Chapter 15
Russell
Apparently, there was a donor’s betting pool on whether or not someone would get engaged tonight, and Jules and I have just lost some wealthy men a lot of money. It’s going directly to BHC, so they smile while writing the checks, posing for photographs.
I got a little carried away with the proposal. With what I said to Jules after that—call it method acting. Getting a little too far into my role.
Now, I keep her at my side and chat with donor after donor.
People who knew my father, and who are thrilled to see me finally settling down, saying it’s just what he would have wanted.
They ask Jules where she’s living, and when she says she’s been here for years, they’re sated.
Happy to have brought a Burch back into the city’s limits.
And with an engagement, they’re convinced they’ll be keeping me here.
I’m just about to drop my mouth to Jules’ ear again, tell her that we can take a break from the socializing, when I hear the last voice I want to at this moment.
Calvin appears in front of me, wearing a suit that’s a little too big for him, a woman in a bright red dress at his side. Jules glances between him and me, clearly looking for a clue as to who he is.
“Congrats, cous,” Calvin says, answering her question. He tugs on his cuffs—a nervous habit he’s always had—and looks expectantly between me and Jules. “I had no idea you were even seeing someone.”
“It’s been a whirlwind romance,” Jules says, putting her hand on my chest and looking up at me with such adoration it makes my throat feel tight.
The girl on Calvin’s arm lets out a little snort, and I glance at her, not recognizing her at all. Cal’s not married, I know that much—but has he been seeing someone? Are they serious? I have no idea. I comb through my memory for a name, trying to remember if she was at Dad’s funeral.
“It has,” I agree, clearing my throat and forcing myself to relax.
The look on Cal’s face is suspicious, calculating—but is it any more so than usual?
He couldn’t possibly know anything about the terms of my inheritance.
It’s not like Dad would have told him, and there would be no reason for the lawyer to divulge.
“Jules, this is Calvin, my cousin. Cal, my fiancée, Jules.”
The words feel at once both awkward and natural rolling off my tongue.
“Jules,” Cal says, but the word comes out like a sarcastic, ri-ight. “Nice to meet you. It will be so fun to have you in the family.”
She takes his hand, shakes it, and then turns to the woman at his side.
“Jules,” she says, and the woman in the red dress looks her up and down before taking her hand like she might not have washed it after using the bathroom.
Like a used tissue you take pains to pinch at the very top on the way to the garbage.
“Evony,” she says, and I almost roll my eyes—of course Cal is dating a woman with a name like Evony. “I’m surprised, you don’t really seem like you’re Russ’s type.”
She glances at me almost conspiratorially, and that’s when it hits me. Evony. Evie. Daughter of the head of plastic surgery back when we were kids. And she, for some reason, seems to think that I remember her as fondly as she does me. Or that she would have any idea what my type is.
I think of Orie, jabbing at me about my recent interest in brunettes, then glance back at Jules. If anything, she is exactly my type.
“Oh, really?” Jules asks, sounding, to her credit, not the least bit bothered by a fucked-up sentiment like that. “What is Russell’s type?”
“Uh, you know,” Evony says, looking up and down again. Then, in a lower voice, she says, “…active.”
Fury barrels through me like white-hot, molten goo.
I reach out for Jules, expecting her to flush, to take the hit on the nose.
Of course, some skinny bitch like this would be commenting on her weight—aren’t we all supposed to have moved past that shit?
Aren’t we supposed to be in the body positivity era?
But Jules just laughs, bringing her hand back to my chest with a quick, possessive rub, “Oh, well in that case, I am his type. Trust me, Russell and I are very active.”
Evony’s eyes are narrowed in on Jules’ hand on my chest, and though Jules has it handled, I can’t stop myself from adding, “Shitty attempt at health-shaming from the anorexic coke-head. You’ve clearly got holes in your bones from the diet of caffeine pills and celery juice, but the gaps in your brain must be even bigger for you to think you could talk to my fiancée like that. ”
Cal steps forward, “What the fuck? You can’t—”
“No,” Evony says, her face flushed, her eyes downcast. She reaches out and grabs Cal’s arm, pulling him back, even though he’s staring furiously at me. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I agree, pulling Jules in closer to my side. “You shouldn’t have. You might be insecure about your bony ass, but you don’t have to make it my fucking problem. Apologize to her.”
Jules shakes her head, laughing—her face is slightly red now, but I don’t miss the shade of satisfaction there, something nearing pleasure. “No, that’s okay—”
“Apologize,” I command. Evony clears her throat and nods.
“I’m sorry,” Evony mutters, to which Cal scoffs.
“She didn’t even say anything,” he says, anger still roiling in his voice. “You’re just overreacting.”
“If I wanted to be gaslit,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at him, “I’d go sit at Dad’s grave and wait for his ghost.”
Cal opens his mouth to respond to that—maybe something cutting about me speaking ill of the dead—but before he can, one of the coordinators appears, grinning at Jules and me, not sparing a glance toward my cousin and his date.
“Dr. Burch,” she says, reaching out and touching my arm, then smiling at Jules. “Are you ready for your speech? And after, we thought it would be nice to clear the floor and have the two of you come out first. Bit of a show for your engagement.”
She looks thrilled that this happened at the party—donations must be skyrocketing past our initial goals.
“What do you think?” I ask, dipping my head down to look at Jules. For a moment, she looks surprised that I’ve asked her, then she tightens her hold on me and nods. “That would be lovely.”
We follow the coordinator, leaving Cal and Evony standing there without a backwards glance.