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He called me Lady M:the old nickname he used to use when we first met, and he said I reminded him of Lady Macbeth.
I know it was probably just a slip of the tongue, or force of habit, orwhatever.I know Violet isLady M now: in the movie, at least. But I would happily twist myotherankle too, if I thought he might say it again.
“Owwwww!”
Or, on second thoughts, maybenot.
“Are yousureyou won’t let me take you to the hospital?” Jett says doubtfully, turning to look at me.
“Absolutely sure,” I tell him, buckling my seat belt. “Come on, let’s get out of here before—”?? Iwasgoing to say “before she catches us,” but I stop myself just in time. Jett puts the car into reverse and pulls out of the parking space just as Violet and co. reach the car park. And I might have been able to stop myself a few seconds ago, but as the car moves smoothly away, and Jett’s eyes are fixed on the road ahead, I discover I can’t resist twisting around in my seat and holding up my middle figure to her surprised face.
Take that, Lady Macbeth.
No one keeps Lexie Steele down for long.
Fifteen
“Lexie,” says Jett, as we leave the loch-side car park behind us and begin the drive towards home. “You know that was just a scene you saw me and Violet filming earlier; right?”
“I know,” I reply quietly, resenting the reminder of it. “I read the script with you, remember? I know what happens.”
And how often it happens. And who it happens with.
“Yeah. I just don’t want you to think—”
“That you and Violet are together? Why not? You are, aren’t you?”
I twist around in my seat so I can look him in the eye as I ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask ever since he arrived back in town.
“It’s … complicated,” Jett says, after what feels like an interminably long pause. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, deliberately not looking at me.
“Right. Okay.”
So he’s not going to deny it, then. That tells me all I need to know.
The triumph I felt as we left Violet in the rear-view mirror — literally — vanishes, replaced by a cold, empty feeling of disgust for myself.
I’m not the winner here. I’m just a stupid girl pretending to be someone else.
And I’m not even very good at it, either.
“And you and McTavish?” Jett asks carefully. “That’s going well, is it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I answer quickly. “It’s goinggreat. McTavish is really… tall.”
Tall? What the fuck did I saythatfor?
“Really?” says Jett, frowning. “I’d have said he was, what, 5’11”? 6 foot, maybe?”
Jett is 6’3”. And I suspect he’s trying to remind me of that.
“Um, most people seem tall when you’re my height,” I reply weakly, not wanting him to know that it was the only thing I could think of in the moment, ridiculous though it undoubtedly is. Because McTavish has been great, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I can’t bring myself to see him as a potential love interest, is all. Not even a reallytallone.
I stifle a laugh at the thought.
“Something funny?” asks Jett, glancing at me.
“I, er, was just thinking how funny you must have looked carrying me while dressed like that.” I nod in the direction of his sword, which is crammed up against the side of the car seat. “I thought it was supposed to be a modern version of Macbeth?” I go on, desperately trying to lead the subject away from me and McTavish. “So what’s with the costume?”
