Chapter 9
NINE
NAOMI
L ipstick, unsmudged. Hair smoothed into submission. Smile, brittle, but intact. The perfect daughter, reporting for duty.
Smile, nod, push the food around your plate. It’s just dinner. No one will notice.
And if they do, I’ll just say I ate late, or my stomach’s been off since lunch.
My phone lights up. It could be Brandon telling me he’s moved to Australia and will never bother me again.
I fish it out of my purse. Three new texts.
Brandon: Still not talking to me?
Brandon: You can’t ignore me forever.
Brandon: We need to talk.
We haven’t talked since… I think it was the call after… I dropped off the file. That was 2 weeks ago, so why is he back at my heels? Can’t he just go MIA again? He didn’t even remind me of our weekly dinners like he usually did, which is why I didn’t go. I wouldn’t have gone either way, but…
Anyway. I put the phone back and take one last glance in the rearview mirror. Talking is the last thing I want to do. With him, with my family, with anyone.
The urge to go home and drown in food rises up.
No. I can do this. Just breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Perfect control.
With a sigh, I open the door and walk toward the entrance.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe Mom will be reasonable.
The door looms ahead as I ring the bell, the house straight out of an old Hollywood film with white columns, manicured hedges, and an air of obscene luxury.
My mother opens the door, her short blonde hair falling in soft waves onto the cream-colored dress hugging her slim figure. Not a strand is out of place. “Naomi, darling.” Her voice drips honey, but I taste the artificial sweetener underneath. “You’re late.”
“Traffic.” It’s the oldest, lamest excuse, but I don’t have the energy for creativity.
I step past her into the monument to my mother’s bad taste: the foyer with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and gaudy oil paintings of people who look vaguely like us. It’s the kind of place that screams ‘old money,’ except our money isn’t even that old. At least not my mother’s. My father’s is.
“That dress is a bit…” She gives me a once-over, taking in the dress, the heels, and the hastily applied makeup. “…snug, isn’t it? I thought we agreed on the Dior.”
“I like this one.” My smile is a razor’s edge. “Brandon picked it out.” Let her hate him a bit.
“Did he now?” Her lips purse, a tell of disapproval. “Now that I look at it a bit closer. It is beautiful.”
Why does she like him so much? Is it his last name?
“And where is Brandon? Why isn’t he here?”
Because I told Blake to keep him away. Because I can’t handle his intensity right now. Because every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m drowning. “Held up at the office. You know how it is.”
“Again?” Her face falls. “Oh, that’s too bad. I was so looking forward to seeing him. It’s been too long.”
Sure you were. “He sends his regrets.”
“Is everything alright with you two?” The concern in her voice sounds genuine. That’s what makes her so dangerous, she can make anything sound like love, even when she’s twisting the knife.
“Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Work must come first, after all.”
I nod, grateful for the reprieve.
Another car pulls into the driveway, its headlights cutting through the gathering dusk.
Please don’t be Brandon. Please don’t be Brandon.
My little brother unfolds himself from the driver’s seat and strides up the path, all easy smiles and casual confidence. His dark hair is artfully tousled, and he probably spent twenty minutes getting it to look effortlessly messy. He’s wearing designer jeans and a fitted shirt that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
And, of course, there’s a girl with him. There’s always a girl.
This one’s blonde, leggy, and draped in a dress that barely covers the essentials, she clings to his arm, giggling at something, and her stilettos alone probably cost more than someone’s car payment.
“Nay-Nay!” He grins, using that stupid childhood nickname Blake gave me as they join us in the foyer. “Nice to see you, as always.”
“You, too.” I force a smile as he wraps me in a bear hug, his cologne overwhelming. It’s the expensive kind, the sort that screams ‘trust fund baby,’ and he knows it.
“And this is…” He gestures to his new girlfriend.
“Madison.” She flashes her perfect teeth.
“Mykel, darling!” Mom swoops in, all smiles and charm, probably calculating Madison’s net worth and family connections. “How wonderful.”
I stand there, forgotten, watching as she fusses over him, straightening his collar and cooing over his new girlfriend. It’s like I’ve ceased to exist, a ghost in my own family.
My stomach lurches, and I swallow hard, forcing down the rising bile.
Not now. Not here.
I just need to get through dinner. One hour, two max. Smile. Nod. Push the food around, and don’t think about the bathroom upstairs with its lock that sticks and its fan that drowns out everything else.
Don’t think about Brandon.
Don’t think at all.
Then, I can go home and fall apart in peace.
A familiar voice drifts from the living room. Is that Anne? Did she really come?
I peek around the corner to find her perched on the leather couch. Her blonde hair catches the light, making her look almost ethereal. But it’s her smile that stops me, real and unguarded, reaching all the way to her eyes. I haven’t seen that smile in so long.
The reason for it looms beside her. Landon fucking Edmunds, all scary and cold, his hand resting on the small of Anne’s back, possessive yet gentle. The sleeve of his fitted shirt doesn’t quite hide the edge of his tattoos, and the contrast between them is stark, her light to his darkness, her delicate grace to his raw strength.
And both absolutely perfect.
Radiating the kind of confidence that comes from being absolutely certain of your place in the world.
Mom must hate that.
But I’m happy for her, although I was skeptical about Landon myself when I first met him.
“I told you the gallery opening would be worth it.” His voice is low, meant just for her, but it carries.
“You did not.” Anne tilts her head, a ghost of her usual perfect posture returning. “You said, and I quote, ‘Trust me, you’ll hate it less than staying home.’”
“Same thing,” His gaze lingers on her.
My stomach churns again. Not from hunger, never from hunger. Guilt maybe? Or fear? Because Anne looks… happy. Really happy. And Landon looks at her like she’s the only person in the room.
