“Part of it,” she says. “She’s not going to tell my dad, so there’s a silver lining...I shouldn’t have said what I said, so the bruises are all my fault.”
“No, the assault is one hundred percent her fault.” Remorse for not calling her sooner hits my chest all at once. “Does this happen often with her?”
She shrugs. “Do you want me to press charges or something?”
I’m tempted to…“I want you to feel better.”
“Then leave,” she says. “It hurts like hell to see you, and I was just fine before you got here.”
“You’re usually a lot more convincing when you lie to me.” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Are you staying here this weekend or going back to New York?”
“I don’t know anymore.” Her bottom lip quivers. “I meant what I said about the cannolis, though. They’re really good.”
“I’m staying in suite seven,” I glance up at where it sits, right behind the grand staircase. “Meet me there in ten minutes.”
“And if I don’t want to be around you for another second?”
“You would’ve walked away right after I said hello.”
OVERRULE (V.):
TO REJECT AN ATTORNEY'S OBJECTION TO A QUESTION TO A WITNESS OR ADMISSION OF EVIDENCE.
SCARLETT
Ido my best to keep my head low as I move through the party.
Thankfully, most of the people my father invited are casual business acquaintances and feel no need to strike up a conversation with me.
Hell, even my brothers have avoided saying anything other than “Hey there, Scar,” to me whenever we’ve crossed paths this weekend. I’m not sure if it’s because they’ve seen my scars and don’t want to ask questions, or if they’re too wrapped up in their own lives to care.
Pushing my way through the kitchen, I stop walking when I spot my mother escorting a group of women toward the pantry.
“I had Lucas make this custom for me.” She smiles at them. “Our other homes had grand walk-ins, but there was never enough space for me to sit down and really take it in, you know?”
“Oh, wonderful!” “I’ll have to tell Brad!” “That is beyond spacious!”
They pay her with her favorite currency of vapid compliments.
Her eyes suddenly meet mine, and her smile falters for a few seconds before her lips curve back into place.
“Oh, come here, Scarlett!” She waves me over.
For a moment, I contemplate walking away like I didn’t hear her, but her friends are already looking in my direction.
I put on a fake smile that rivals hers as I walk over to join them.
“My contact at Dior pulled this vintage dress out for her,” she says, tugging the fabric. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Very!” “It’s vintage!” “Did the shades come with it?”
“Oh, no,” I say, looking at my mom. “She picked these out for me. Would you like to try them on?”
My mother shoots a dagger at me, but a laugh escapes her lips.
“Scarlett had a pretty nasty fall down the dunes yesterday morning,” she says. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was pretty nasty…”
