Chapter 11
CALLUM
Iseriously contemplated faking my own death. It would be easier than sitting through dinner with Chantilly. Less painful too.
“You look like someone just told you your dog died,” Drew said from where he was sprawled across my bed, tossing a tennis ball up and catching it repeatedly.
I held up two ties, one silver and one black. I realized I looked like I was dressing for a funeral.
I turned away from the mirror and looked at him. “Can’t you just go in my place? Tell her I had a family emergency.”
“Absolutely not.” He caught the ball and sat up. “That woman is certifiably insane. Did you see the way she was bidding? She looked possessed.”
“That’s because Victoria was whispering in her ear the entire time.”
“It was hilarious,” Cleo said from the doorway. She walked in carrying what looked like a gin and tonic. “I like her.”
“Of course you do.” I pulled off the tie I’d been attempting to knot and tossed it onto the bed. “She orchestrated my public humiliation.”
“You deserved it,” Cleo said matter-of-factly. She settled into the chair by the window and crossed her legs. “You set off a fire alarm to escape a date. That’s psychotic behavior.”
“Drew set off the fire alarm. Why does everyone keep blaming me! He did it!”
“At your request,” Drew pointed out.
I grabbed another tie from my closet, a dark blue silk one. I started looping it around my neck when Cleo made a sound that stopped me mid-motion.
“What are you doing?”
I looked at her. “Getting dressed?”
“You’re trying to look good.”
“That’s generally the goal when getting dressed.”
She set her drink down on the side table and stood up. Her eyes moved over my suit. It was the same look she got when she was thinking up a new idea for the wedding stuff. I didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.
“What if you didn’t?” she said slowly.
“Didn’t what? I feel like I’m missing something.”
“What if you didn’t try to look good.” She walked over to me, arms crossed. “Think about it. Chantilly is expecting you to show up looking like you did at the auction. All polished and perfect. What if you showed up looking… less than perfect?”
I blinked. “You want me to look bad on purpose?”
“Not bad exactly. Just not your best.” She was warming to the idea now. I could see it in her eyes. “Give her the ick. Make her lose interest.”
Drew sat up straighter. “Oh, this is good. This is really good.”
“I thought we were done with psychotic ideas,” I said.
“It’s genius,” Cleo countered. “Look, you’re stuck going to this dinner. But nowhere in the rules does it say you have to make her fall in love with you. In fact, it would be better for everyone if she didn’t.”
“She already thinks we’re soulmates,” I said.
“Then give her a reason to rethink that idea.” Cleo was already moving toward my closet, rifling through the hangers. “We need to find you an outfit that makes you look bad in her videos. She wants an accessory. Don’t give her one.”
“Shouldn’t be hard to make him look bad,” Drew quipped.
I flipped him off. “I don’t own unflattering clothes.” And then because I couldn’t resist. “It’s impossible to make me look bad.”
“Watch me.” She emerged with a polo shirt I’d forgotten I even had. It was from some charity golf tournament three years ago, and it had a logo embroidered on the chest that was about three sizes too large. “This. This is perfect.”
I stared at the shirt. “That’s puke green.”
“Exactly.” She tossed it at me. “Put it on.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Callum, do you want to spend the entire evening listening to Chantilly plan your wedding, or do you want to give her a reason to back off?” Cleo had her hands on her hips now. “Because I promise you, she’s already picked out flower arrangements.”
I looked at Drew for backup, but he was nodding enthusiastically.
“She’s right,” he said. “This is your best play. If you’re not good for her videos, she’ll be so disappointed she might even leave before dessert. Wear capris. Boat shoes with no socks.”
“I don’t own capris.”
“I can make any pants capris,” Cleo said. “Above the ankles. Tight in all the wrong places. You’ll look like a real douche. Trust me.”
I held up the polo shirt and examined it more closely. The color would make me look sick, like I’d been drinking all night and was trying to ride out some rough seas. “I’ll look like I was sitting in the splash zone at an exorcism. I can’t wear this.”
“You can and you will.” Cleo was back in my closet, this time emerging with a pair of khakis I’d worn exactly once to a family barbecue.
They were too short, hitting awkwardly above my ankles.
They also had a grease stain on the front.
I wasn’t sure why the housekeeper had even put them in my closet. “This is the look.”
“Those don’t even fit me properly.”
“That’s the point.” She thrust them at me. “Come on. We’re doing this.”
I looked between my two siblings, both of them grinning at me like they were brilliant. This was the dumbest plan I’d ever heard. It was juvenile. It was petty. It was beneath me.
