Page 235 of Barinov

Bella’s hands fly to her mouth. Her eyes fill completely to the brim with tears as she pulls Ivy into her side.

“This is perfect,” she cries.

“Your turn, sis,” I say softly, offering her a genuine smile as I slide off the barstool.

She takes my spot and places her arm on the counter. I step up right beside her and slide her free hand in mine, intertwining our fingers together.

Ivy changes the needle, pours fresh ink into the tiny plastic cap on the counter, and grabs her marker to freehand the match.

The machine buzzes back to life as Ivy looks down at my sister. “Ready, baby girl?”

Bella looks up at me, a beautiful smile finally breaking through her tears as she nods up.

“I’m ready.”

Chapter 60

LEX

The Whitmore’s

About to punch August and Cal in the mouth.

25 days since we got our girl back.

From an architectural standpoint—and since I’m now officially a college graduate with an Architecture degree—I have to give credit where credit is due. The Whitmore’s backyard is a structural masterpiece. The hardscaping is flawless. Featuring clean lines of imported stone tiles that frame their infinity pool as it weaves through the garden. The water spills down into a sub-level catch that feeds a massive, tiered limestone fountain.

Whoever designed that circulation system deserves a raise because keeping pressure consistent across three elevations is not an easy task. Trust me, I had to retake Professor Walker’s water circulation exam my Sophomore year. Along with damn near every other student who took that class.

I will say though, Savannah’s manicured gardens that their pool weaves through… total overkill. I mean they’re pretty and shit like that, don’t get me wrong. Just not my style.

Right now, a gigantic banner stretches across The Whitmore’s timber-framed pool house, reading CONGRATULATIONS GRADUATES! In bold burgundy and black lettering of course because I’m the only schmuck around here not graduating from Wexley. However, Savannah did sneak in some blue and gold into the centerpieces.

A nice little nod to Northvale.

“Hello?” His voice is muffled on the other end of the phone as it competes with the screaming roar of his car’s engine when he picks up speed.

“Knox!” I grip the phone against my ear with my shoulder, using my free hand to aggressively flip another burger on the grill. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Sorry, it’s my fault,” Haley’s voice chimes in, clearly seated right next to him. “I forgot one of the presents and we had to circle back to Rosethorne.”

“Just hurry the hell up,” I mutter, cutting my eyes across the lawn. “August and Cal are already three shots deep and getting on my last goddamn nerve.”

Through the rising smoke of the grill, I watch August throw back another shot at the outdoor bar. He slams down the glass while the fucker Callum completely encourages him. To make matters even worse, Zeke and Marisol just stepped up and it looks like they’re pouring another round.

“Make that four,” I add.

“And Cade?” Knox asks.

I glance past Briggs’s carbon copies who’re fiercely tossing a football back and forth and spot Cade.

“Stuck in Bennett Whitmore’s purgatory,” I say, wincing.

He’s been trapped in the same exact lawn chair for the last twenty-five minutes, cornered by his Grandpa Bennett. I should probably be a good boyfriend and go pull him out of that fire. But if I step anywhere near that conversation, the old man will reel me in too.

I’d rather swallow hot coals.

When we had the old geezer’s birthday party last spring, I got sucked into a damn near hour-long lecture on the wonderful world of Wall Street. No fucking thanks. Sorry, Cade. I love you, but you’re on your own here, babe.