This is good.
Acid climbs up my throat. I should go back, make some excuse about a work emergency…
“Naomi?” Anne spots me, crossing the room and hugging me. “How long have you been standing there?”
I stiffen, my arms hanging awkwardly at my sides.
I don’t deserve this. Not from her.
“Careful with the dress.” I try to joke, but it comes out sharp. Wrong. “It’s new. I’m sorry.”
Her gaze lingers on my face, assessing. “You okay?”
“Yes. Of course.” I smooth it out, creating distance. “And you?”
“Good.” She catches herself and straightens her spine. “We should get coffee soon. Just us.”
My throat tightens. “Sure. When I’m not swamped with work.”
“You’re always swamped?—”
Someone clears their throat behind me.
I turn, my spine snapping straight on instinct. Dad stands in the doorway, his gray eyes, so like Anne’s, sweep over us, lingering on her, then settling on me with that familiar mix of disappointment and dismissal before returning to my step-sister.
“Anne.” His voice warms. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Her voice shifts, professional and cool. Like she’s addressing a business associate rather than our father. “Happy birthday.”
Their relationship wasn’t good, to begin with, but since Dad’s heart attack, it worsened.
Dad turns to Landon, extending his hand. “Landon. Good to see you.”
“David.” Landon’s grip is firm, matching his energy.
My guess? Landon hates him.
“Dinner’s ready.” Dad’s attention slides past me like I’m part of the furniture. “Lydia’s outdone herself tonight.”
My hands curl into fists. “Hello to you too, Dad.”
He pauses, finally sparing me a glance. “Naomi. I thought we already greeted each other. I trust those projections are finished?”
Not ‘how are you?’ or ‘glad you could make it.’ Just work. Always work.
“On your desk this morning.” I force my voice steady. “Along with the quarterly reports you didn’t ask for.”
“Good.” He checks his watch. “Though next time, try to have them in before nine. Some of us start our day earlier.”
The dig hits its mark. I’d been there since seven. And he didn’t even look at them so what’s the point? “I?—”
Mykel bounds in with his girlfriend, saving me from saying something I’ll 100% regret.
“Dad!” He wraps our father in a hug. “Happy birthday, old man!”
His girlfriend steps forward. “Mr. Smith, thank you so much for having me. Your home is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Isn’t she lovely?” My mother appears behind them. “Madison was just telling me about her charity work…”
Another perfect woman for my mother’s collection. Poor Madison.
Dad’s attention snaps to Mykel’s girlfriend. “Madison, is it? Tell me more about this charity work.”
I sink into the background as they cluster around her, watching the show. Mom’s hand flutters to Madison’s arm, and Dad actually smiles, his eyes doing that crinkling.
I still can’t figure out if that’s his real smile or the strained one.
Mykel breaks away from the spotlight, bounding over to us. “Nay, I gotta say, you look…” He studies my face, and his smile dims. “Different.”
I force my lips up. “Thanks?”
“Good different,” he backtracks. “Just… are you eating enough? You seem?—”
“Mykel.” Anne’s voice carries a warning.
He shifts his attention to her, relief washing over his face. “Annie! And the scary architect!” He extends his hand to Landon. “Still corrupting my sister?”
Landon’s grip on Anne’s waist tightens slightly. “Every chance I get.”
Behind us, Madison’s laugh rings out.
“She’s something, right?” Mykel beams, glancing back at his girlfriend. “Smart, too. Pre-law at Yale.”
I cross my arms. “Mom is thrilled.”
“Actually—”
“Dinner’s served!” Mom waves us over. “Everyone to the dining room. Madison, dear, you’ll sit next to David. He’d love to hear more about your internship.”
Mykel’s face falls slightly. “But I wanted?—”
“Best do as she says.” I pat his arm. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the seating arrangement.”
The doorbell rings, and my mother’s head snaps up. “David? Did you invite someone else?”
“Maybe it’s Henrik,” Dad says. “He was supposed to bring something by.”
Mom’s heels click down the marble hallway.
The door opens. A pause.
“Brandon!” Mom’s voice rises an octave. “What a lovely surprise.”
That… Why today? Asshole.
“Mrs. Smith.” Brandon’s voice carries that perfect mix of charm and respect that mothers eat up. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Never too late for you, dear. And please, call me Lydia.”
What are the chances of suddenly becoming invisible? Anne glances my way, her eyes sharpening with quiet concern.
“Naomi said you were working late.” Mom’s tone holds an accusation, not for him, for me. “And not joining us.”
“I was, but I managed to finish earlier.” His footsteps get closer. “Couldn’t miss David’s birthday.”
“How thoughtful.” Mom practically purrs. “We were just about to sit down for dinner. I’ll have Thomas set another place. Right next to Naomi.”
Great.
Brandon appears in the doorway, wearing the navy suit I picked out months ago. It makes his shoulders look broader, his eyes darker, and his hair… It’s actually styled, not the usual mess.
He looks good. Too good.
But the biggest problem are his eyes. They lock onto mine, intense and knowing. Too knowing.
“Surprise, cupcake.” His lips curve into that infuriating smirk.
Channel the energy. Perfectly composed girlfriend on the outside, screaming on the inside.
I sweeten my voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner with my girlfriend’s family.” His fingers skim the curve of my spine before resting. “Happy to see me?”
The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of my dress. I want to step away or flee, but that would create a scene I’m not ready to face. He trapped me.
I grit my teeth. “Ecstatic.”
“Liar.” He leans down to me, his lips grazing the shell of my ear and his hand trailing up and down my back, a warning or a promise, I’m not sure which. “Don’t run.”
“Dinner is served,” Thomas announces from the doorway, and with it, my demise.