Fourteen
I’VE ONLY JUST REACHED THE DECK WHEN I FEEL MY CONTRABAND phone in my bag vibrate twice in quick succession. I don’t need to read the texts to know what they indicate. Phase Two is underway.
Every other day of my entire life, I’ve had zero interest in the Nassoons. The Princeton University a cappella group comprises precocious students who graduate into prestigious careers or, in some cases, into podcasting notoriety. They reunite for renditions of old favorites whenever one of them is getting married or for parties or other private events.
While I’m glad they enjoy their continued connection to their alma mater’s singing group, ordinarily, I could not care less whether Fordham University Distinguished Professor of Comparative Literature Robert Ramos or Massachusetts General Pediatric Neurologist Jeff August want to spend their Saturday knocking out “Over the Rainbow.”
Right now, however, they’re everything to me.
This phase is coordinated to ten minutes before their performance.
I have two objectives. I need to reach the rendezvous point. First, however, I need guests to see me enter the house with my “new boyfriend” so they’ll assume I’ve gone inside for a quick hookup. It was annoying when Mitchum saw me leave the boathouse with Jackson, but it also gives me confidence in my next alibi.
Everyone is gathered on the emerald grass. I have to hand it to Maureen—the event is impressive. Every detail feels planned, every placement of white roses, even every piece of crystalware and the precise white shade of the cocktail napkins. In the crowd enjoying champagne hour are more celebrities, politicos, and financiers; my memory pops off names rapid-fire in my search for one face in particular.
When I find him, though, I pale.
He couldn’t have laid low? Introduced himself to some actress I’m sure he legitimately wants to meet? Sipped some champagne?
No such fortune.
Tom is with my Swiss cousins.
I have to rescue him. I slip forward, navigating the crowd until I’m close enough to thread my arm in his. He glances at me coolly, as if he weren’t absolutely out of his depth.
Which I’m certain he was. Honestly, my Swiss cousins intimidate me. My grandmother’s money comes from her mother, whose money ultimately comes from Swiss-noble fortunes. She eventually returned home to the family holdings in Switzerland when my grandparents separated. My father’s siblings went with her.
In Europe, they’ve extended their richesse in ways quieter yet, per every indication, more impressive than my dad’s little media empire. I knew it even in our infrequent visits when I was young, five-hour dinners when I would be left with my cousins. They made my clothes feel like hand-me-downs, my cultural references feel lowbrow. Whenever our flight home lifted off the ground, I was grateful.
I smile, polishing on composure. “Mia, Finn,” I say, “so nice of you to fly in for this.”
Mia regards me, clocking right away how cheap my outfit is. Her impassive gaze is exactly like I remember. Of course, she looks stunning. Her perfectly blond hair is undoubtedly undyed, her shoulder-length cut shaped like fine sculpture. Her green silk dress snares the light in symphonies of shining curves. Finn stands beside her, six feet tall and formidable in a designer tux.
Mia smiles with tolerance. “Grandmother sends her love.”
“Does she?” I reply lightly, eyebrow raised in challenge.
“In her way. She couldn’t make the long flight, of course,” Mia explains.
This is, naturally, a lie. Grandma Leonie has her own plane and flies for pleasure year-round. She has not, however, spoken to her son since I was a kid. I haven’t seen the Swiss side of the family in years outside of social media, where they’re not easy to overlook. Ski chalets, high-fashion events, nightclubs in every member state of the European Union. I’m guilty of assuming some of their posts were advertisements for Cartier or Dior on first glance.
“We were just meeting your new boyfriend,” Mia purrs, placing one manicured hand on Tom’s other elbow. “He’s so cute.”
I can’t help possessively pulling Tom closer to me. The string of handsome European men in said social media posts has given me to understand nothing good comes of my heartbreaker cousin finding you cute. “Were you being nice?” I ask.
Mia eyes me innocently. “As ever.”
