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Purple like royalty.
It’s early afternoon when there’s a tapping at my door.
I rub my eyes and sit up straighter, wondering why these screwed-up sleep schedules always make me so groggy.
Then I rememberwhoit might be.
Oh, boy.
Has he grown a conscience and come to apologize?
“Yeah?” I call as I get up to open my door.
But it’s not Chris.
The instant she hears my voice, Evie pushes her way inside without waiting, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
I swear, sometimes she makes my skin crawl.
“Oh, hey. You’re home early, aren’t you?” I say, blinking in surprise. “What happened to the big getaway?”
“Your father and I decided we had more pressing business,” she says, flashing me a cryptic wink. “He was here last night, wasn’t he?”
I try to play dumb, blank out my expression, but she looks at me sharply, his name written in her eyes.Chris.
“Who? I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Don’t youeverplay stupid with me, Cordelia. You think I can’t tell my son’s been sniffing around you since he showed up here for dinner? Winston told me everything.”
Damn.
Big mouth should be our gate guy’s middle name, but I’m floored that he’s telling Evie crap behind Dad’s back. Never mind the fact that whatever he’s telling her is a giant exaggeration.
So what if he was here, anyway?
Why is it any of her business?
He’s not a fifteen-year-old kid, and neither am I.
I can’t help beaming her a sour look.
It takes courage because I know how scary Evie can get when she ramps up, and the way she smiles now like an over-painted mannequin feels like the calm before the storm.
Still, it’s my room and I’m twenty-one years old.
That’s old enough to not have to take any crap from a wicked stepmom.
“You sound upset. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, Evie, but you’ve got the wrong idea.” I stare through her, unflinching. “Chris just dropped by because I asked him to help with my senior paper. I decided to find out what makes a military man tick.”
I look up defiantly, hating that I feel like I’m also trying to convince myself that’s the only thing that happened.
She throws her head back, her eyes narrowed, drumming her deadly lime-green nails on my dresser. They’re sharp enough to do permanent damage, I’m sure.
“So you say. Cordelia, Isawhow he looked at you at dinner—and I didn’t like it one bit. I don’t think you understand.” She draws in a sharp breath.
I shake my head because she’s right. I really don’t.
“He’s a stubborn boy, my Christopher. He certainly doesn’t needmoreproblems when it’s already like moving a mountain to bring him home.”
