A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(89)

I’ve never felt this way before. My parents’ relationship is more like a business deal. She tolerates him, he barely tolerates her, they don’t really talk, they cheat on each other…

I could go on and on.

My father is a controlling fucking monster. He tells people what to do and they do it. Grant got older and basically told our dad to fuck off—which he respected. Finn did much the same. Charlotte was just bartered off to the highest bidder.

And then there’s me. The baby of the family. Dear old dad has zero expectations for me. Most of the time, he forgets I exist, which is fine.

I’d rather avoid him every chance I can.

“Her parents are wealthy. She’s used to it.”

“There is nothing like our family, and you know it.”

He’s right, but fuck it.

“Is the plane available or not?”

“It’s available. I can have it headed your way in thirty minutes. The pilot is on call,” Grant says.

“I need it at the airport by around five. I want to leave by five-thirty,” I tell him.

“I’ll let them know.”

I can tell he’s about to end the call, but I stop him. “Hey, Grant.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Consider it your Christmas present.”

There’s a clicking sound and then he’s gone.

I call Wren next.

“I have a surprise for you,” is what I say when she answers.

“Are you actually planning a trip, Crew?”

“That’s what I told you, right?” Does she doubt me? I need to make sure she never does again.

“Yes, but I don’t know. This is all so last minute.” The worry in her voice is obvious. “And I don’t know how to tell my parents.”

“Like I mentioned earlier, tell your parents you’re going on a trip with a friend. Just for a few days.”

“With what friend?”

“I don’t know—Maggie?”

A sigh leaves her. “I guess I could. Where are you taking me?”

“I want it to be a surprise.”

“That’s sweet and all, but when I call Daddy and tell him I’m leaving for the weekend, he’s going to ask where I’m going. And I can’t say it’s a surprise, because that’s just weird.”

This girl is so damn aggravating sometimes. She worries too much about what other people think of her—especially her precious daddy.

“We’re going to Vermont,” I tell her.

“Oh really? I’ve never been! I’ve heard it’s so pretty. The mountains and the snow. Some of the towns really get into Christmas too.”

“Does that mean you’re definitely coming with me?”

“I want to.” She hesitates. “Let me call my father first and tell him. I’ll see what he says. He has to sign me out anyway so…”

That’s true. I’m eighteen and can sign myself out. Well, that and I’m a Lancaster.

When your name is on the school, they let you get away with a lot of stuff with no arguments.

“Call or text me when you’ve got an answer, okay? And hurry. I already ordered the plane,” I say.

She’s quiet for a moment. “We’re actually going to fly there?”

“I didn’t want to drive.”

“Oh my God, Crew.”

“Have you never flown private before?”

“No, never.”

“You’re in for the ride of your life then.”

In more ways than one, if I have anything to say about it.





THIRTY-FOUR





WREN





I have never lied to my parents before, until I met Crew. Now I’m sneaking around and hiding what I’m doing from my mom and dad, specifically my father, because I know he would be incredibly disappointed in me.

Worse, he’d flat out tell me no about this trip. Going away for the weekend with a boy, all alone?

Daddy would never let that happen.

Bringing up his contact info, I hit call and wait, holding the phone to my ear as I go to my closet and pull down the bag I use when I travel.

“Pumpkin, how are you?” His voice is warm and edged with faint concern, which makes me feel guilty.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“How was your day? How’s school going? Glad the semester is almost over?”

“Definitely.” I need to get this over with. “Um, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” I reassure him. He’s been worried about me ever since the divorce announcement—and retraction. “A friend of mine invited me to go on a trip this weekend.”

“A trip? The weekend before finals? Are you sure that’s a smart idea?”

No, it’s a terrible idea. And a wonderful one too.

“I’m ready for finals. I already completed one today,” I tell him. “I have an A in psychology.”

“Of course you do.” He says it as if he never had any doubt about my abilities. “Where are you going? Somewhere close?”

“Vermont.”