“It’s wonderful to meet more of your family, babe,” Tom interjects into our subtle sparring. He’s undaunted. I’m impressed.
What’s more, I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy the low velvet of his voice when he says babe. I’m pretty proud of my choice of alibi. “May I borrow Thomas for a moment?” I inquire politely, heaping enough heat onto borrow for my insinuation to be unmistakable. They’ll like the feeling of intuiting my intentions. People retain information more when they think they’ve figured it out themselves.
“Of course,” Mia says. “I wouldn’t dream of stealing him. Just remember to bring him to meet Grandmother before it’s serious.” Her smile shines like diamonds showing their sharp edges.
“That would be so fun,” I say, matching her effervescence as if we’re forgers etching out competing renderings of family friendliness. “Even with the long flight.”
I revel in silent victory when Mia says nothing in reply.
I steer Tom up to the deck in the sunlight, picking up our pace when we’re out of their eyeline. I lean in close. “Stay away from the Swiss,” I instruct him urgently.
I fear my words have not set in sufficiently when my counterpart glances over his shoulder, his eyes admiring. “Your cousin is hot,” he informs me. “And terrifying. Maybe hot because she’s terrifying.”
“Don’t even think it, Tom. If you blow our cover by hooking up with my cousin, I will pin this whole job on you,” I promise him.
“You know,” he replies, “I don’t respond well to restriction.”
I pause, eyeing him. He holds my gaze. I heard the edge in his words, the reminder he enjoys playing dangerously. He doesn’t respond well to restriction. He knows what I know—in fact, I have his renegade spark to thank for his being here today.
It’s enough to compel me to change my strategy. I sweeten my voice. “Do it for me, then?” I urge him.
He probably knows I’m putting on indulgence, acting a little. He probably likes it. When he smiles faintly, I know he’s satisfied with my redirection. “Is it time for the next phase?” he asks.
Exactly on cue, I hear singing. The opening notes of “Over the Rainbow” in lovely male a cappella rise up over the lawn. People head in the direction of the music, the guests moving in one current while I continue with Tom the other way. The scent of probably hundreds of different perfumes, combining with the ivory petals of the roses, surrounds us.
I spin, smirking at him as we reach the house entrance near the bar. “It is,” I confirm.
Tom reaches for me, and I let out a loud shriek.
The exclamation doesn’t surprise him. It’s one of the moments I laid out for him in the structured “run of show” I described during our private meetings in recent weeks. While much of his performance would, I emphasized, require improvisation, we would have to hit certain key moments for necessary effect.
He smiles while I put on scandalized delight. “Oh my god, Thomas,” I say as if he’s suggested something indecent. “Shhh.”
It works perfectly. We’ve drawn the eyes of everyone in our vicinity.
With their scrutinizing stares on us, I push open the door behind me and pull Tom into the house. As soon as it shuts, we drop the facade.
Knowing everyone outside is exchanging gossiping whispers about Dash’s daughter hooking up in the middle of the wedding leaves me grimly gratified. I wish it weren’t easy for them to jump to the conclusion I’ve engineered—wish every one of my dad’s friends didn’t project onto me the ready-made stereotype of the careless, obnoxious girl.
Even so, I’m using every resource I have. It’s like the saying. When life gives you lemons, make millions of dollars illegally.
With Tom, I walk quickly and silently through the house. The hallways have emptied out, leaving them looking like they did when I lived here. Like they do when I visit. It’s the fortifying reminder I need of why I’ve planned what I’m doing now. My dad’s unforgettable domineering gaze glares from every mirror. The silence rings with the echo of his quiet cruelty. Olivia, you’ll ruin everything. Do you want to ruin everything?
I feel my heart pounding. Flirting in front of strangers is easy. What’s next is not.
I find McCoy waiting outside my dad’s den. The adrenaline kicking into my system is fierce, uncompromising. I have to match its strength, wrestle it into my service. Especially when I know we’ve reached the point of no return.
When this door opens, I’ll be a criminal.