Twisted (Never After #4)(12)

We connected instantly when we met, both of us coming from wealthy upbringings with strict parents and invisible walls to keep us from straying too far out of line. But where my father gives me everything I could ask for and all the spare attention he has, hers treats her like a ghost, something that can be stowed away and kept quiet with cash. But Riya learned that even bad attention is attention, and she became a troublemaker quickly, craving the acknowledgment it provided.

So when we got to university, she acted out. She was known as a party girl who was hanging on to her diploma by the skin of her teeth and the numerous donations in her parents’ name.

As a result of our differing lifestyles, when we had our first taste of freedom, Sunday brunches became our fail-safe, our weekly check-in. Mainly so I could make sure she made it through the week alive after not coming home to our dorm more than once or twice in a seven-day span.

In Oregon, we were able to find little hole-in- the-wall pubs— hidden gems with bad sanitary habits and killer Bloody Marys. Now that we’re back home in New York, we’ve had to adapt. I had more freedom when I was far away, but my father likes to know I’m safe.

He’s an important man, and important men have lots of enemies.

So we meet here at Bazaar Treats. It’s an upscale place known for their delicacies and overpriced menu, hidden away in the ritzy hills of Badour, New York, where we live.

I’ve never begrudged my father the things he needs to do to take care of me, but just once, I’d love to break through the cocoon and get lost in the streets of New York City. It’s difficult to do when I have to depend on the drivers provided by my dad. I’ve never learned how to drive; there wasn’t really a need, and my father preferred for me to be driven rather than do the driving.

Maybe in another life. Or maybe after he’s gone.

Shame coats my insides when the thought crosses my mind, nausea tossing my stomach like a ship in a storm until buttery flakes of croissant surge up my throat.

How could I think that?

Anger at his request isn’t a reason for selfish thoughts. Evil thoughts. But I’m having a hard time coming to terms with my emotions.

It’s been three days since the conversation with him when he turned my world upside down. Seventy-two hours for anxiety to fill up every vein until they’re humming, high-pitched, and tight. And I’m no closer to a solution than I was.

My phone vibrates against the top of the table to the right of my empty plate, and I look down, guilt flip-flopping through my chest when Aidan’s name flashes across the screen. I’ve been avoiding him, not sure what to say— what to do— and not wanting to hear the heartbreak in his voice when I have to tell him what’s going on.

I had hoped to have thought of something by now, something that could save me from this nightmare without hurting every single person that I love, but clearly, that’s not the case.

“What’s up with you?” Riya asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I shrug, flipping my cell over until it’s facedown. “Nothing. Why?”

Her brow raises until it touches her dark hairline, and she leans over the table, her hand shooting out like she’s going for my phone.

Trepidation surges through me and I grab it clumsily, shoving it in my lap.

I’m not sure why I panic the way I do. She knows Aidan exists. She knows we’ve been friends and that I care for him. In fact, they’ve been friends for just as long, because more often than not, Riya would come to my house for the holidays while her parents were vacationing in the south of France. The three of us bonded the way any kids of the same age with nothing but time and boredom on their hands would.

She just doesn’t know exactly what he means to me. I’ve wanted to tell her a thousand times, but it’s just…too risky. Sighing, I attempt to run a hand through my hair, my fingers getting caught in the curls.

“Mm-hmm,” she snarks, her back slamming into her chair. “You’re a shit liar, you know?”

I grab my champagne flute and gulp back more of my Bellini.

She smirks. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”

Again, my secrets skim the surface of the deep place where I keep them locked up tight, the war inside me weakening my defenses until I can’t fight anymore, especially considering my father’s demand and my promise to Aidan.

“I hooked up with Aidan,” I admit.

It’s not the whole truth, but it assuages the weight of keeping it inside all these years at least.

“And?” She rolls her eyes, barking out a laugh. “What else is new?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I squint.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the white linen of the patio table. “I’m your best friend, Yas. You don’t have to tell me you’re in love with someone for me to know. You two have always been absolute shit at hiding anything.”

My heart stutters, teetering on the edge of a cliff and deep diving through my middle. How long has she known? And if she knows, then does anyone else?

“Yeah, well, my father’s bitch boy caught us the other night.” My cheeks heat and I groan, dropping my head into the palms of my hands, pressing until white dots scatter behind my closed eyelids.

Riya sucks in a breath. “Who, Julian?”

I let out a heartless laugh, my stomach souring at his name.