Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(40)

“Freddy is preparing lamb shank,” Preston adds. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Famished,” I lie.

He steers his Porsche into the parking lot of Garnet’s football facility and pulls into a spot. Like the gentleman he is, he hops out of the convertible and runs over to open my door. Then he extends a hand, I take it, and we walk toward Preston’s helicopter.

Yup. His helicopter.

Most days, it’s how he commutes to school. His family had the helipad installed behind the football stadium his freshman year. It’s a bit ridiculous, even for our circle of society, and the sight of the gleaming, white aircraft makes me wonder what Cooper would say if he saw—

No. Nope. Not going there. Today, I come clean.

It isn’t long before we’re flying in over the Kincaid estate, a massive piece of gated property on the coast. Endless lawns and oak trees stretch out for acres, the property divided from the ocean by an expansive white mansion. There’s a pool, tennis courts, basketball court, and flower garden. All maintained by at least a dozen employees at any given time.

On the back patio, his mother greets us. As always, she’s impeccably dressed. Head-to-toe Prada. I’m not sure why she bothers, seeing as how most days she has little reason to leave the house. Like my mom, Coraline doesn’t work and employs a personal staff that handles every aspect of the home and her affairs.

“Hey, Mom.” Preston leans in to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“Hi, darling.” Smiling, she shifts her gaze to me. “Mackenzie, honey.” She hugs me, but with the light touch of someone who might shatter if you squeezed too hard. She’s a slight woman. Fragile, not frail. Just don’t make her angry. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid. Your new roses around the gazebo are gorgeous.”

I learned long ago that the easiest way to keep her happy is to find something new on the estate to compliment on every visit. Otherwise, she spends the entire time commenting on my split ends or the size of my pores.

“Oh, thank you, honey. Raúl planted them just this week. He really is an artist.”

“Are you joining us for lunch?” I inquire. Please say no, please say no—

“I’m afraid not. I’m meeting with my architect soon. He’ll be here any minute. Did Preston tell you we’re building a new pool house?”

“No, he didn’t. How exciting.” Really, the only exciting thing about any of this is that she’s not having lunch with us.

And it’s a good thing she doesn’t, because lunch ends up being hella awkward. Not that Preston notices. In the formal dining room among the lamb shank and fine china, he goes on about some professor he insists has it out for him, while I pick at my food and work up the nerve to confess my sins.

“Of course, I could go to the dean and have the whole matter sorted out. He’d be out of a job. Then I thought, well, where’s the fun in that, right? I’ll come up with something more creative. That’s the thing with those people. You give them a little respect, and suddenly they forget their place. It’s our job to remind them. Another refill, Martha,” he says to the maid. “Thank you.”

Finally, I can’t stand the pit in my stomach any longer.

“I have something to tell you,” I blurt out.

He sets down his fork and pushes his plate away for Martha. “You okay?”

No. Not even a little. It isn’t until right now that I realize I do care about Preston. Not only because we’ve been together so long. Not because of some sense of loyalty.

Cooper might draw out my “true self,” whatever the hell that even means, but Preston does exactly what I told Cooper the other night: He keeps me grounded. He’s a stable presence in my life. He knows this world, knows how to handle our parents, which is important in maintaining our sanity. Around him, I’m not a ball of anxiety and dread.

And what I’ve done to him isn’t fair.

I wait until Martha leaves the dining room before releasing a shaky breath.

Now or never.

“I kissed someone. A guy.”

He waits, watching me, as if I might say more.

I should. I will. This seemed the most expedient way to begin. Except now I’m regretting not waiting until we were somewhere more private. If his mother decides to walk in right now, I might not make it off the estate alive.

“Is that all?” Preston prompts.

“No. I mean, yeah. We only kissed, if that’s what you mean.” I bite my lip. Hard. “But I cheated on you.”

He gets up from his seat at the far end of the table and comes to sit beside me. “Do I know him?”

“No. Some local I met at a bar when I was out with Bonnie. It was a stupid thing to do. We were drinking and I wasn’t thinking and …” And I can’t help myself from softening the blow with another lie. I was going to tell him. Everything. Now, looking in his eyes, I can’t hurt him that way. He is taking it better than I expected, though. “I’m so sorry, Pres. You don’t deserve this. I was wrong and I have no excuse.”

“Babe,” he says, squeezing my hand. He smiles, almost amused. “I’m not mad.”

I blink. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. So you had too much to drink and kissed a townie. Welcome to your freshman year of college. Guess you learned a lesson about handling your liquor.”