Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
PENELOPE
I ease up to the wrought-iron gate of Clear View Country Club and already regret not bringing sunglasses thick enough to hide my eye roll. The metal scrolls are all seashells and waves, mounted between stone pillars with little lanterns on top, like this place is guarding the ocean.
Palm trees line both sides of the drive, straight and perfect, throwing thin strips of shade across the pavement.
The grass is smugly green. Flowers cluster in expensive-looking beds, too bright and too manicured to be real.
Stone benches sit along the drive in case anyone needs to rest from all the wealth.
The building rises at the end, two levels and a wide U shape, wrapped around a slice of blue water.
There is a fountain with the CVCC crest spitting water into a smooth basin, right at the foot of the front steps.
The valet stand is tucked to the left, a neat row of kids in black vests waiting for keys that cost more than their tuition.
I pull up, throw the car in park, and climb out. The valet kid looks about twelve, acne fighting for its life. I toss him my keys with a smile that is friendlier than I feel.
Places like this have never been mine. Dad joined years ago after Mom passed, said it helped grow his company; networking, appearances, all that polished bullshit.
He fits in fine. Abi thrives on it. But me?
I stick out like a stain on the linen napkins.
The kind of daughter you invite for show and pray she doesn’t talk too much.
Inside, the air is cool and smells faintly like lemons and money. Crystal lights hang from the ceiling. Everything is white and gold and quiet. The Royal Ballroom sits to the right of the foyer, doors propped open, the clink of glass and low chatter drifting out.
I smooth my top before I walk in. It is a pale lilac crop with ruffled sleeves that sit off my shoulders and a tie that pulls tight over my ribs.
My shorts are light denim, frayed high on my thighs.
My sandals add just enough height to make my legs look longer.
My hair is down in soft waves. It is not country club appropriate. That is the point.
Abi chose the tone she used on the phone with me. I chose this as my petty clapback.
They are already at a table near the windows. Talon sits on one side, next to Abi, who is in a cream silk bodysuit and pearls. My father is on her other side in a navy polo.
I cross the room, aware of eyes on my bare skin. Abi’s mouth tightens. That alone makes the outfit worth it.
But Talon, his reaction is instant.
His gaze sweeps over me in one clean, hungry line before he catches himself. His posture shifts, shoulders straightening, jaw flexing like he’s trying not to stare. His eyes darken, heat flickering there for a heartbeat before he schools his expression back to polite.
It’s subtle and controlled.
But I feel it hit me low in my stomach.
“Morning,” Abi says, her tight social smile glued on.
I slide into the seat across from her, setting my bag on the chair beside me. “Morning,” I answer, and nod toward the waitress as she fills my water.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” my dad says, warm and easy.
“Morning, Daddy,” I reply, and the way Abi’s jaw flexes is a small gift from heaven.
Talon leans forward. “Good morning, Penelope.”
The way he says my name, sends a small shiver down my spine. My stomach flips, a traitor, and I have to blink once before offering the polite, practiced smile expected of me.
“Talon.”
We fall into comfortable small talk about his classes because that is how all of this works. Presentation. Image. Grades and futures instead of sex clubs and secrets.
“He’s doing very well,” my father says, proud. “Sociology especially.”
Talon gives me a sideways look. “Excellent tutor.”
“Excellent student,” I answer, keeping my tone light as I meet his eyes for a brief, controlled second.
The waitress reappears with a notepad and a practiced smile.
Abi orders an egg-white omelet with goat cheese and herbs, a side of fruit, and black coffee.
My dad asks for crab cake Benedict with roasted potatoes and fresh orange juice.
Talon picks the steak and eggs with truffle hash and a side of blueberry pancakes.
I ask for lemon ricotta pancakes with fresh berries, a side of crispy bacon, and a strawberry mimosa.
“I’ll have a strawberry mimosa too,” Talon says.
Abi’s head snaps up. “No, he will not. He is not twenty-one yet.”
The waitress laughs under her breath and glances at Talon with a little sympathy. “Just the one then,” she says to me before sliding away.
