BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (14 page)

She looked a little confused at my sudden attention, and I knew I was acting erratic. In fact, I felt a bit crazed. Psycho even.

“No,” she said as I slipped my shirt on, her eyes moving over the contours of my chest and resting on my dragon tat. I twitched with the urge to tug her tight against me, like we’d been in the water, and beg her to let me take her upstairs to my bed and forget everything else. It’s what she wanted, right?

But, then, any guy would do.

“I think you should get wings,” I said, moving over to stand behind her. “Right here, like angel wings.” I ran my fingers across her bare shoulder blades, then down her spine, stopping with both hands on the curve of her waist. I forced myself to stop there. “You already have the piercing,” I heard myself say stupidly. Shit. Why did I have to bring that up?

“I’m no angel,” she said as she stared at me over her shoulder.

I tried to find the right words. “It isn’t just angels who have wings. All kinds of beautiful creatures have them. And someday you’re going to fly away from here and leave all this shit behind. You need your own wings,” I said, reluctantly letting go of her waist.

She blushed at my compliment, and I freaked at the tender emotion that coursed through me. I jerked away and took off for the door at a brisk pace, ready to get her
out
of here. Yes, I was behaving strangely, but I didn’t care. Something bizarre was happening between us, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to stomp on it. Destroy it.

She eventually followed, grabbing her dress up and saying bye to the others still in the pool.

I unlocked and opened the double doors, my mind already thinking of calling Tiffany. What I felt for her was predictable and straight forward. No wacked out emotions there.

Before Nora walked out the door, she turned to me and said, “So, did you decide if you like me or not?”

“Bad decisions can make some damn good memories.”

–
Nora Blakely

EVEN A FEW days after the pool, I still couldn’t get Leo out of my head. I found myself glancing out the window several times a day for a glimpse of him. I kept remembering him whispering his happy stories to me as we lay together, about him choosing Teddy for his band because he liked imperfect people.

At the swim party, he’d been aloof and avoided being near me. At least he’d decided to let me help Teddy, which I was looking forward to.

Staying with Aunt Portia while Mother worked in the city seemed to perk me up as the days passed. During the day, I hung out at the shop and helped her bake and wait on customers. During the slow hours, I studied the paperwork for Princeton and shopped for school clothes with Mila. At night while Aunt Portia slept, I drank myself to sleep, chasing oblivion.

On Monday, I received a text from Lina, my mother’s personal assistant, reminding me of my monthly lunch date with Mother. So the next day, I drove to Ricardo’s, a fancy Italian restaurant only a short walk from Mother’s downtown Dallas office. I’d been meeting her there for the past two years on the last Tuesday of every month. If it was summer and school was out, we met for lunch. If it was during the school year and I didn’t have too much homework, we met for dinner. On rare occasions Dad would come, but it was hard since his office was on the other side of town.

I pulled up to valet parking and quickly checked myself in the mirror. Lipstick not too bright . . . check. Blonde hair in a French twist . . . check. Elegant dress . . . check.

One of the parking attendants opened my door and greeted me with a broad smile. “Miss Blakely, looking lovely today,” he said in rolling Italian lilt, offering me his hand. “Your mother is inside waiting.”

I took his hand and climbed out. “Geno, good to see you. How’s your little girl? Sophia, right?” I asked. “Didn’t you tell me she was crawling last time I was here?”

He chuckled, escorting me to the double glass doors. “Ah, the little
bambina
is fine, very good. Goes everywhere,” he said, waving his arms around. He dug in the front pocket of his maroon uniform and pulled out a small picture. “See, she is getting big.”

“Oh, she’s such a cutie!” I said, gazing down at the smiling little baby that had tons of glossy black curls. She had a mischievous smile, and I could even see a little tooth poking through on the bottom of her gums. I looked back at Geno’s proud face inquisitively, my eyes searching for what happy looked like, felt like. I gave the photo back, and he smiled shyly and bowed, leaving me at the hostess stand.

“Miss Blakely, please follow me,” said the young girl at the podium.

I followed her into the black-and-silver themed dining area. Yeah, this place was swanky, but I loved it, mostly because it wasn’t a quiet place like most ritzy restaurants. No, at Ricardo’s not only could you hear the pots and pans clanging in the back and the loud Italian’s yelling at each other, but it smelled divine, like warm bread and garlic butter. Sure, I’d much rather be kicking it at Aunt Portia’s, helping her ice some cupcakes, but eating at Ricardo’s was a heavenly experience
if
Mother was in a good mood. Which I doubted she would be.

She was sitting at a round table by the window, gazing down at the menu, and with the combination of the sun warming her light brown hair and her cream suit, she looked almost angelic. She glanced up as we approached, and I automatically focused on holding my shoulders up and back, gliding over to my seat, despising myself for trying to please her.

The white-gloved waiter pulled out my chair for me, and I sat as fluidly as I could, thinking of myself as a flowing waterfall. If there’d been any posture judges in the place, I would have gotten a ten out of ten.

She’d already ordered me the usual glass of ice water and lime. I took a sip and waited.

She sat her menu down and arched her brow. “You’re ten minutes late which means we’ll have to rush this, Nora.”

I sighed. “Sorry, Mother.”

“I already ordered for you, of course. Chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side,” she said.

