The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

I’d told the Hales I was going to visit my sister, but I drove out of the way to Port Cove first. The tattoo shop was nicer than I expected, with upscale furniture and flooring and a sexy vibe. Arturo, the artist, was short with tattoos crawling all over his skin, and he listened thoughtfully as I explained what I wanted.

“I have a picture,” I said.

I pulled out my phone, opened Instagram, and searched for it on my profile. As I scrolled, it was sickening how long it took to get through all the fake posts I’d made before finally getting to the real me. I’d buried myself under an avalanche of selfies with my daily outfits, curated office shots, and vapid party pictures. I’d posed with people who didn’t care about me, only what I could do for them.

When the consultation was over, I drove to my parents’ house.

It was the first time I’d been there since I moved in with the Hales, and it was beyond strange. Everything felt . . . smaller. The lights didn’t shine as brightly, and the rooms seemed overwrought with items my parents didn’t need. It had a claustrophobic effect I’d never noticed before.

Emily was in her pajamas and in bed when I arrived, her back propped up by pillows. It didn’t look like she’d showered today, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Concern made me collapse beside her.

“I’m tired all the time,” she said. “This baby is sucking the life out of me.”

I didn’t miss the way her gaze slid over me, taking in my designer clothes, my rich brown hair, and perfectly manicured nails. Envy wasn’t something I’d ever seen in my sister’s eyes before. Was she wondering if this was what her life would have been if she hadn’t gotten pregnant?

I wanted to tell her it was like my Instagram feed—nothing was as glamorous and perfect as what I projected. She didn’t know Royce had sold me out, or who he’d handed me over to. I wanted to confide in my sister and best friend what I’d had to do to earn the right to drive myself here today.

But I couldn’t, because that meant I’d have to admit it out loud, and I couldn’t stand to see the judgment twist on her face. Not to mention, she was on bed rest, and I shouldn’t cause any additional stress.

There was a third, shameful reason I didn’t say anything. I still wasn’t over what she’d kept from me. Her affair with her professor, her pregnancy, and the rumor she’d heard about the initiation. I wanted to move past it, but I struggled.

No one was who I thought they were, and it felt like my whole family was slipping away.

“It’s going to be all right.” I tried to make it sound convincing but faltered. So, I curled up in bed beside her and watched Netflix while we talked about things that didn’t matter. She probably wanted to escape as much as I did.

“Marist,” our mother said when she came in and discovered me in bed beside Emily. “Were you even going to come say hello?”

“Of course,” I said. “I thought you were going to join us.”

She scowled. “No. I wish I had time to sit around and watch TV, but I’m too busy.”

Her passive-aggressive statement sliced through my mood and turned my tone sarcastic. “I’m sure.”

She ignored my attitude. “I need to leave soon. I have an appointment at Barney’s.”

Tension tightened the muscles in my back. “You’re going shopping?”

“I need a dress for the anniversary gala.” She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t worry, I have a budget.” An idea must have taken hold in her mind because she abruptly straightened and brightened. “Do you want to come with me?”

A hundred thoughts hit me at once, but the cynical one was the loudest. What was her motive for asking me to join her? Did she genuinely want to spend time with her daughter . . . or was she hoping I would be able to pay for her dress?

I’d go with her, if for no other reason than to make sure she stuck to her budget. I’d have to save her from herself.

It was like I’d just swallowed ice and it sat as a frozen lump in my stomach.

I sounded like Macalister.

At twenty-three, Jillian Lambert was two years older than I was. When her hair was down, it was long and wavy, but tonight her honey brown tresses were pulled back into a high, sleek ponytail. Her black dress had fluttering shoulders, and it walked a perfect line between casual and dressed up.

She’d chosen wisely. I still hadn’t figured out exactly how to dress for the Hale family dinners either. I took my seat beside Royce and flashed a sympathetic smile to her across the table. She looked nervous as hell and like she’d rather be anywhere else than seated beside Vance.