Abi turns her attention back to her son. “What have you been doing on weekends? You are never at the house.”
“Working,” Talon says, reaching for his water.
Abi blinks. “Working where? No one told me you had a job.”
“Garage in town,” he says. “Small repair shop. Bikes, cars. Part time.”
She lets out a short, ugly sound. “You get covered in grease for pocket change? You should be looking for something that suits you.”
“I like it,” he replies. “It’s fun. Good people.”
My dad nods. “I think it’s great. A man should know how to work with his hands.”
Abi laughs and pats his arm. “What do you know how to do, dear?”
He smiles. “Maybe not engines, but I can change a tire and oil, and I’m pretty handy around the house. You just never let me. You always call someone.”
Talon smirks into his glass, and I have to look down so I do not.
After a beat, Talon clears his throat and turns to me. “What about you, Penelope? What do you do on weekends?”
“Nothing exciting,” I say. “I catch up on my homework and get ready for the week. Lesson plans. Grading. TA things.”
His eyes hold mine a second too long, glinting with something playful, dangerous only in the way it makes my pulse skip.
“I could have sworn I saw you somewhere else though.”
A small pull curls low in my stomach. “I doubt it.”
He taps his chin as if trying to place it; the corners of his mouth barely lift. His eyes shine with mischief, pure teasing, the kind meant only for me. Not outing or accusing, just seeing how close he can toe the line without crossing it.
“No, you’re right, I’m mixing you up. That girl was wearing a leather thong.”
The mimosa goes down the wrong way. I cough, eyes watering, and put my hand over my mouth.
“Talon,” Abi snaps, eyes wide. “That is disgusting. We are at brunch.”
He raises his palms as if innocent. “Just a joke.”
“Watch your mouth,” she hisses.
Color creeps up his neck. He drops his gaze, mutters, “Excuse me,” and stands, heading for the hallway toward the restrooms.
I dab my lips with my napkin. “I should wash my hands before the food comes,” I say, pushing back my chair.
Abi barely glances at me. My dad nods.
I slip away and quicken my pace once I’m clear of their line of sight. The hallway to the restrooms is empty. Talon is at the far end, near a framed painting of a sailboat, shoulders tense.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss as I reach him, keeping my voice low.
He turns, leans back against the wall. “Talking.”
“You practically announced my sex life at the table.”
He lifts one shoulder. “No names. No details. They’re clueless.”
“You can’t play like that.”
He studies my face, eyes a little too bright. “I see something I want. I’m not dropping it.”
“This is not how you win me over,” I say, stepping in closer so I don’t have to raise my voice. “It’s how you piss me off.”
He smiles, slowly. “You say win you over like I’m not already in your head.”
I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. Both feelings hit at once, hot and sharp.
“Just say yes,” he says quietly. “One real date. Dinner. Just us. No club. No games.”
“I could lose my TA position,” I remind him. “I’ve told you this.”
“We’d be careful,” he says. “Nobody is looking at us that hard.”
“Wrong,” I whisper. I tip my head back, stare at the ceiling for a second. “Dammit, Talon.”
“Think about it,” he says. His voice drops lower. “I’m not running to Daddy to tell him his precious angel plays leather dress up. I’m not the enemy here.”
My gaze snaps to his. He licks his bottom lip like he knows exactly what he is doing.
“And for what it’s worth,” he adds, looking down at my body in a slow sweep, “this is a sexy outfit too. Much better than the club outfits.”
Heat licks up my spine, sliding lower, tightening somewhere deep in a way I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. It annoys me how fast it happens, how easily he manages to light a spark where I don’t want one.
I grab his shirt and kiss him.
There’s no build up. One second I’m furious, the next my mouth is on his.
He reacts fast, a surprised sound caught between us before his hands slide into my hair.
His fingers tighten at the nape of my neck, pulling me in.
His lips are warm and eager, and that cocky tilt shifts into something hungrier.