It was also probably going to work. Chantilly was all about image. She wouldn’t want me showing up in her feed if I looked like I raided the free clothes drop-off from the charity shop.
“Fine,” I said, snatching the clothes from Cleo. “But if this backfires, I’m blaming both of you.”
I went into my bathroom and changed, catching sight of myself in the mirror as I pulled the polo over my head. The putrid color really was unfortunate. Combined with the too-short khakis, I looked ridiculous.
When I walked back into the bedroom, Drew burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” he managed between gasps. “You look like you’re about to mow the lawn and complain about property taxes.”
“I hate you both.”
Cleo was trying to contain her smile, but she wasn’t succeeding. “It’s perfect. But we’re not done yet.”
“What else could you possibly want to change?”
She walked over and started messing with my hair, deliberately making it stick up in weird directions. I tried to bat her hands away, but she was persistent.
“Stop moving,” she ordered. “We need to make it look like you didn’t even try.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“Not quite.” She stepped back and studied me critically. “The hair is good. The outfit is good. But you’re still too put together somehow.”
“I’m wearing a gross shirt with a giant logo on it.”
“Your posture,” Drew said suddenly. “You’re standing too straight. Slouch a little.”
“I’m not slouching.”
“You are if you want this to work.” He stood up and demonstrated, dropping his shoulders and hunching slightly forward. “Like this. Look defeated.”
“I am defeated,” I muttered, but I mimicked his posture.
Cleo clapped her hands together. “Yes! That’s it. Now you look properly pathetic.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What about shoes?” Drew asked, already heading for my closet before I could protest. He emerged with a pair of beat-up sneakers I used for working out. They were stained with grass and had a hole forming near the toe. “These.”
“Those are my running shoes.”
“They’re perfect.” He tossed them at my feet. “Put them on.”
I slipped them on, and the transformation was complete. I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the man staring back.
“This is humiliating,” I said.
“This is strategic,” Cleo corrected. She was grinning now, clearly proud of her work. “Trust me, one look at you and Chantilly will be running for the hills.”
“Or she’ll try to give me a makeover,” I said. “She seems like the type.”
“Then you politely decline and eat your dinner as quickly as possible.” Cleo picked up her gin and tonic and took a sip. “Two hours, max. You can survive anything for two hours.”
Drew was still laughing, taking photos on his phone. “I’m sending these to the family group chat.”
“Don’t you dare. Mom will die and Dad will be pissed. He’s the one that wanted all this.”
“Too late.” He held up his screen, showing me that he’d already sent them to our family group chat. My phone immediately started buzzing with responses.
A little while later, I pulled up to the address the charity had sent and sat in my car for a solid minute, staring at the building in front of me.
It couldn’t be the right place.
The apartment complex was a weathered three-story structure that looked like it had been built in the seventies and hadn’t been updated since.
The stucco was cracked in places, and several of the window screens were torn or missing entirely.
A rusted chain-link fence surrounded a small courtyard where a few tired-looking palm trees struggled to survive.
This was not the kind of place where someone who could drop two hundred grand on a charity auction lived.
My parents were friends with Chantilly’s parents, and they would have mentioned if the family had fallen on hard times.
I checked the email on my phone again, scrolling through to make sure I hadn’t misread the address.
Nope, I was definitely at the right place.
Maybe it was a joke. Maybe this was Chantilly’s idea of being quirky, pretending to live somewhere normal to seem more relatable.
Even I could admit rich people did weird shit like that sometimes.
“Fuck it,” I muttered to myself.
At least if some random stranger answered the door, I’d be off the hook. I could text the charity, tell them I showed up, and it was all a mix-up, and then I could go home and burn this hideous polo shirt.
I got out of the car and locked it twice for good measure. This wasn’t exactly a bad neighborhood, but it wasn’t Beverly Hills either. My new SUV stood out like a sore thumb among the beat-up sedans and ancient trucks up and down the street.
It felt like walking to my own execution.
I raised my hand and knocked three times. The door swung open.
And there stood Victoria Cavendish.
I stood there on her doorstep, my brain short-circuiting as I tried to process what I was seeing. She was wearing a purple dress that had my eyes focusing on her cleavage. Her blonde hair was styled in soft waves that fell past her shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I live here.”
I blinked. “What the hell is going on?”
I looked over my shoulder expecting to see Drew. This had to be a practical joke. He’d set me up. Right?
I couldn’t decide if Victoria was a better or worse option than Chantilly.