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But yeah. It’s mostly photos of me in Tate’s arms. My eyes closed. Our lips locked.
I close my eyes for a fleeting moment, my heart in my throat. What is Ian going to think? My friends? Oh God, what about Rachel?
Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath and read the various captions below some of the kiss photos, all of them along the same lines.
Tate and Scarlett—the new it couple?
OMG aren’t they the cutest?
There are also headlines from gossip sites.
Tate Ramsey Snags Heiress as His Latest Conquest
Following in Her Father’s Footsteps, Scarlett Lancaster Is the Toast of the Town—and Has a Boy Bander as Her New Beau
“They think I’m dating him.” I glance up to find both of my parents watching me with concern in their eyes. “All of these posts imply that we’re together. Me and Tate.”
Dad frowns. “You’re not?”
“I only just met him last night,” I remind him.
“And you’re already dating him? That’s my girl.” Dad lifts his hand up like he expects me to give him a high five.
“I’m not dating him. That’s the problem.” I open up one of the many photos of me lip locked with freaking Tate Ramsey, and I make it bigger with my fingers, zooming in on our faces. Our fused mouths.
The kiss is extremely convincing.
“This isn’t good,” I mumble to myself, rubbing my temple with my fingertips. “This isn’t what I expected at all.”
“But isn’t that the best thing about life? When an unexpected opportunity pops up, it’s always good to take advantage of it,” Dad says, trying his best to sound logical.
“I have no idea how to take advantage of any of this.” I set my phone on the dining table face down. “I feel like it’s only going to make things worse. Everyone will be talking about me being with Tate when that’s not what I want.”
“What do you want, darling?” Mom asks me.
“I thought I wanted Ian.” A cold shiver steals through me, and I wrap my arms around myself, staring unseeingly at the table. I don’t want Tate. And I can guarantee he doesn’t want me. That kiss was all for show.
It was nothing.
And now Ian will think I’m with Tate and forget all about me.
“I don’t want to become that random heiress who kissed Tate Ramsey that one time,” I say when my parents remain quiet.
“You could never.” Dad drops his newspaper onto the table, his expression indignant. “Do they know who they’re dealing with? You’re Fitzy Lancaster’s daughter.”
“Fitz,” Mom tries to interject, but he ignores her.
“I will never let anyone minimize who you are. You’re going to make a difference in this world, I just know it!” He thrusts his finger in the air as if he’s delivering a rousing speech to his constituents.
Mom rests her hand on his arm, gently forcing him to lower it. “She doesn’t just want to be known as Fitzy Lancaster’s daughter either.”
I appreciate her saying that. I could never utter those words out loud to him, and especially not right now. He would be hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.
And there’s the root of all my issues. I am tired of being stuck in the role I was supposedly born to play. The daughter of a rich man. The heiress to a vast fortune. From a prominent family that is all lumped together. There is no individuality in the Lancaster family tree, with a few exceptions here and there.
My older cousin Whit Lancaster? He stands apart.
He also terrifies me.