He tries to lead. I bite his lower lip hard enough to make him suck in a breath. His grip tightens. Our mouths fight for control, tongues tangling. My body presses into his without thinking; his chest is solid, his hips already reacting. Every alarm bell in my brain rings, and none of them win.
He groans, the sound low in his throat. I can feel him hard against my stomach, and the way his fingers curl in my hair says he remembers every second from the club and is making up for not being able to touch me.
I break away first, breath coming too fast. His lips are pinker, swollen. My own feel ruined.
“This didn’t happen,” I say, smoothing my top, fixing my hair in the reflection of the dark glass nearby.
His smile is slow and dangerous. “Whatever you say, baby.”
I walk back toward the ballroom before I can say something worse. By the time I sit, the food has arrived. I focus on my pancakes, on cutting perfect bites, on ignoring the heat still crawling under my skin.
Talon returns a minute later, and slides into his seat. He looks calm. Only his mouth betrays him.
Abi launches into wedding talk, asking about flowers and guest lists and color schemes.
“We called you both here,” she says, dabbing her lips, “because on Friday we’re having a little engagement party. Very low key. You will both be there.”
“Of course,” my dad says.
I nod. “Send me the details.”
Talon picks at his potatoes. “Will Minxy be there?”
My father perks up. “We asked the headmaster if she could come home for a long weekend. We’re waiting to hear back.”
Abi waves a hand. “He called. She can’t miss school. Exams or something. She’ll be fine.”
Talon’s shoulders sink almost imperceptibly. He cuts into his steak with too much focus. My dad’s smile falters.
A spark of anger burns through me. Abi didn’t even bother pretending she tried. Didn’t even bother considering how much Minxy being there means to them.
I sip my mimosa, deciding I’m done being polite.
“That’s strange,” I say. “Daddy, maybe you can donate some money and sway them. It is your wedding after all, and your soon-to-be stepdaughter should be there.”
Abi’s fork freezes midair.
My father blinks. “Oh. Well. Yes, I could try.
“Great,” I say lightly. “You could call them yourself. Exceptions get made all the time for family events. Especially when schools are funded by parents who care.”
Abi’s smile strains. “I’m sure they have rules—”
“Rules can bend,” I cut in softly. “And if not, maybe Talon can take us to visit Minxy at school this weekend.” I turn to him, calm as ever. “Right? I’d love to see her dorm. Meet her friends.”
Talon’s head lifts, eyes brightening. “Yeah. I’d take you.”
Abi’s pearl necklace shifts as she swallows. “That won’t be necessary.”
“It might be,” I murmur, giving her a pleasant smile with just enough teeth. “If she can’t come to us, we’ll go to her. Family makes the effort.”
My father beams, oblivious. “Exactly.”
Abi’s hand tightens around her champagne flute. “We’ll… revisit it.
Good.
When brunch winds down, I wipe my mouth and set my napkin aside. “I want to meet Minxy before the wedding,” I say. “If I’m standing up there and giving my blessing, I would like to know all of my soon to be family.”
My father brightens. “I think that is a great idea.”
Abi’s smile is thin. “We will see what we can do.”
Which means absolutely nothing.
I stand, kiss my dad’s cheek. “Thank you for breakfast. Text me about Friday.”
I don’t look at Talon. I feel his eyes on the back of my legs as I walk away.
By the time I slide behind the wheel of my car, my hands are shaking. My mouth still tingles. The kiss replays in slow motion. I swore that part of me was off limits. He’s younger. He’s a student in my class. He’s almost my stepbrother.
Another student could talk. One wrong rumor and the dean would not even pretend to be shocked.
I should care more.
The problem is I’m starting not to. Talon is hot and infuriating, and the memory of him kneeling for me at the club is carved into my mind. He pushed today, and I met him halfway. That was my choice.
I drive home, toss my keys on the counter, stand there in the quiet kitchen, and press my fingers to my lips.
If Silas and Gideon find out he is the one playing games with me, I don’t know if they’ll want to share.
I don’t know if Talon can share. But I’m starting to want to find out if he’s willing.