Enemy Dearest

On my way to my room, I catch my reflection in the mirror in the hall, cringing at my blonde waves that have dried into a frizzy lion’s mane of a look. A second later, I peel off the damp dress and toss it on the back of my desk chair.

Tiptoeing to the kitchen, I fill a plastic cup with ice water from the fridge and drink it all in one go. Returning to my ninety-degree room, I crack a window, switch on a box fan, and collapse on my lumpy mattress.

My breath eventually settles despite my adrenaline-soaked blood, and the events of the past hour play in my mind like a surreal fever dream.

Everything happened so fast.

Half asleep and semi delirious, I stare at the stained ceiling above as a loopy grin claims my face. The whole thing is kind of funny. Trespassing and skinny dipping is the last sort of thing anyone would ever think I’m capable of doing, Monreaux estate or otherwise. In fact, I can’t think of a single soul who’d believe any of this anyway.

Guess it’ll have to be my little secret …

And honestly, I’ve always wanted to see a Monreaux. Maybe it was all those times my parents whispered about them when they thought I wasn’t listening. Or maybe it was the way strangers always looked around the room before they’d start talking about them in public, like they had ears in every corner of this town. They were a mysterious enigma placed on the highest shelf, just out of reach.

At least now I can say that I saw one.

And if I’m lucky, I’ll never see him again.

Chapter Two

August

* * *

“Way to go, asshole. Better clean this shit up before Dad and Cassandra get back.” I’m awoken by a familiar voice in my ear followed with a sharp kick to the shin.

Gannon.

I sit up from the pool lounger chair, lifting a hand to my throbbing temple as my eyes adjust to the searing sun overhead. Instinctively I reach for my phone, only to find it in my brother’s possession.

He waves it. “You can have your phone back when you grow the fuck up.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

I smirk. “That’s news to me.”

“Maybe you should think about actually doing something with your life instead of chugging stolen beers and getting high by the pool.”

I don’t get high. I can’t stand that head-in-the-clouds, floating sensation. It’s too cheery for me. But he can think what he wants to think. It’s all the same.

“And hooking up with a different girl every night. You forgot that part,” I add.

“You fucking wish.”

If he only knew …

I’ve gotten more ass this summer than Gannon’s had in his entire life. And that’s including the college-aged nanny he lost his virginity to at fourteen.

“Dad’s going to be home in a few hours,” he says. “Pick this shit up. Take a shower. Put on a clean shirt. Wash your damned hair. You look like you have fucking mange.”

I’ve been called a heartless bastard more times than I can count, but put me next to Gannon and I’m a purring, milk-drunk kitten.

“At least I don’t look like a corporate stock photo.” I squint up at him, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun. It’s a Sunday afternoon, but he’s dressed in designer slacks and an ironed polo with our country club’s crest on the pocket. Ever since he graduated first in his class at Vanderbilt, the stick up his ass has grown exponentially. Just for fun, I add, “The discounted kind with dead eyes.”

“You want your phone?” He waves it toward me. But before I can reach for it, he chucks it into the pool with a flick of his Rolex-covered wrist.

It lands with a pathetic splash, barely audible over the trickling waterfall feature my father’s girlfriend insisted on adding last year.

I don’t react.

I don’t give him what he wants.

I never do—and I’m pretty sure he hates me for it.

“What do you think Mom would say if she saw us right now?” I ask.

The Mom card has always been Gannon’s Achilles’ heel. I was two when she died. I have zero recollection of her. But he was older. He still has memories. And he was the biggest fucking Mama’s boy—at least that’s what Soren tells me. I’ve seen it in some grainy home videos too. Gannon has always been … extra. Our mother had the patience of a saint to put up with his constant neediness. “Bet she’d be real proud, don’t you think? Watching us going at it like a couple of prideful jackasses.”

Gannon remains impressively stone-faced, though uncharacteristically quiet for a minute.

“If Mom were here, pretty sure she’d be telling you to get your shit together,” he finally responds. “But since she’s not, someone’s got to do it for her.”