I swallowed, thinking about lasagna, spaghetti bolognaise, and fried eggplant. Well, at least the salad came with parmesan cheese. “Sounds wonderful.”

She smiled. “So, how was your time at Portia’s?”

“Perfectly boring,” I replied, staring her straight in the face. Eye contact is a must when telling a lie.

She nodded. “Good. But, when school starts, you’ll have to stay at the house with Mona. Can’t have you slacking on homework and piano.”

“Of course,” I said as the waiter came and sat down our naked salads.

I looked down at my plate and then back at her. “Style of eating?”

She pursed her lips. “Let’s do American today. I believe we did European last time,” she said, picking up her knife and fork.

She watched me as I cut into my grilled chicken and romaine lettuce with my knife in my right hand and the fork on my left. Once I had a piece ready to eat, I carefully sat my knife down horizontally in the twelve o’clock position on the bowl, then switched my fork to my right hand and took a bite, elbows close to the table. Perfection.

She smiled. “Did Lina pick out your dress?”

I looked down at my Tory Burch green maxi dress. It was a bit more risqué than I usually wore. “Yes, she emailed me a list of new outfits to get for school. Mila and I picked this one up at Nordstrom’s.” I rubbed the jersey knit. “Lina said you’d approved the list. Is . . . is it okay?”

“It’s tasteful although more low-cut than I like. Either way, it’s much better than that horrible yellow thing you wore to registration, but we aren’t going to talk about that.” She delicately wiped her mouth.

“Of course.” I took a sip of water.

We spent the next few minutes in silence with our only sounds being our utensils as they scraped against the fine china. I knew she was finished when she sat down her silverware in the 10:20 position. I did the same.

She took a deep breath. “Now, about Princeton. Your application needs to be mailed by October first. I hope you’ve started your essays?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Your father scheduled your admissions interview the first week of November, so you’ll need to clear your schedule of commitments two weeks before so you can practice. Lina will be arranging for a coach to come to the house to help.”

I nodded. With only 7.9% of applicants being accepted each fall, even with my exemplary SAT scores, I’d need an edge. That’s where she came in, pulling strings to get me an unheard of interview. It didn’t hurt that my father had attended Princeton as well.

Mother said, “I’ll be staying downtown this weekend but once the new station director gets settled in, I’ll be home more.” She smiled. “Mona will be there, and Lina will pop in to check on you this weekend.”

I sighed. A housekeeper and a personal assistant. “What about Dad?”

“No, he’s busy,” she said, not elaborating.

The smell of a fried cannoli drifted across to us as a waiter walked by. I inhaled deeply.

“Mother, may we have dessert?” I asked, thinking it
was
a special occasion. Did she even remember?

She tsked and tapped her manicured nails on the table. “Absolutely not. That is a
very
bad idea. I hope you’re following your diet at Portia’s.” She shook her head. “That’s another reason you need to stay at the house. Portia is all about the sweets. She’ll have you as big as a house before long.”

“She runs a pastry shop. It’s her job,” I said curtly, not able to stop the words. There it was. My cracks rising to the surface.

“And she’s obese,” Mother added smugly. “Terrible really . . . probably why she never got married.”

I prayed for the check to arrive soon.

She cleared her throat. “At least Finn will be moving back soon. He’ll help keep you in line.”

I flinched and looked down at my barely eaten salad, counting the specs of pepper and bits of parmesan cheese, refusing to look at her.

Instead, I thought about how Mother still hadn’t said one word about my birthday. I felt a sharp ache, right in the center of my head, almost like a migraine. I pressed my fingers to my head, hoping to ease the throbbing, but it didn’t. Anger, that’s what it was, building and bubbling like a volcano and ready to spew out profanity and commit reckless acts. A small whimper escaped me, and I winced in dread, hoping she hadn’t heard. She hadn’t. She was occupied with her phone.

I heard familiar laughter and looked up, my eyes focusing on the outdoor eating area across the restaurant where two floor-to-ceiling French doors were pushed open, letting me see the lush greenery and pretty flowers that decorated the perimeter.

I could also see Leo.

He was sitting with three other guys having lunch and maybe a business meeting, judging by the notebooks on the table. He didn’t see me, so my eyes ate him up. He wore dark jeans, a blue button-up shirt and a navy sport coat that fit tight across his broad shoulders.
Relaxed suited him
, I thought, as my eyes ran over his tousled blond hair and scruffy jaw. He tossed his head back and laughed again, making my breath hitch.
When would I stop wanting him?

He didn’t want me; he felt sorry for me. He’d made it clear at the park. Leo was a guy with other fish to fry. I mean, why would he want a tiny, little popcorn shrimp like me when he could have a Texas-sized catfish like Tiffany? I rolled my eyes at myself. Why did I always think about food?

He picked up his glass and took a drink, freezing when his eyes collided with mine.

Mother was texting, so I arched my eyes at him and nodded surreptitiously towards the bar that was located conveniently inside a dark alcove. He followed my eyes and shook his head at me. Refusing to take no for an answer, I smiled, nibbling on my lips as I gazed at him beseechingly, but he looked away when one of his companions made a comment. Frustrated, I picked up my purse, not thinking about the dangerous game I was playing, not considering how shitty I’d feel when he didn’t meet me at the bar.

It had been days since I’d seen him. I didn’t understand where my need was coming from, but I couldn’t go another minute without talking to him.