Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(98)

THEN



“Do we have to stay the night?” I asked my mom as we got out of the car in front of the Pembertons’ place in Harbor Springs.

“For heaven’s sake, Chloe, we just got here.” She gave me a Mom Look that said mind your manners.

Sullen and pouting, I watched my dad hand his keys to the valet. “I was just asking.”

“Well, Hughie is our godson, and graduating from Harvard with an M.B.A is a big deal. This party is important to him, to his parents, and to us.”

“Fine.” I followed her around to the back of the car, where another valet was pulling our overnight bags from the trunk. Since my three older sisters weren’t living at home that summer, it was just my parents, Frannie, and me. “But I won’t know anyone here, and it’s going to be boring sitting around all day and night.”

“Nonsense,” my mother said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You know the entire family. And Oliver’s home. When’s the last time you two saw each other?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered as we trudged up the wide front steps of the wraparound porch. It wasn’t true—I knew exactly when it was: Cloverleigh’s Christmas party our freshman year of college, when he’d implied that he’d only had sex with me out of pity and hadn’t even enjoyed it. It was the most hurtful thing anyone had ever said to me. Even now, more than three years later, it still stung. I’d never forgive him, and I’d ignored the lame, apologetic texts he’d sent. I’d refused to visit his family’s home or attend any function where I knew he’d be in attendance.

Even now, I didn’t want to see him. The only thing that would make this day bearable was a stiff drink. Several stiff drinks.

“I’ll hang out with you,” Frannie offered as my mom knocked on the front door.

“Thanks.” I gave her a half-hearted smile. Frannie was sweet, but at seventeen, she wasn’t old enough to drink with me and wasn’t the type to sneak it. We were nothing alike. It kind of made me feel worse.

We greeted Aunt Nell and Uncle Soapy with hugs in the foyer, and followed a uniformed housekeeper upstairs to our rooms. Frannie and I were sharing a bedroom, the same bedroom I’d been staying in when Oliver put the fucking rubber snake in my bed. It looked exactly the same as it had then. Two twin beds, white wicker nightstand between them, white wicker dresser, and floral everything—bedspreads, rug, curtains, sheets, pillows.

“Want to change into our suits?” Frannie asked. “Go swimming or something?”

“Nah.” I took my sandals off and flopped back onto one of the beds. “I’m actually not feeling that well. Can you tell Mom I have cramps and I’m resting?”

The look she gave me told me she knew I was lying, but she dutifully agreed to do what I asked. “Okay. I’m going down. Text me if you change your mind.”

“I will. Can you shut the door on your way out? Thanks.”

When she was gone, I crossed my feet at the ankles and closed my eyes. I’m not sure how long I lay there before I heard a knock.

Assuming it was Frannie, I didn’t even open my eyes. “Come in.”

The door creaked opened and shut. “Hey.”

That was definitely not Frannie’s voice. My eyes flew open and I sat up. Leaning back against the bedroom door was Oliver.

He looked good. My heart started to pound, traitorous thing. “What are you doing up here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen you in a while. Your mom said to come find you.”

Of course it hadn’t been his idea to seek me out. I studied him for a moment, annoyed that he’d gotten even more handsome as he’d matured. That chiseled Pemberton jaw. The bronzed skin. The dark hair dusted with gold from the sun. Even from ten feet away, I could see how thick his lashes were, how perfectly they framed his bright blue eyes. Something stirred inside me.

No.

I lay back again and shut my eyes. He didn’t give a shit about me. “Well, I don’t want to be found. I don’t even want to be here.”

“I don’t either.” He paused. “You still mad at me?”

“Yes. So go away.”

“Can’t we talk about it?”

For a moment I was going to refuse to say anything more to him, but then I changed my mind. “Why? So you can insult me again?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a real dick to me last time we talked.”

“At the Christmas party?”

“Yes, at the Christmas party,” I parroted.

“Chloe, that was like three years ago.”

I opened my eyes and gave him a look I hoped would scorch his eyeballs.

“I said I was sorry. Didn’t you get my texts?”

“Yes. I deleted them.”

“Why?”

“Because you fucking hurt my feelings, Oliver.” I paused, wanting to ask a question and yet dreading the answer. In the end, I couldn’t resist. “Did you mean those things you said?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you say them?”

“I don’t know.” He paused. “I think I was pissed you had a boyfriend.”