The Cousins(62)

“Absolutely,” I say, angling for a regal tone but failing when I slur the s.

“See you at dinner,” Reid says.

“Not if I see you first,” I giggle before Jonah steers me away.

“How much champagne have you had?” he asks quietly.

Too much. That becomes clear as the room wavers around me. I’m used to sipping cocktails with my friends over the course of a couple of hours—not downing four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Or was it five?

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Mildred already hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She does. She likes Aubrey better than me. She likes you better than me, and you”—I stab one finger into his chest for emphasis—“aren’t even related to her.”

“Shhh,” Jonah mutters. He steers me around a small knot of Donald Camden clones, all silver-haired and ruddy-cheeked, chuckling in a genteel sort of way as they clutch tumblers of amber liquid. I almost point that out—Look at all the Donalds!—but Jonah is still talking. “Milly, you can’t let her get to you. I don’t think your grandmother is an especially good person. Maybe she was once, but not anymore.”



We’re at a big gold curtain now, and when Jonah parts it there’s a French door behind it. Jonah unlatches the door and—oh, blessed cool air. We step onto a stone balcony, and when Jonah closes the door behind us, it’s as close to privacy as we’re going to get at the Summer Gala.

I lean against the balcony’s rail, pushing my hair back with an unsteady hand. It’s a clear night, and the stars look low and bright against the blue velvet sky. “Are you having a nice time at my grandmother’s extremely important party?” I ask.

“Are you?” Jonah asks.

“Super,” I say, and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing again. “It was totally part of the plan to get hammered. Mission accomplished.”

“You just need some air,” Jonah says. Unconvincingly.

I turn to face him. The motion makes the balcony spin, and my hand shoots out to clutch at the railing. I don’t find it, but Jonah catches my arm before I stumble. “This floor…should be straighter,” I tell him gravely, and he nods.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“It’s an old hotel,” I say. “Needs updating.”

Jonah clears his throat. “Listen, while we have a minute alone, there’s something I want to tell you. About why I’m here.”

I’m still light-headed, and he looks reassuringly stable, so I loop my arms around his neck to anchor myself in place. Much better. “Is it to keep me upright?”

“Not exactly.” Jonah laughs a little. “Happy to do it, though. The thing is…” He trails off, licking his lips again. This time, I give in to the impulse and detach one hand from behind his neck so I can trace his bottom lip with one finger. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re making it hard for me to concentrate.”



“You talk too much,” I say, and reach up to brush my lips against his.

I pull back, just enough to see his eyes widen and then go a little unfocused as his hands cup my face and pull me closer. “Well, I tried,” he murmurs before his mouth covers mine. It’s warm and searching, and I feel a jolt of desire so strong and unexpected that it roots me to the spot. I mean, I wanted this, obviously, because I’m the one who started it. But I didn’t understand, until right this second, how much. My arms go around his neck again, my fingers twining in his hair and my heart hammering in my chest. Jonah’s tongue slips into my mouth, and the taste of him, all chocolate and spice, makes me swoon.

“Oh my God!”

The voice that interrupts us is loud and shocked, and in the split second it takes Jonah and me to break apart, I sober up completely. His gaze holds mine, and I see my own question mirrored there: What did we just do?

The answer comes soon enough. I turn to see Donald Camden gaping at us, a red-faced Aubrey by his side. The curtain we slipped behind has been pulled aside, the French door leading to the balcony is open, and every single person behind Donald—and there are a lot of them—is staring at us.

Including my grandmother.





I’ve never seen a train wreck in real life, but I finally understand the metaphor. Looking at Milly and Jonah is unbearable, but I can’t not look, either.

Especially since this is kind of my fault.

I knew Milly was upset when Donald brought me to Gran’s table. The whole time Gran and I were talking, I tried to keep an eye on Milly as she moved around the room, but I kept losing sight of her. My last glimpse was of her disappearing onto the balcony with Jonah. So when Gran asked Donald to bring Jonah by, I said, He just stepped outside, I can get him. Then Gran replied, Fresh air sounds lovely, Donald and I will join you.

And here we are.

I should say something. I’m not sure what, but anything would be better than the horrified silence of two hundred black-tie party guests who think they just caught a couple of long-lost first cousins making out. In fact, now would be the ideal time to explain that they’re not cousins. But I have no idea how to open that conversation, and before I can start, Gran speaks.



“I suppose this is what comes from not listening to my instincts,” she says coldly. “Your parents were nothing but disappointments, and you are entirely the same.” Heat rushes to my cheeks at the blanket statement as her eyes narrow in on Jonah. “I shouldn’t be surprised that Anders’s son is utterly depraved.”