The Cousins(58)

When she’d touched up her lip gloss as many times as she could stand, she left her bedroom and started down the hallway. As always lately, she was drawn to a door she usually avoided. She rapped lightly on the frame, and Anders’s impatient voice called, “Come in.”

He was fully dressed except for his tuxedo jacket, and the bow tie that he was working on while standing in front of the full-length mirror across from his bed. Allison’s reflection caught his eye, and he raised one sardonic eyebrow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Allison closed the door and sat on the edge of Anders’s bed. “I’m just restless.”

“You take it yet?” he asked without preamble.

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Allison. At this point you’re going to give birth before you even acknowledge there might be a problem. Oh, screw this tie to hell and back.” Anders undid the entire thing and started over.

Allison wanted desperately to confide in someone about her fear of being pregnant, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother, Archer, or any of her friends. She’d fantasized briefly about telling Matt—maybe he’d finally return that call—but her pride wouldn’t let her. That left her with two options: keep bottling it up, or talk to Anders about it.



Anders, of all people. Who’d been born without the empathy gene. But maybe, Allison thought, he could rise to the occasion if the stakes were high enough.

“I’m scared,” she said.

Anders snorted, tugging at his bow tie. “I’d be scared, too, if I were about to introduce the Ryan gene pool into this family. Our collective IQs would drop like a stone.” Allison stared reproachfully at her brother, cheeks burning, as he added, “I don’t know why you ever slummed it with that guy anyway.”

“That’s all you have to say?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Take the damn test, then take care of the problem. And don’t be such an idiot the next time some townie loser pays attention to you.”

Okay. Rising to the occasion wasn’t going to happen. “You should talk,” Allison snapped. “High-and-mighty Anders Story, so above it all until Kayla crooks her little finger. Then you come running.”

Anders finished his tie and ran a hand through his hair. It was all spikes and cowlicks, nothing like the thick waves both Adam and Archer had. “I don’t run anywhere. I’m having fun. And I’ve managed to do it without knocking anyone up, so—you could learn a few things.”

“Was it fun when Kayla dumped you for Matt?” Allison knew her words had finally hit their target when Anders stilled, eyes narrowing at his reflection in the mirror. Part of her brain realized she should stop talking, but another part was viciously glad that he felt as badly as she did. Even if it was only for a minute. “She probably will again, you know. I’ve seen them flirting more than once this summer. Ironic, huh? We have all this”—her hand swept around Anders’s vast bedroom—“but it seems like the only thing those two want is each other.”



“That would be a mistake,” Anders said calmly. He picked his tuxedo jacket up from his desk chair and shrugged it on. “Now get the hell out of my room.”

Allison obeyed, already regretting letting her mouth run away with her. Anders would be impossible to deal with for the rest of the night. She went back to her room and shut the door, tracing the now-familiar path to the pile of sweaters in her closet that hid the pregnancy test. She opened the box and pulled out the slim piece of plastic inside.

Results in five minutes!

Before she could think too much about what she was doing, Allison headed for her bathroom with the test clutched in one hand. It wasn’t easy to pee in a ball gown, but it wasn’t impossible either. Then she set the test on the back of the toilet, washed her hands, and waited.

Barely a minute passed before the second line appeared, as strong and dark as the first. Allison’s stomach lurched, and the nausea that had been plaguing her for weeks couldn’t be contained any longer. She retched loudly into the toilet, over and over until her sides ached and her throat was raw.

When her stomach finally stopped heaving, she flushed the toilet and picked up the pregnancy test. She wrapped it in thick layers of tissue and tossed it in the trash. Feeling light-headed, she plucked her toothpaste and toothbrush from their holder and brushed her teeth for three minutes. Then she gargled with mouthwash, reapplied her lip gloss, smoothed her hair, and straightened her pendant.



She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. It was nearly time to leave for the Summer Gala, and Allison knew the image her mother wanted to project for the family: still mourning Abraham Story, of course, but strong and united, bright futures stretching endlessly in front of them. Not afraid, not rejected, not bitter, and definitely not pregnant.

Allison made her way down the curving staircase into the foyer, where Mother kept all of her favorite artwork. A man stood in front of the newest bronze, his head cocked as though he was trying to figure out what it was. Allison recognized Mother’s lawyer, Donald Camden, even before he turned at the sound of her approach.

“It’s a mother and her children,” Allison said, lifting her skirt as she negotiated the final two steps. “Mother had it flown over from Paris.”