I step closer, feeling protective of Story. “We’re not staying long.”
My mom levels me with a glare. “That wasn’t the deal we made. Neither was bringing a date, dear.” She smiles, but it’s so fake that it struggles to turn the corners of her mouth north. “What is your name?”
Camille didn’t rattle Story.
My mom does. When she replies, “Story Salenger,” the tremble in her voice is heard. I fucking hate it, and I hate them more for causing it.
Why did I bring her here? It was never going to be different, despite how much I hoped it would change the temperament of our disagreements.
Not satisfied, my mom turns to me as if we’re the only two in the conversation. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”
“Well, that’s too bad because you’re not the one in this relationship. I am, and I love Story.”
My dad asks, “You love her?” His cynical side gets the better of him. “You’re young. You know nothing about love.”
“This is not the time for this conversation.”
My mom rubs her temple and looks up at the sky as if relief will be found in the stars. I’ve tried to find it myself many times over the years and never lucked out. I found Story instead. That’s when I realized I had been searching in the wrong place all along.
I take Story’s hand and hold it between mine to warm it and to hopefully reassure her if that notion is even plausible at this time.
Narrowing her eyes back on Story, my mom says, “It’s nothing personal. Cooper should have known better than to surprise us like this.” She references behind her toward the party. “Poor Camille has been waiting all night for his arrival, so you can imagine the mess I’ll have to sort out inside.”
Story squeezes my hand. “And you expect me not to take that personally?”
“It’s not about you, dear. It’s about Camille.”
“Camille’s a big girl. I think she knew he wasn’t coming to see her, but my apologies for not RSVPing. I thought I was on the list.”
“You are always on mine,” I say. “I think it’s best if we leave now.”
My dad puts his hands in his pockets and raises his chin. “Probably best. We have guests to tend to, and most are aware of your problematic history, so let’s not make a scene.” He reaches into the interior pocket of his suit’s jacket and pulls out an envelope. Handing it to me, he adds, “Just pick out what you like. It’s taken care of.”
The dealership’s name is embossed across the front, so I know what it is. I stare at it between us before he puts it to my chest and pats. “Merry Christmas.” Wrapping his arms around my mom’s shoulders, he tells her, “It’s cold out. Let’s get you inside.”
It’s not anger, disappointment, or pain in her eyes when she looks back at me before returning to the party. It’s indifference.
And that hurts even more.
I tuck the envelope in my pocket and look down at Story. If the interaction with Camille didn’t make her want to dump me, I’m sure that encounter did. I exhale, the tension still there because I know Story and I have a heavy conversation ahead of us, but after I choke down what just happened with my parents.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
26
Story
“Why didn’t you tell them I was coming, Cooper?”
“Because I didn’t want the fight that would come right after.” If that doesn’t tell me everything . . .
Whipping my gaze from outside the window to where he sits across the suite, I see a fresh drink in front of him and a bag of chips that he took from the minibar. We’d discarded our unfinished drinks on a table before working our way toward the exit, but he doesn’t see me pouring a cocktail as soon as we get back. I’m too mad to drink. “How’d that work out for you?”
“I’m thinking it didn’t.” The crunch of another chip as he chews grates on my nerves. How can he eat after what happened? I look at Cooper again with his expensive liquor and chips that will probably cost a fortune. He doesn’t even care about money when I feel my whole world hinges on my next paycheck.
I can’t hold that against him, or I’m no better than Camille. Ugh. I’m mad with every fiber of my being. I’ve been irritated since before we left. When I think about it, it was the moment she showed up to greet my boyfriend like I didn’t even exist. Why do girls have to compete with each other?
Am I competing with her?
No.
Maybe.
Dammit, I don’t know.
“What happened tonight?” I ask, remembering the sound of rain on the windshield as we drove back to the hotel. The sound is usually soothing, but the silence between Cooper and me kept me on edge.
I was hit by a semi-truck of emotions tonight but didn’t realize it until we got to the lobby. And then it was overwhelming.
That question still lingers unanswered. I cross my arms over my chest and return my gaze out the window. “This is how we’re ending the year and starting a new one.”
“How?” he asks, the sound of the ice hitting the sides of the glass.
“Fighting.” I glance back once more. “That’s not a good sign, Cooper.”
“I’m not superstitious.”
“This has nothing to do with superstition. It’s about the warning signs leading up to this.”
That draws his gaze to travel the distance between us and land on me harder than before. “Fill me in. What warning signs?”
I move to sit on the sofa. The room is pretty—floral fabrics on the furniture and the bedspread, silk-like striped wallpaper in a pastel pink. I still prefer our winter wonderland castle more, but that’s hard to find in the middle of the city. Maybe I’m already spoiled like Camille and can’t appreciate five-star luxury at the expense of spending time with people I despise like at that party. “I thought you left Haywood because you missed me?”
“I did.”
“You left Haywood based on an agreement with your parents that didn’t include me. So maybe I’m lost on how exactly I play into that scheme.”
Keeping me waiting, he takes a long pull with his eyes still set on me. When he sets the glass down, his fingers spin it around. “It wasn’t a scheme, Story. My parents and I have unfinished business. When I was leaving to spend the holiday with you, they made me promise I’d put on a good front at the party.”
“What business? You’re twenty-two, Cooper. You make it sound like you’re in debt to the mafia.”
With a shrug, he nods his head. “Kind of feels that way.”
Feeling anxious, I sit forward. “Make this make sense to a layman.”
The chair slides out from under him abruptly, and he stalks toward me. Kneeling before me, he pleads, “If I could, I would.”
“You have to. I can’t be in a relationship that has secrets.” I hear my own plea in my tone, but I know my capabilities, and if we lose trust between us, we’ll go up in flames. “I’ve never been able to trust anyone I’ve dated, Cooper. I trust you. I trust the promise you made me because I feel you meant it. I could see it in your eyes. But we’re a team, or we’re not. You tell me.”
“We are. Us against them.” Taking my hand, he moves to the sofa next to me. “You can trust me. I came back to Atterton to be with you, babe. It doesn’t take away the strain that I have with them, but I chose you,” he says, pain working through his irises. “More than you’ll ever know.”
My hand would shake from the anxiety, but he’s holding the one so firmly between his that it can’t. “I’ve been very careful about curating a life free from trauma. I’ve made a lot of missteps and lapses in judgment prior to you.” I move closer so our legs are pressed together. “Cooper, I had stopped dating altogether to let myself heal, but then you came along. Maybe you think I was hitting on you by inviting you over, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”