“I hear,” she said, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.
Stepping back, he gave her a stern look. “Remember your promise, now.”
“I won’t say a word . . . but, Erik!” She reached out and touched his arm. “She’s perfect for you. Vanessa Osborn and Erik Rexford,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy look as she headed toward the kitchen to water her flowers. “Absolute perfection.”
“I’m a lucky man, Mother,” he called after her, finally allowing himself to wince.
“Yes, you are.” She sighed happily. “You treat that gal nice, now!”
The kitchen door swung shut, and Erik turned around to find Hillary standing on the stairs behind him.
“What gal?”
Shoot. “No one.”
“Well, I’m not deaf, and if I’m not mistaken, our mother just exclaimed your name with Vanessa’s and said the words “absolute perfection,” which it would be, I suppose, for Fancy Rexford. But I happen to know you’re not datin’ Vanessa Osborn.”
“Shh.”
“Why?” she asked, raising her voice a touch. “Don’t want Fancy to know you’re lyin’?”
“Maybe I’m not,” he snapped.
“Yes, Erik dear, you most definitely are. Because while you’re MIA, doin’ God-knows-what every night around nine o’clock, my heart is being ripped out at various parties and beach bonfires with our friends.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“You’re off having a jolly time while I watch Pete make cow eyes at Van and listen to Van gripe about my brother’s disappearin’ act.” Hillary took another step down, placing her hands on her hips as she stood in the vestibule across from him. “So . . . who is she?”
He was torn between his loyalty to Laire and his surprisingly strong desperation to share his happiness with his sister.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Huh. This is intriguin’.”
“I mean it, Hills.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his. “Okay. I promise.”
“All right. Come on, then. Not here.”
He gestured for her to follow him and slipped out the front door, with his sister trailing behind, until they reached the safety of the garage. He pressed in the code to open the door and watched as it rose slowly.
Walking around to the driver’s side, he slipped into the seat of his Mercedes convertible, and Hillary sat down beside him. He turned over the motor, creating a nice hum of white noise before turning to her.
“You don’t know her. She’s a local girl.”
“She’s a—are you nuts?”
Erik braced his hands on the steering wheel and sighed. “No. I just . . . I like her.”
“Where the hell did you meet her?”
“She delivered seafood for my birthday party.”
“She’s a seafood delivery girl?” Hillary snorted. “Oh, Erik, Fancy is goin’ to shit a brick over this.”
His eyes widened. “You swore you wouldn’t tell!”
Hillary took a deep breath. “Calm down. I won’t. But she’s goin’ to find out.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Somehow. Don’t you watch movies? These things never work out well. And you just used Vanessa as your cover? Erik, Erik, Erik. This is no good.”
“Maybe I’ll just introduce her to Fancy and hope for the best.”
“Her? The local girl?” Hillary gave him a look. “The best bein’ a merciful death?”
“Then I’ll keep it a secret.”
“Good luck with that. Especially since she talks to Tillie Osborn every other day. How long you think she’ll keep your happy news to herself?”
“She promised.”
“Oh! And Fancy Rexford has never, ever broken a promise,” said Hillary, sarcasm so thick, he could almost smell it.
“I’m not breakin’ it off with Laire. I like her. This is my summer, and I want to spend it with her.”
“Laire? What kind of name is that?”
“Scottish.”
Hillary blew out a long breath, looking at him with worry in her eyes. “I’ll do what I can to run interference.”
He chucked her under the chin with a relieved grin. “Thanks, sis.”
“But, Erik, you know you can’t get serious with her, right?” His sister gulped softly. “One more year at Duke. Three at Chapel Hill. Another settin’ up your law practice. State senate. Congress. Governor. Daddy’s just warmin’ the seat for you on his way up.” She paused for a moment, her voice soft and sorry when she continued. “A fisherman’s daughter can’t be a part of that plan. You can’t—”
“Fuck! I don’t . . .” He huffed, banging his fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
They sat in silence for a while until Hillary turned to him. “Sorry, Erik.”
He sighed, turning to face her. “Remember last week? When you asked me if I ever wished that things were different?”
She nodded.
“I do. Sometimes I wish things were different.”
“Like what? What things?”
“Like, I’m not interested in politics!” he blurted out. And man, it felt good to finally say it.
“You say that like it’s an option,” she muttered.