“That’s because I like you, Scarlett.”
“You like me?” she whispers, like she’s getting her first taste of the words. I nod, dropping my head on top of hers. “Like . . . as a person?”
“As a person, as a friend, as a class partner.” I take in a steadying breath, not sure what I’m saying. “I like you a lot, believe it or not.”
She nods. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
We’re quiet for a minute and I change the song to something more upbeat, something to pull us both from this weirdfeelingI can tell is about to encompass us. I don’t want to overwhelm her. Definitely not right now. But she has a right to know that I don’t just tolerate her or put up with her because we work together at college or just because we kissed. Iadmireher. I think she’s brave and wonderful and talented. I think she could do anything she wanted to, and I’ll happily remind her of that every day if she wanted me to.
“Evan,” she whispers, lifting her head off my shoulder and turning to me slightly. I watch the way her chest shudders with a breath, and it breaks me.
“You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I want to.” Scarlett puts her hand over mine on the piano, pulling my hand away from it and into her lap. She stares at my palms, tracing the faint lines with her finger. “You know what happened when I was sixteen,right? That party I threw for most of the school when my parents were out of town.”
I nod.
I know bits and pieces. I’ve never been told the full story since it’s never been any of my business, but that doesn’t mean my family don’t poke fun at it from time to time. Whateverdidhappen clearly affected Scarlett’s relationship with her parents and everyone else at Voss. I’ve always assumed it’s why she’s never had a job with them officially.
“Well, not only did we get busted for drinking and smoking, but someone stole from my dad’s office.” I blow out a breath. I didn’t knowthat. “I don’t know how it happened, but they tookeverything, Evan. Most of his important documents, his watches, jewelry and ornaments that were irreplaceable. They leaked some early samples for our new collection that year, and of course, I was the one to blame for it.”
I hang my head. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Scarlett.”
She scoffs. “There’s nothing you should be sorry about. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have held the party in the first place. It was my stupid attempt at trying to fit in.”
“Fit in?”
She pauses the lines she’s making on my palms, sighing. “I was popular for all the wrong reasons in high school. No one really took me seriously apart from Wren and Kennedy. To everyone I was just a rich snob. No one really got to know me. If they did, they would know that I’m actually just a huge nerd.”
“Hence the Sims pajamas,” I joke, bumping my knee against hers.
“Hence the Sims pajamas,” she mutters, laughing quietly. “I was always a rebellious kid. I think being the youngest and the only girl, it came naturally to me. But because I did well in school and I never failed a test, my parents would turn a blind eye to it and it just made me act out even more.”
I nod, twisting her hand in mine so I can squeeze it. “After the party, I was grounded,” she continues. “They took my phone, I hardly got to see the girls, and I poured everything into my designs. Slowly, my parents started to treat me normally again and I got my first summer role working with Voss. I put everything I could into my job even when I knew I wasn’t getting paid for it. I liked being around my family, being able to show them that I wasn’t that reckless girl anymore.” She shakes her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “But there was always something holding my parents back anytime I asked for something real, like attending a conference or being invited to big meetings. I thought it would fade as I got older, that they’d finally see therealme, but the truth is, they’ve never trusted me since then. Even when I thought they did, it was all a front.”
“What do you mean?”
Teary eyes meet mine, and I reach for her, pressing my thumb under her eye in case her tears fall. “The list was a fake, Evan. They did it so they could distract me, to give me another false sense of hope before ripping my dreams from my hands.”
Rage boils inside me. “Why would they do that?”
“I wish I knew,” she sighs. “They keep saying that I’m not ready and that they don’t trust me, but I don’t know how many times I can apologize and tell them that I’ve changed. Even Alex thinks I can do it. He’s been vouching for me all this time, trying to get me a job in London, but they won’t listen. I don’t get how they can hold this against me when I was a stupid kid.”
I swipe my thumb under the tear that falls. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, angel.”
She sighs deeply, nuzzling her face into my palm. “I think I needed the reality check. I’ve been holding on to the idea that they’ll change for alongtime. It’s about time I come to terms with the fact that they might not.”
My heart breaks for her. How can they not see her like everyone else does? She puts in more effort at college than she needs to, and I can only imagine she put in that much and more when working for her family. She’s an incredible designer. She knows the market, knows what people want. She caters to all factions of Voss’s clientele just in the designs I’ve seen of hers. She’s smart, she’s calculated, she’s fucking incredible, and I will never understand how they can overlook all of that because of one mistake she made when she was a teenager.
“You can lean on me, you know that? For anything,” I tell her, my free hand going up to grip the other side of her face.
“I’m starting to realize that,” she whispers, smiling. I lean forward and I press my lips to her forehead. I hold her there for a second, feeling the way she relaxes under my touch. When I pull away, her eyes dart around the room. “What’s that smell? Something smells really good.”
“Oh, I made dinner,” I say, sliding off the bench and jogging over to the kitchen to check on the chicken. Scarlett follows, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I still need to make the pasta, though.”
“You cook?” Scarlett asks, peeking over my shoulder to look at the chicken as I take it out the oven.
