady Farms, I’m using it to work on myself, which means doing absolutely nothing. I’d like to read, but every time I try, I start drifting off and thinking about Ford again. I think I’ve gone over the same page like a dozen times at this point. Still, at least the breeze feels nice and it’s not too hot and the sun is warm on my skin, and I can pretend like everything’s okay for a little while.
Until I think of him again.
Ford’s offer keeps rattling around in my head. He wants to marry me, really marry me, because we can help each other. Grandfather wants me to get a husband, and he never specified I couldn’t choose my own, but no, this is stupid. My whole goal is to make Grandfather happy for once so he’ll be lenient with Mom, and getting involved with Ford is basically the opposite of that.
Getting involved with Ford would be like dropping a nuclear bomb on my relationship with my family.
But the thought of Sara Lynn’s face—
I close my eyes and shake my head. No, no,no. This is too stupid and a total waste of my time. I’m not going to fantasize. I need to focus on sensible choices like Matthew. Our date wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either—there just wasn’t any spark. I sat there and listened to his stories and tried to laugh, but mostly I was thinking about Ford the whole time, thinking about him kissing me at first then thinking about how much I hate him later.
And everything he said. About being my family’s punching bag.
How the hell did he know that?
Is it really that obvious?
Maybe everyone can see it, and I’m a total laughingstock.
The idea makes my cheeks burn and I tug at my hair nervously. No, this is just Ford fucking with me. Instead of twisting my arm like a high school boy, he’s twisting my head like a grown-ass man. He’s doing the same shit he did to Sara Lynn back in the day, only now he’s gotten better at it, and I’m not going to fall for those tricks.
Matthew Keynes. A very good choice. Totally reasonable. Neutral, vanilla, acceptable. Grandfather would love it if I married into the Keynes family—they’re prominent, rich, well connected, a very solid choice. Sensible, practical, reasonable.
So boring I could puke.
Ford’s the opposite of Matthew. Where Matthew is on the shorter side, a little doughy, a little bland, Ford’s tall and dark and handsome and dangerous. Ford scares the hell out of me but every time he’s around, it’s like my body goes into overdrive and every sensation is doubled. The kiss was incredible, easily the best kiss of my life, though admittedly there’s not much to compare it to. If there’s no spark with Matthew, there’sonlyspark with Ford. One guy is like a nice four-door sedan, and the other is a Ferrari convertible. One’s logical and rational and shrewd, the other is insane and exciting and wild.
I can’t stop thinking about Ford. I don’t even want to start thinking about Matthew.
My phone starts buzzing. I sit up and pull my cover-up tightly around my shoulders as I look at the screen, my core pulsingwith excitement, some stupid part of me thinking that it’s going to be Ford.
Instead, it’s a local number I don’t recognize from a town over, and I reluctantly pick it up.
“Hello?”
My mother’s voice comes through raspy and distant like our connection is bad. “Sweetie? Hello?” She clears her throat, and something scrapes across the receiver and then she sounds more like herself again. “Hi, honey.”
“Mom.” Relief floods through me. I haven’t heard from her since she got arrested, and I was beginning to worry something had gone wrong. “Where are you right now?”
“Oh, you know, I’m in another lovely little paradise with kind workers intent on ruining my life.”
“You’re out of jail and in rehab then.”
“It’s a good one, I’ll give your grandfather that. He didn’t go easy on me this time.”
“Mom. I’m so, so relieved you’re out. What the hell happened?”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about the details. You’ll hear it all when the court case goes to trial, but please, don’t believe any of it, I’m totally innocent. It was just, I was a little tired and hadn’t eaten and—” Mom goes through her usual litany of excuses, none of which involveI was high out of my mind and it was my fault this happened,and my stomach slowly sinks.
Nothing’s changed. Nothing at all.
“At least you’re safe,” I say when she finishes. “That’s important, right? And you’re not—”
“I’m not using,” Mom says quickly. “I’m sober, thank god. And I want to do it right this time.”
“Mom…”
“Honey, I know you’ve heard that a thousand times, but this was a close one. I really mean it.”
