Page 134

Adam’s house in Beacon Hill is smaller than this one by quite a bit—this mansion is wealth in a different way.

Bennett explained, albeit briefly, that his parents were both from wealthy families. While his dad is from a long line of extravagant and continuously building wealth, his mother’s family came into money more recently. I wonder if his parents’ marriage was arranged for business purposes.

They’re not a family drama show, I chastise myself, focusing back on the ornately gated driveway and beautiful fountain that is currently covered in a thick blanket of snow.

Bennett’s mom is just inside the entryway, beautiful and tall with a waterfall of honey curls that she’s perfectly styled into waves. Her eyes are crystal blue, lighter than Bennett’s, and she scans them over me once—twice—and then rushes to greet her son with a gentle hand to his cheek.

There’s a moment where Bennett almost flinches away from her, but he settles into the quick touch and grants her a closed-lip smile.

“Mom,” he greets, then turns toward me and pulls my hand from the clenched fist at my side and entangles our fingers. “This is my girlfriend, Paloma.”

“Nice to meet you, dear.” She eyes me for a moment before blurting. “Are you all right with hugs?”

“Yeah.” I smile and open my arms. She engulfs me quickly, tight.

“You don’t know how hard it is to not hug my child—but you know, he’s different.” She pulls back and shakes her head. “It’s just difficult, sometimes.”

The comment feels wrong, brutal and hurtful despite the gentle tone.

I spare a glance at Bennett, his hands in the pockets of his fancy slacks and bottom lip thoroughly bitten. He looks ashamed. Stepping back, I reach for his hand and tuck it into mine.

My mouth opens—to defend him or to yell at her, maybe a combination of both—before Bennett stops me with a tight squeeze of my hand and a subtle shake of his head.

His mom says something I don’t hear over the slight pounding in my ears—a little fury mixed with confusion and frustration.

Bennett kisses my forehead and pulls away, nodding to his mom. “I’ll help him bring the food in.”

Him. Bennett’s stepdad.

I quickly straighten my spine, reminding myself that I’m not done with the first impressions just yet.

“Do you drink, Paloma?” Bennett’s mother calls as I follow her into the expansive dining room. She’s pouring herself something from a bottle that costs more than a year of my tuition, I’m sure.

I shake my head demurely. I’m eighteen, but more importantly, alcohol reminds me of things I’d rather forget. There are a lot of reasons I choose not to drink.

“No,” I say. “Thank you, though, ma’am.”

“You can call me Helen.”

She winks and ushers me into one of the seats at the grand table. It’s meant for a large group, but she’s only set the four places in the center. Taking a seat diagonal to me, she hands me a glass with a minuscule pour of white wine swirling in the bottom.

“Try it, sweetie,” she urges. “It’s not every day you’ve got the opportunity to drink this fine of a vintage.”

I don’t want to, but I want his mother to like me, so I take it and swallow it down brutally.

If it tastes any different than a boxed wine, I’m not the one to know, but I paint a charming smile over my pinkened lips.

“It’s good,” I muster. She nods approvingly, lipstick sticking to the rim of her glass as she takes down another large gulp of her bubbling champagne.

Her mouth opens to speak again, but just then Bennett comes through the door with a large platter of salmon on a thick wood plank. It looks delicious and fresh, beautifully cut into sizable portions. He serves all four plates before returning to the kitchen.

“This looks—”

The words halt half out of my mouth, throat going bone dry as the empty glass in my hand slips from my grip, bounces off the table, and lands heavily in my lap.

Blond hair slicked back, a graying goatee, and haunting pale green eyes.

Ethan Marks, my nightmare in the flesh, stands across the suddenly too-small table with a cheshire grin and a bowl of grilled vegetables. He’s staring at me happily, like I’m his surprise birthday present. I want to stand, to excuse myself and run, but instead I’m frozen. A deer in headlights; prey caught, frozen in a predator’s snare.