I pretended not to listen and walked outside. The air was warm and refreshing, and I could hear the waves in the distance breaking against the shore.
“You want to ride with us, Nick?” William asked his son.
But he had already turned his back and was walking toward an immaculate black 4x4 that stood high off the ground. It must have just come from the dealership. I rolled my eyes. Typical!
“I’ll take mine,” he said, turning around as he opened the door. “I’m hanging out with Miles after dinner. We’re going to finish the report on the Refford case.”
“Excellent,” his father said. I had no idea what they were talking about. “Maybe you want to ride with him to the club, Noah? That way you can get to know each other a little better?” William seemed to think he’d just had the most brilliant idea ever.
I looked over at Nick, who had raised an eyebrow waiting for my response. He seemed to think the whole situation was funny.
“I don’t want to ride with someone if I don’t know how they drive,” I said to my new stepfather, hoping that would hit his son where it hurt. Most guys don’t appreciate the implication that they can’t drive. Turning away from the SUV, I got into Will’s black Mercedes, enjoying the solitude of the back seat as we crisscrossed streets on our way to some rich guys’ club.
All I wanted was for the night to end as soon as possible, to finish this happy family act that my mother and her husband were trying to create, and to go back to my room to try to rest.
Fifteen minutes later, we entered a kind of suburb with big, well-groomed yards. It was night, but I could read the brightly lit sign by the road welcoming us to the Mary Read Yacht Club. Before letting us through, a guard in a fancy cabin next to a gate peeked out to see who was in the car. It was evident he recognized the driver.
“Mr. Leister, good evening. Miss,” he added, turning to my mother.
My new stepfather said hello to the guard, and we entered the club.
“Noah, your member’s card will be here next week, but if you need in before then, just say my name or Ella’s,” he said, looking over at my mother.
It felt like a jab in the heart when I heard him call her that. That had been my father’s name for her, and I was sure my mother didn’t care for it at all—too many bad memories. But how was she going to tell her wonderful new husband that?
My mother was a pro at forgetting things that were sad or difficult. Whereas I kept them inside, deep inside, until they all finally exploded and came out.
We stopped the car right at the door to the luxurious establishment. A valet let my mother and me out, took a tip from William, and drove the car off to who knows where.
The restaurant was amazing. Everything seemed made of glass. I could see a couple of tables from where I stood, along with huge aquariums full of crabs, fish, and squid waiting to be killed and served. I felt someone behind me, a breath on my ear that gave me the shivers. When I turned, I saw Nicholas. Even with my heels on, he was half a head taller than me. He barely even looked at me.
“I’ve got a reservation under the name William Leister,” William said to the hostess. For some strange reason, her expression changed, and she hurried to led us through the dining room, which was at once packed, calm, and cozy.
Our table was in one of the best spots, with the same warm candlelight that prevailed all over the restaurant. The glass wall gave an impressive view of the ocean. I wondered if those kinds of transparent walls were common in California.
I was freaking out, to tell the truth.
We sat down, and right away my mother and William started chatting and smiling like infatuated fools. In the meantime, I noticed the astonished, incredulous look the waitress gave Nick.
He didn’t seem to realize it. He just toyed with the tiny salt shaker. His hands were very well cared for, tan, and big. I looked from them to his arms until I reached his face, and I noticed that his eyes were looking at me with interest. I held my breath.
“What are you going to order?” my mother asked, breaking the spell.
I let them pick for me, since I didn’t know what half the dishes on the menu were anyway. While we waited and I stirred my iced tea, distracted, William tried to drag his son and me into a conversation.
“I was telling Noah earlier about all the sports you can practice here in the club, Nick. Nicholas plays basketball, and he’s one heck of a surfer, too.”
A surfer. How cliché. I’d thought Nicholas was sitting there bored, but he clearly noticed my disdain. He bent over the table, rested both his elbows on it, and put me on the spot. “Something amusing, Noah?” He did all he could to sound friendly, but I knew deep down I’d gotten to him. “Do you think surfing is silly or something?”
Before my mother could answer—I knew she was about to—I copied him, bending over.
“You said it, not me.” And I gave him an innocent smile.
I liked team sports, sports with strategy that required a good leader and consistency and hard work. I’d found all that in volleyball, and I was sure that surfing couldn’t compare.
Before he could respond—and I could tell he wanted to—the waitress arrived, and he looked at her as if he knew her.
My mother and William got into an animated conversation when a couple stopped to say hi to them.
The waitress was young with dark brown hair and was wearing a black apron. She laid the plates on the table and, while doing so, bumped Nick’s elbow unintentionally.
“Sorry, Nick,” she said, then turned to me as if she’d made a mistake. From Nick’s expression, I could see that something weird was going on with them.
Since our parents were distracted, I bent over and asked, to clear up my doubts, “You know her?”
“Who?” he asked, playing dumb.
“The waitress,” I replied, observing his reactions. He didn’t give away anything. He was serious but relaxed. I realized then that Nicholas Leister was very good at hiding his thoughts.
“Yeah, she’s taken care of me before,” he answered, seeming to dare me to contradict him. Well, well, well, Nick’s a little liar. Why didn’t that surprise me?
“Yeah, I’ll bet she’s taken care of you lots of times.”
“What are you getting at, little sister?” This time, the term made me smile.
“How you rich people are all the same—you think that having money makes you the kings of the world. That girl hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in the door. It’s obvious she knows you.” Somewhat angrily, though I didn’t know why, I continued, “And you won’t even look at her. It’s disgusting.”
“You’ve got some very interesting theories about rich people, as you call them. I can tell you don’t like them. Of course, that’s not stopping you and your mother from living under our roof and enjoying all the comforts money can buy. If you hate us so much, what are you doing sitting at this table?”
I tried to control my temper. He knew how to get under my skin.
“Seems to me you and your mother are even worse off than that waitress,” he confessed, being sure I alone could hear him. “You pretend to be something you’re not, when both of you have sold yourselves for money.”
That was too much. I was blind with rage.
I grabbed the glass in front of me and tried to throw its contents in his face.
Too bad it was empty.
4
Nick
The look on her face when she saw her glass was empty dissolved any trace of anger or irritation I might have been holding in since we sat down.
That girl was anything but predictable. I was surprised by how easily she lost her cool and how just a few words could throw her off.