Evermore (The Immortals #1)(11)
And I nearly jump out of my skin.
"Omigod, you scared the heck out of me!" I whisper, shutting the door so Sabine can't hear.
"I know." She laughs. "So where you going?"
"Some restaurant called Stonehill Tavern. It's in the St. Regis hotel," I say, my heart still racing from the ambush.
She raises her brows and nods. "Chichi."
"How would you know?" I peer at her, wondering if she's been. I mean, it's not like she ever tells me where she spends her free time.
"I know lots of things." She laughs. "Way more than you." She jumps onto my bed and rearranges the pillows before she leans back.
"Yeah, well, not much I can do about that, huh?" I say, annoyed to see how she's wearing the exact same dress and shoes as I am. Only since she's four years younger and quite a bit shorter, she looks like she's playing dress-up.
"Seriously though, you should dress like that more often. Because I hate to say it, but your usual look is so not working for you. I mean, you think Brandon ever would've gone for you if you'd dressed like that?" She crosses her ankles and gazes at me, her posture as relaxed as a person, living or dead, could ever be.
"Speaking of, did you know he's dating Rachel now? Yep, they've been together five months. That's like, even longer than you guys, huh?"
I press my lips and tap my foot against the floor, repeating my usual mantra: Don't let her get to you. Don't let her.
"And omigod, you're never gonna believe this but they almost went all the way! Seriously, they left the homecoming dance early, they had it all planned out, but then—well..."
She pauses long enough to laugh.
"I know I probably shouldn't repeat this, but let's just say that Brandon did something very regrettable and extremely embarrassing that turned out to be a major mood breaker. You probably had to be there, but I'm telling you, it was hilarious. I mean, don't get me wrong, he misses you and all, even accidentally called her by your name once or twice, but as they say, life goes on, right?"
I take a deep breath and narrow my eyes, watching as she lounges on my bed like Cleopatra on her litter, critiquing my life, my look, virtually everything about me, giving me updates on former friends I never even asked for, like some kind of prepubescent authority.
Must be nice to just drop in whenever you feel like it, to not have to get down here in the trenches and do all the dirty work like the rest of us!
And suddenly I feel so annoyed with her little pop-in visits that are really just glorified sneak attacks, wishing she'd just leave me m peace and let me live whatever's left of my crummy life without her constant stream of bratty commentary; that I look her right in the eye and say, "So when are you scheduled for angel school? Or have they banned you because you're so evil?"
She glares at me, her eyes squeezing into angry little slits as Sabine taps on my door and calls, "Ready?"
I stare at Riley, daring her with my eyes to do something stupid, something that will alert Sabine to all the truly strange goings on around here. But she just smiles sweetly and says, "Mom and Dad send their love," seconds before disappearing.
Chapter Seven
On the ride to the restaurant all I can think about is Riley her snide remark, and how completely rude it was to just let it slip and then disappear. I mean, I've been begging her to tell me about our parents, pleading for just one smidgen of info this whole entire time. But instead of filling me in and telling me what I need to know; she gets all fidgety, acts all cagey; and refuses to explain why they've yet to appear. You'd think being dead would make a person act a little nicer, a little kinder. But not Riley. She's just as bratty; spoiled, and awful as she was when she was alive.
Sabine leaves the car with the valet and we head inside. And the moment I see the huge marble foyer, the outsized flower arrangements, and the amazing ocean view, I regret everything I just thought. Riley was right. This place really is chichi. Big-time, major chichi. Like the kind of place you bring a date—and not your sullen niece.
The hostess leads us to a cloth-covered table adorned with flickering candles and salt and pepper shakers that resemble small silver stones, and when I take my seat and gaze around the room, I can hardly believe how glamorous it is. Especially compared to the kind of restaurants I'm used to.
But just as soon as I think it, I make myself stop. There's no use examining the before and after photos, of reviewing the how things used to be clip stored in my brain. Though sometimes being around Sabine makes it hard not to compare. Her being my dad's twin is like a constant reminder.
She orders red wine for herself and a soda for me, then we look over our menus and decide on our meals. And the moment our waitress is gone, Sabine tucks her chin-length blond hair back behind her ear, smiles politely, and says,
"So, how's everything? School? Your friends? All good?"
I love my aunt, don't get me wrong, and I'm grateful for everything that she's done. But just because she can handle a twelve man jury doesn't mean she's any good at the small talk.
Still, I just look at her and say, "Yep, it's all good." Okay, maybe I suck at the small talk too.
She places her hand on my arm to say something more, but before she can even get to the words, I'm already up and out of my seat.