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I told myself I didn’t want to go sailing with them anyway as I circumvented the side of the property, grateful that Cornelia owns so much land surrounding Rosethorn. It was relatively easy to slip by them unnoticed as I trailed through an overgrown patch of trees. Sure, my legs got scratched up a bit from the brush and brambles in my path, but it was a small price to pay to save my dignity.
I passed the gardeners trimming an overgrown wall of ivy and sent them a wave, then I trailed back behind the house, hugging the wall until I made it to the entrance into the kitchen.
Chef was in there, preparing lunch, and I held up the sack full of ripe peaches I had promised I’d get him at the farmer’s market. He had plans to bake them into a pie and I’m sure it’s finished by now, but I sit up here, unwilling to move from my window seat.
Nicholas shakes his head at Tori and then motions back to his car—a ridiculous vehicle, by the way. Some kind of vintage Porsche, black and sleek and totally impractical. He leans in to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek then they go their separate ways, Tori back to her grandmother’s house and Nicholas back to New York.
I don’t know why that makes me feel sick, but the feeling lingers into the next day and the next, until I arrive at the club for a second round of tennis lessons with Tori.
She greets me with a friendly wave and I try to forgive her for being friends with Nicholas. I try to separate them in my mind. Tori is nice; who cares if she’s Nicholas’ best friend? She’s my friend too.
“Oh thank god,” she says, sighing when she sees me. “I was worried you weren’t going to show after last week.”
“I almost bailed,” I tease. “My arms are still sore.”
She laughs as if I’m kidding. I’m not.
“Ah, here’s our coach now. Don’t smile—I have a feeling he feeds off of our happiness.”
I can’t help but laugh, but it doesn’t last long. We’re immediately thrown into our warm-up (which I would have previously thought of as a very intense workout on its own) and then it’s thirty minutes of balls flying near my face as I try desperately to whack them away with a racquet. I succeed only twice. It’s a shitshow, and worse, we have an audience.
Tori’s cousin Barrett shows up toward the tail end of our session.
I haven’t seen him since the ball two weeks ago, which means I still haven’t had the chance to thank him for the flowers he sent.
He waits for us at the gate as we gather our bags, looking sharp in a white button-down and navy pants.
“You two might be the worst tennis players I’ve ever seen,” he says good-naturedly as we walk toward him.
“Lay off, will you?” Tori says with a groan. “We’re learning.”
“Is that what you were doing? It looked like you were putting every effort into not hitting the ball.”
She reaches over to shove him playfully but he leans out of the way just in time.
“I have to say, even if you do suck, at least you both look the part.”
He’s not wrong there. I can’t imagine what all my gear cost Cornelia: my racquet and its designer bag; my zip-front tank and coordinating skort, both from L’Etoile, a brand I’d never heard of.
“Are you here just to annoy us or are you actually going to say hello to Maren? You know, the girl you’ve been asking me about nonstop for the last two weeks?”
I blush and look away, but Barrett doesn’t seem to mind her disclosing his secrets.
“Yes, well, you haven’t done a very good job getting us together. I thought I’d take matters into my own hands today,” he says, coming forward to take my tennis bag before I can loop it over my shoulder. “Are you two heading in for lunch?”
“If I say yes, does that mean you’re going to join us?” Tori asks, sounding annoyed by the prospect, though I think it’s just her way of teasing him.
He grins. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d love to.”
Barrett’s already sitting at the table in the club’s restaurant by the time we’re done showering off. I changed into a simple blue sundress and flats then looped a scarf around my hair like a headband to keep flyaways from escaping my braid.
Tori’s dressed similarly, and though it makes me feel silly to admit it to myself, I’m glad to see I’m starting to blend in so well.
We order drinks, me following Tori’s lead with an Aperol spritz, and then I lean back in my chair and listen while she asks Barrett about his weekend.
“Weren’t you in L.A. for your friend’s birthday?”
