And then the crinkle of a candy wrapper.
He tosses the candy into her lap before slamming the door, turning to me with a ragged smile. “Ain’t love grand?”
It’s not my place to question fucked up relationships, but as I get into the passenger seat, glancing over my shoulder at the girl curled up in the back, I do know one thing.
Whatever’s going on with Lavinia Lucia is a fucking disaster.
And I don’t want any part of it.
13
Story
“How did he ask?” Mom asks, voice pitched high and excited. “I want all the details. Don’t leave anything out!”
My face heats, even though the chill makes me shiver. The temperature dropped fifteen degrees once the calendar rolled into December, and now I’m bracing myself against the wind. I hate the cold weather, but I’ve always had a fondness for the Christmas season. I don’t know if it’s the music, or the pretty lights, or the fact everyone always seems a little less hostile, but it’s my favorite time of the year.
“He sat down,” I begin, but she instantly interrupts.
“Where were you?”
Rolling my eyes, I start from the beginning. “We met in the student union for lunch.” Just like always. Tristian doesn’t tell me what to eat anymore, but he still makes sure I have access to his own personal choices. Sometimes I’ll take them, enjoying the pleased kiss he’ll press to my neck when I do. Sometimes I’ll eat my greasy slice of fifty-cent pizza and do a little shoulder dance as he grimaces and grumbles disapprovingly. “He sat down and ate some of his disgusting soup, and then he asked if you and I had any plans for Christmas.”
“Which we don’t.” I can practically hear her pout.
“Which we don’t,” I parrot, remembering the relief on his face. “Then he asked me if I’d escort him to his family’s Christmas party.”
“Escort him!” she gushes. “How fancy!”
I let her go on about this for a while as I dodge around a couple holding hands and scan the shops. I’m on a hunt for something to get the guys for Christmas, and it’s not going well. What do you get the guys who have everything? Not a severed finger, that much I know.
Ignoring that I’m too broke to bother with much, it’s just nice to walk around like a normal person for once. The side streets of Forsyth are decorated to the nines, decked out with candy canes and reindeer, string lights and garland that accentuates as daylight wanes. It’s odd how it makes me nostalgic for something I never had. When I was a kid, our Christmas tree was a foot tall and made out of pipe cleaners.
Still, it’s a big deal that the guys let me run these errands without them. It’s rare that I’m left unsupervised, considering how tense they’ve been since the break-in. Hell, considering how tense I’ve been since the break-in, I rarely find it in me to protest anymore. But I’ve been dealing with one version or another of Ted for a long time now. I’m not letting that asshole ruin Christmas. Not this one. Not when I’ve finally found a home—however fraught living within it may be—and something that’s messy and painful, but confusingly close to being called a family.
I’ve got gifts to buy and a party to shop for, so ho-freaking-ho.
Santa’s coming to town, stalker or not.
Of course, these are easy thoughts to have when I still have their tracker beneath my skin.
“Story, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom.” I side-step a Salvation Army Santa. “I’m listening.”
Nothing, not even my mother’s voice on the other side of the phone, or the fact I’ve been out shopping for the perfect outfit to wear to the Mercer holiday party, can kill my buzz.
“I just want to reiterate that nails and eyebrows are a must. Good grooming is a signal to the wealthy. They can spot neglect a mile away. Oh!” At this, she lowers her voice. “And please tell me you’ve already been waxed? Men like the Mercers are going to expect a certain…ah, shall we say, smoothness, to their beaver friends.”
“Aw, mom, gross!” My face might be screwed up in distaste, but let’s face it. She’s not wrong. “I have an appointment with a salon, but this is not a big deal. Tristian and I aren’t dating.”
I keep telling her that because I don’t know how to tell her that I’m sort-of, in the most convoluted way possible, dating all three of them. I mean, isn’t that what we’re doing? Hell if I know. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before.