A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(21)

“He’s threatening. Cruel. He doesn’t smile—like ever. Probably not happy with his life,” I finish, deciding to add something at the last second. “Has poor little rich boy syndrome.”

“What the fuck is that?”

I ignore his f-bomb, trying my best not to visibly react. “Come on, you know.”

“I want to hear you explain it.” His voice is deadly soft and the gleam in his eyes is so, so cold.

Taking a deep breath, I tell him, “It’s when your family ignores you completely and money is the only source of love. They pay attention to you when they deem it necessary but otherwise, you’re just a prop in their so-called family life. You’re the baby, right? They’re too busy getting involved in everyone else’s lives, while they forget all about you.”

His smile is not friendly. It’s downright menacing. “Interesting description. I get the sense you’re familiar with that sort of treatment.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Harvey Beaumont is your father. One of the largest commercial real estate brokers in all of New York City, correct?” When I just stare at him, he continues, “My brothers are in the business. They know all about him. He’s a ruthless motherfucker who has an enormous collection of priceless art.”

Hearing him call my father, a mother-bleeper, is a tad disconcerting.

“My mother is the collector,” I admit, the words falling from my lips without thought. “It’s the only thing she’s got in her life that makes her truly happy.”

Oh God. I hate that I just admitted that to him. He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my private life. He could take any info I give him and twist it. Make me sound like a sad little girl.

Which according to him, I am. And maybe he’s right. My mother doesn’t particularly like me. My father uses me as a prop. They’re both too controlling over my life, and use that to say they want to protect me. I thought I had friends, but I now I’m not so sure.

“The penthouse in Manhattan that showcases all of the art—you grew up there?”

I try to ignore the alarm rushing through my veins at his words. At his familiarity with my life. A life I don’t really feel a part of anymore, since I’ve been at Lancaster Prep for most of the last three years, going on four.

Sitting up straighter, I push all thoughts of poor pitiful me out of my mind and smile politely at Crew.

“We moved to that apartment when I was thirteen,” I confirm.

“And you’re an only child.”

My smile fades. “How do you know all of this?”

Crew ignores my question. “No other brothers or sisters, right?”

I am my father’s pride and joy, and my mother’s worst nightmare. She told me exactly that last summer, when we were on vacation on the Italian Riviera and my father bought an extravagantly priced piece of art by an up-and-coming artist he just discovered.

We just discovered. My father purchased the piece because I liked it, completely ignoring her opinion. Mother hated it. She prefers more modern pieces while this artist had works that harken back to the Impressionist period.

She was so angry with me when Daddy bought that painting and paid an enormous amount of money to have it shipped home. She said he didn’t listen to her anymore, only to me, which wasn’t true.

Harvey Beaumont doesn’t listen to anyone but himself.

“No siblings,” I finally admit. “I’m an only child.”

“That’s why he’s so overprotective of you, right? His precious daughter, promised to him thanks to a—weird purity ceremony.”

His gaze lands on the diamond ring on my left hand, and I immediately drop it into my lap. “You all just love to make fun of me for that.”

“Who’s ‘you all’?”

“Everyone in my class, at this entire school. It’s not like I was alone at that ball. There were other girls there—some even currently attend this school. The ceremony wasn’t creepy. It was special.” I close my notebook and bend down, reaching for my backpack. I shove everything inside and zip it closed before I stand, slinging the backpack over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he asks incredulously.

“I don’t have to tolerate your questioning any longer. I’m leaving.” I turn away from Crew and head for the doorway, ignoring Ms. Skov calling my name as I exit her classroom.

I’ve never left class early before, but at this moment, I feel powerful.

And I didn’t even apologize.





NINE





WREN





It’s lunchtime the next day, after my fleeing seventh period moment, and I’m approaching a table filled with girls in my senior class. Girls I’ve gone to school with since the beginning of freshman year, but none of them I can really call my friends.

Not anymore.

Oh, we were close when we all first started. I was brand new and a complete novelty to them, though I didn’t see it then. They thought I was cute and stylish, and I reveled in their attention and approval.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Approval. To fit in.

Instead, I stood out. As time went on, they eventually became weary of me, and we all grew farther and farther apart. Until they eventually stopped wanting to spend time with me. They’re all still perfectly polite toward me, as I am to them. The only one who truly tolerates me is Maggie, but not as much since the start of our senior year, especially after I saw what happened between her and Fig.