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Plus, honestly, I enjoy spending time with our parents, especially Daddy, so I’m looking forward to this summer. I don’t say it out loud, but she reads my expression like an open book. “Nerd!” She snickers. “If Tyler bangs someone else on that yacht, I swear to God…” She never finishes her rant because the car comes to a stop.
I have a million questions about what she just implied. Chelsea’s always been the rebel between the two of us, and she’s always treated me like a petulant child despite the fact that we’re just one year apart. Is Tyler her boyfriend? Did she have sex? I mean, I guess it makes sense because she’s in college, but the concept of her sleeping with someone seems so weird to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve never met someone I liked enough to even consider doing that.
I don’t have the chance to ask her about Tyler because our driver opens the car door and I spot Mom and Dad standing outside.
“There’s my princess!” Daddy opens his arms, and I fly into his embrace while Chelsea kisses Mom twice on the cheeks like people do in Europe. For the record, my mom used to actually have us hug her, but at some point in time, she stopped and switched to this. I think it may have been her attempt to distance herself from us when we left for boarding school—a distance she’s kept mostly from me.
“Greer,” Mom greets me, and I approach to kiss her too, but I stop in my tracks when I feel her probing gaze examining me and finding me lacking.
“Greer, posture!” Of course those would be the first two words she’d say to me after almost six months. “Your hair is in shambles, and what in the world are you wearing, child?”
I look at my skinny jeans and tank top, and my gaze goes all the way down to my flip-flops. I had to fly from London to San Francisco, where I met up with Chelsea. Then our trip consisted of a three-hour car ride with a stretch on a ferry. Sue me if I went for comfort when I chose an outfit.
Mom’s blue eyes, so similar to mine, land on Chelsea again, and her expression softens. “One year away from your sister obviously damaged your fashion sense. I guess we could go shopping tomorrow.”
My sister and I react in sync but in totally opposite ways. I groan, muttering a curse under my breath while looking down, and she squeals in excitement. “Oh my God!” She beams. “I missed shopping with you, Mommy!”
Dad wraps an arm around me, offering me an indulgent smile that I find comforting. “Kelly, maybe shopping could wait for a day or two? Don’t forget that Greer is coming straight from England and she’s bound to be jet-lagged.”
I literally would use any excuse to avoid shopping. When I was at school, I ordered almost everything online, and having a uniform was a blessing because I didn’t have to spend any time trying to decide what to wear to fit in.
Mom’s head shake seals my fate. “Don’t forget that the Aldridges are arriving tonight, and they are staying here for four weeks. I’ll already have to hope that something of Chelsea’s will fit Greer. But beyond tonight, I think we’re pushing it.”
“Mom!” my sister whines. “You can’t possibly expect me to lend her anything! She’s going to stretch all my clothes with those boobs and hips.”
Humiliation causes heat to rush to my cheeks. I’m not fat in any way, shape, or form, but Chelsea never fails to point out that she’s a tiny size two or a loose four if she’s really having a “fat” day. It probably helps that she’s also a bit taller than me. Honestly, when I was away from my family, I was really confident about my body, but that’s evaporating fast under Mom’s gaze and the hot California sun.
I mean, sure, I’m short, like five-two and three quarters, and I don’t have long legs like my mom and sister, but I have curves, and from everything I’ve figured out so far, that could be a semi-good thing. I have a tiny hourglass waist and hips and boobs, which I barely noticed in my school uniform but are far more noticeable in the outfit I’m wearing today. Truth be told, I’d take curves over giving up carbs any day, so they can take their fad diet of the week and spend their time counting calories and ordering salads with no dressing. Daddy told me he hired an amazing chef for this season, and I’m looking forward to trying everything the resort’s restaurant has to offer.
“Chelsea, be nice to your sister,” Dad chides, coming to my defense. “You’re both beautiful, and neither of you needs to worry about your figure.” He turns to look at Mom. “As I was saying, Greer has had a long journey. Maybe you could stick to going downtown rather than all the way back to San Francisco? I’m sure the shops on Main Street will be sufficient to tide you over for a few days. They can get whatever they don’t stock from the mainland, and if all else fails, Star Cove is just half an hour away.”
Mom relents. “Sure, Jerry. I guess we can make it work.” Oh, thank God for that.
I feel relieved at the idea of not having to be subjected to a whole day of shopping with my mother and sister. I think the saying “shop till you drop” must have been coined with them in mind. Also, I really don’t need a constant chorus of my flaws ringing around in my head, which will happen after one day of shopping with them.
“Come on, girls, let me give you a short tour of the main building. After, I’ll show you to your rooms and then we’ll have tea in the veranda by the library.”
My eyes widen. See? I knew Chelsea was wrong. If there’s a library, this place isn’t just beautiful, it’s absolutely fantastic. “Awesome!” It’s my turn to squeal with delight.
“Nerd!” Chelsea mutters under her breath, striding forward to walk side by side with Mom.
Dad moves to follow them, but I stop by the open trunk of the limo where our driver is unloading my and Chelsea’s luggage. He keeps pulling out piece after piece of heavy designer suitcases—mostly Chelsea’s—and setting them on the huge gravel driveway of the resort’s main building. I stop and dip my hand into the trunk in a bid to help. I know it’s probably his job, but I hate the idea of anyone working for me. I mean, it’s a matter of respect. Even at school, when the cleaning crew showed up, I always made sure my side of the room was presentable.
“What are you doing, miss?”
My fingers brush against strong, slightly calloused ones, and I lift my eyes to look at our driver for the first time. At the airport, I was so taken with the reunion with Chelsea after a whole year away that I barely even noticed that the guy who’s been driving us all the way here isn’t much older than me. I think twenty-two, twenty-three at the most.
But holy heck am I noticing him now.
I notice his perfect, square jaw, his dark russet hair, and his piercing green eyes. His lips are flattened in a tight line, and there’s a tic in his jaw as he stares me down, pulling the handle of Chelsea’s huge makeup bag out of my grasp.
“I-I was just trying to help.”
His broad shoulders stiffen, stretching the dark fabric of his uniform jacket so much that I wouldn’t be surprised if the garment ripped under that strain.
“No need. That’s part of my job.” His tone is harsh, with a touch of defensiveness, as if I were trying to get him into trouble rather than helping.
“Sorry, I just—”
“Go, before your parents start wondering what’s the hold up and think I’m trying to skirt my duties.”
I immediately bristle, resentful at having my kindness interpreted as rudeness.
“Fucking rich girls…” I’m not sure if he really mutters those words under his breath or if it’s just my imagination, but I just decide to walk away and follow my parents into the imposing white mansion that houses the main building of the Coral Cove Country Club.
Honestly, as much as the chauffeur’s words sting, because I hate being judged by a stereotype, if he listened to my sister’s whining the entire ride here, then I’m sure that’s exactly what we seemed like.
