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“I’m closer,” Hunter said, “allow me.”
Before I could protest that I could reach them myself, he swung the bread rolls around so quickly that I had to reach out and grab them or get smacked in the face. Or worse, appear rude in front of my mom. My fingers accidentally brushed against his and I felt a frisson of electricity dance across my skin, fierce and dangerous.
I snatched my hand away before it could yank Hunter across the table for me to ravish him on top of the asparagus.
I tried to casually look around to see if any of my family members had noticed me spazzing out. Paige’s face was just a little too carefully composed; shit, what if she realized I had feelings for Hunter? I couldn’t ruin this for her.
Thankfully, my mom lost all peripheral vision when she had a potential marriage in her sights, and went sailing gleefully on full steam ahead: “And Paige is most accomplished, have you seen her watercolors? Perhaps she might paint a tasteful landscape for your manor—”
Paige rolled her eyes behind Mom’s head at an angle only I could see, her face suggesting that she would much rather be doing a cubist study of a slaughterhouse than anything like a tasteful landscape. I shot her a sympathetic smile, and she slung one back at me while Mom chattered on, oblivious to communiqués the two allied powers were sending each other.
It was impossible to be mad at Paige. Someday, scientists might isolate the exact chemical formula of Paige’s you-can’t-be-mad-at-me-ium, but for now, I would have to settle for being absolutely furious at Hunter.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to him, but hey, who said life was fair?
“And the historical society would simply be lost without her organizational skills—”
“Must be a family trait,” Hunter jumped in smoothly. “Ally has made the library a joy to behold with her re-filing of all those dry old documents; I’m seriously considering hiring her as a clerk.”
“You couldn’t afford me,” I snapped before realizing that I was supposed to be acting like I wasn’t angry. Because I had no reason to be angry. I wasn’t angry! Or at least I was definitely going to not be angry sometime soon.
I could see my mother’s eyes narrowing, her selective blindness slowly fading away as she sensed blood in the water of the Ally-behaving-inappropriately kind.
Thankfully, I have a big sister to save me.
“I have to visit the ladies’ room,” Paige announced. “Ally, will you come with me?”
#
“Look at this f**king bathroom,” I said, slapping my purse down on the green marble counter. “Who the f**k does it think it’s fooling?”
Paige raised an amused eyebrow. “The bathroom. Really.”
“Really!” I insisted. “It’s all gleaming and pristine and shit like it isn’t fifteen minutes from one of the biggest hotspots of homelessness in the city. Damn lying bathroom.”
Paige very kindly lowered her eyebrow and didn’t say a single word about projection as she fixed her make-up in the mirror. She just reached over and patted my hand with her free one and said, “I’m really sorry about Mom. She doesn’t mean to ignore you like this.”
“Nah, it just comes naturally to her.” I eyed my reflection morosely. My lipstick was starting to smear. I should fix it. On second thought, why bother? No one would care.
“She’s…” Paige hesitated. It was difficult for someone as nice and averse to lying as Paige to form a full sentence about Mom sometimes. “I think she’s just so nervous. She looks at Hunter like this great catch, and she’s overdoing it trying to snag him. Being rude to you, and overly critical…you don’t deserve it.” Her hand found mine and squeezed it. “Not that you ever do.”
My eyes were suspiciously wet. “And it’s not your fault, Paigey.”
I squeezed her hand back.
She smiled at me in the mirror, relief making her look even prettier. She relaxed slightly, pulling out her mascara to touch up her eyes. “I’m not the biggest fan of these fix-ups either. How am I supposed to find out if I even like the guy if she’s too busy selling me like I’m a side of bacon?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Still, this one is cute!”
“Sure. I guess.” I sounded about as convincing as a ten-year-old in a liquor store with a fake I.D.
“Did you get a load of those eyes? And damn but he is lucky we’re in a red state carrying around those guns!” She snickered. “Those are some firearms I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with!”
She couldn’t know how she was hurting me. She never would have said those things otherwise. I clung to this knowledge even as I clung to the countertop, my knuckles turning white. I was fine. Fine. Totally fine.
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