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I folded and retched into the dark. I was dry heaving, nothing was even coming out, but there was no way I could disguise that sound.
They weren’t laughing anymore.
I looked up through my hair and saw Shane.
He was looking right at me.
He was watching me as he held that woman down. Watching me where I stood between the trees, doubled over, terrified that I might actually throw up. I clawed my hair out of my face to try to see him better but I couldn’t get a good look at him. My eyes were watering and my hair was all over my face.
Then I saw him releasing her.
He was coming over to me.
I backed up too fast—and fell on my ass, hard. I tumbled back onto my hands, shoes and water bottle flying.
My wrap dress gaped open in front and my boob fell out. Just one boob, naked in the night, popping out to greet him.
He froze.
I died.
I must’ve died. Because clearly I was in hell right now.
Shane stared at me. The golden light rimmed the side of his face and caught in one pale, greenish eye as he cocked an eyebrow. “You okay?”
I scrambled to cover my boob and get up, but I couldn’t seem to find my feet as his gaze raked over me in the near-dark. His eyes snagged on my chest, where the flirtatiously low-cut neckline of my dress had become a slutty gaping V that I was still trying to claw shut.
“Shane!” That was the brunette, practically gasping his name with unsated lust. He hesitated, then turned to look at her, maybe to say something to her, and all I knew was I did not want to hear it.
I wondered if her dress was still up around her waist. If she was still bent over the car, waiting for him to finish what he started, as I scrambled to my feet and ran.
Moments later, as I collapsed on my bed, this one thought kept repeating on a loop in my head:He gave her his real name.
ChapterSeven
Jolie
Iwoke up in a blur of pain to an annoying tapping sound.
My guest room at Ellis mansion faced east, and the slit in the curtains on the balcony doors lined up in exactly the right—or wrong—spot so that a slice of sunlight stabbed me in the brain before I’d even opened my eyes fully. It would not shock me to learn that this was on purpose.
I would never put a thing past Margot Vola, soon-to-be-Ellis.
And there it was again—the jaunty rat-a-tat-tat on my door, something like a cheerful but determined woodpecker trying to drill its way through.
“Jolie, darling!” Mom sang from the far side of the door. “Aren’t you ever getting up?”
I realized foggily that it wasn’t the first time she’d knocked, and I managed to sit up, my head aching. I was so hungover I was probably still technically drunk. I had no idea if I locked the door last night, but to her credit, Mom didn’t rattle the handle or attempt to come in.
“The ladies will be here in half an hour! It’s time to get up! Put on your bathing suit, it’s a lovely day!”
“Mom!” I yelled back, but instantly regretted it. I clapped my hand to my ringing skull, as if I could force the pain back where it came from. “Ow. Mom. Seriously. I’m up.”
She twittered something and hummed away up the hall, no doubt showered, dressed, and brimming with the day’s possibilities.
I fell back onto the pillow with a whump.
I almost fell asleep again before I processed what Mom said. My brain seemed to be short circuiting, a tangle of faulty wires dangling in a pool of liquor.
