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“It’s the truth. We, just, you know, watched a movie and . . . slept.”
“Together.”
“Yeah.”
Was that a hickey on his neck? A bruise forming just above his should
er? Had Ivy left her mark? Had she done it on purpose? Dear God, the girl could be involved in her own mother’s murder. Pescoli’s insides were churning. This was not good. Not good at all and here her son was, defending himself, defending her, when they didn’t know a thing about each other. For a split second, Pescoli saw her sister’s image, as if Brindel were in the room with them, which was absolutely nutso.
Closing her mind to what her sister might think were she still alive, how horrified she’d be, Pescoli shifted Tuck from one side to the other. She wanted desperately to believe Jeremy, to trust that he wouldn’t cross that forbidden line, but here in the litter of Coke bottles and beer cans, of clothes left forgotten on the floor, of textbooks shoved across the table to make room for an iPad, she remembered her own sex drive when she was his age.
“Nothing happened,” he said again, more firmly. “Not a damned thing.”
“Let’s say for the sake of argument I believe you. But the deal is that as long as she’s staying here, with me? She stays in the house, in her room. Got it?”
“I’m right here, you know,” Ivy said resentfully. She’d wrestled her way out of the duvet and was standing, barefoot, her short brown hair sticking up. Blinking against bits of mascara lodging in her eyes, she added, “He’s right. We didn’t do anything.” Her face was pulled into a little-girl pout and she swept a finger under her lower lashes.
“Why am I hearing a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence?”
“God, Mom, you always think the worst!” Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and she noticed the muscles in his shoulders. Somewhere along the line he’d become a man.
“I thought you had a girlfriend,” Pescoli said. “Rebecca Something or Other.”
“Becca Johnson and she’s not my girlfriend.” But he had the decency to blush.
“And you.” Pescoli’s gaze swiveled to her niece. “You’ve got a boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t.” Ivy looked at her aunt as if Pescoli had just dropped in from Jupiter. “I told you Troy and I broke up.”
“Around Thanksgiving, yeah I know, so you said. But he said that you’d taken up with someone else.”
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she said, “He’s such a lying sack of... such a liar! I don’t have a boyfriend. I already told you that! I made one up so that Troy would leave me alone. Remember?”
Pescoli did. She’d been double-checking, baiting the girl.
As if she understood Pescoli’s motivations, Ivy, petulant pout in place, stepped a little closer to Jeremy and despite the awkward situation, and the damning conversation, he, almost instinctively unfolded his arms and dropped one comfortingly over her shoulders.
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” Pescoli asked tightly.
Stay cool, Regan. Don’t make this worse.
Ivy snuggled closer.
“This is not happening,” she told her son, and ignored the nagging voice in her head. “And you.” She focused hard on her niece. “Go into the house, the main house, right now and get ready. You’ve got a police interview in a few hours and before that we have to pick up Sarina at the airport.”
“I don’t need to go to—”
“Yes, you do.” Pescoli was taking no lip from this girl even though Tucker was starting to fuss. “Get a move on,” she ordered. “Now.”
“Fine.” Ivy sent Pescoli a hateful glare.
“Wow, Mom.” Jeremy scowled sullenly. “Way to be a dictator.”
“Yep. That’s what I am. A dictator. And in my house, we play by my rules. All of us.”
The baby began to cry softly, but for once, he wasn’t the son that needed her attention. Ivy found her boots and trundled down the exterior steps and to the back door, pausing to cast a glance that was both sultry and victimized to Jeremy before heading inside.
Pescoli had to appear calm when deep inside she was furious. And scared. Somehow she needed to get through to her son. She had to change tactics. “Look, Jer, I understand that you feel a need to protect Ivy. So do I. She’s been through a lot.” She had to tread carefully here. She couldn’t come unglued. Couldn’t start barking orders and edicts or try to shake some sense into his thick, sex-addled brain. The worst thing she could do was forbid them from seeing each other because it would be like forcing them straight into each other’s arms. The whole star-crossed lovers thing. Which was so damned appealing, especially to young people.
