Texas slumps back in her seat, knowing she’ll be allowed one shot—and that’s only if she bats her eyelashes at her dad for long enough.
Last year, after performances and events, Mark started letting Tex stay out at after-parties with us because she’d turned eighteen. I saw a whole new side of her then. It’s what started my downward spiral, which ended with me kissing her like I was dying while dry-fucking her against her bedroom door.
“Daddy,” she says, going straight in with the puppy-dog eyes and everything.
“Oh, I don’t think so, pumpkin.”
Their argument goes on for two rounds until he finally gives in, and she joins us for a few shots.
I wouldn’t be able to say no to her either.
And I have a feeling that’s going to screw me over.
TEXAS
WEDNESDAY, MAY 6
CALAIS, FRANCE
I wake up after napping for about three hours, and we’re in Calais. We still have a little over four hours until we arrive in Paris, but I’m happy to be here. It’s early—well, it’s 7 a.m., which is early for the entire lack of sleep I had yesterday. Or I should say, this morning.
Rubbing my eyes, I head downstairs to make about a hundred coffees. Kitt and Will are the only ones already up, and they’re drinking beer around the table.
Yeah, beer.
“Seriously?” I say, reaching for the coffee.
“Ninety percent of you is caffeine,” Kitt says.
“Ninety percent of you is alcohol,” I reply. “What’s your point?”
They both laugh, and Will cracks open another bottle. They’re crazy. By midday, they’re going to be dead.
“Have either of you two actually slept?” I ask, putting the beans in the machine and flicking it on.
Oh my God, I need caffeine so bad. My eyes are stinging because I’m so tired.
“Be more specific,” Kitt replies, raising his eyebrow.
“Have either of you slept in the last twenty-four hours?”
“That would be a no.”
And I see it. They’re both glossy-eyed and smiling. They’ve gone past the point of being tired, but the slight shadows under their eyes tell all. Kitt’s beautiful dark blue eyes are marred by a light redness, but he’s still perfect.
Over the years, Will’s eyes, which were almost black, have lost some of their pigment and lightened. He thinks it’s cool and not at all due to the fact that he’s aging. Today, they look dark because he’s substituted sleep with beer.
As well as his eyes lightening, Will’s black hair is starting to grey around the sides. Apparently, it’s a sign of a well-lived life. I call it too much alcohol and too many women.
“You do know that you both have to be fully functioning humans today, right? We all have a club to be at tonight—which you need to remove my dad from early, Will. I’m cutting you off after that one, and you’re switching to coffee.”
“God, she sounds like my mum,” Will teases. “And don’t worry. I’ll have him home nice and early, so you can do whatever it is you do when there’s no adult supervision.”
His eyes flick to Kitt for a brief second, and my heart stops. But he wouldn’t dare say anything, and thankfully, it goes unnoticed by Kitt.
“I don’t care if I sound like your mum. You two look like shit, and that will give a bad impression in the papers. We don’t want that. And thank you, Will. I won’t be too bad, promise.”
“Don’t promise that, love. In your late teens and twenties, you’re supposed to be bad.” He gives me a wink and takes another swig of beer.
Will looks a lot like Milo—dark hair, dark eyes—which is not surprising since the men in the Sterling family look similar.
Will is like a surrogate dad—only, he’s much more laid-back about me having actual fun, and he is always telling my dad to lighten up and let me make my own mistakes. Will is into learning through experience, but if I ever needed him, I know he’d be there to pick up any pieces lying around.
“I’ll have to remember that one for when I screw up and have to answer to my dad.”
“Ouch, you’d throw me to the lions like that?”
“Damn straight. He’s the one who has the power to stop my allowance.”
Kitt laughs, knowing I don’t really care about money. “Tex, he could cut you off right now, and you’d still live a very comfortable life. Probably in a castle.”
He’s right. My bank account is…well, seven figures. Unless I need new clothes, I think I spend about twenty pounds a week, and most of that is spent at Starbucks.
“I might invest in a castle, you know,” I say. “Could be fun.”
“You’re so spoiled,” he replies in jest.
I shrug. “You know I’ll end up in a tiny flat. Less to clean.”
“You won’t have staff?”
“Piss off,” I say, throwing a small bottle of ketchup at him. It was the closest thing to me.
Kitt catches it with no trouble and puts it down on the table. I watch the muscles in his arm flex and blush as Will lifts his eyebrow.