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Both Sumner and Mrs. Holland helped her into her wheelchair—I suspected she played helpless in order to have him touch her again.
“I’ll see you the next time you drop by without announcing it,” she told me as Mrs. Holland wheeled her around. She gestured at Sumner. “Make sure you bring him, too. As afriend.”
I hummed a soft noise under my breath in reply, and with that, Mrs. Holland wheeled Nancy away from the pool area.
Sumner sat back down on the lounger opposite of me, our knees bumping with how close the two chairs were. “That’s your frenemy who asked about my butt, huh?” he asked as he picked up my drink, taking a sip of it. I watched where his lips met the glass. “She’s nice. Sort of gives off that fun grandma vibe you can bicker with?—”
“Don’t you have to get back to work?”
He blinked at my tone. “I’m hanging out with you. If my manager says anything, I’ll just say you asked for me.”
“You shouldn’t lie. It’s a bad testament of character.”
“Haven’t you ever told a white lie?”
“Of course. But my character has already been called into question.”
We fell quiet for a moment. Sumner shook the drink just enough for the ice to clatter. I could feel his eyes on me, but I was too busy looking at the pool. “Fashion school, huh?”
In the grand scheme of things, it was a ridiculous thing to be embarrassed about, but this was Sumner. He’d thrown away his degree to pursue something else, to find something he was passionate about, something I didn’t have the guts to do. I felt naked with the knowledge out in the open, like the façade I’d donned had been shattered to pieces that scattered around me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You told me you didn’t want to pursue fashion.”
“I also said I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sumner laid his hand on my knee, and I dropped my attention to it. His fingers were long, his knuckles a shade darker than the rest of his skin, and I could trace the tendons on the back of his hand with my eyes. He gave my knee a shake to draw my attention. “Why not?”
I smacked his hand off. “Because I don’t want to.”
“You do realize you sound like a little kid, right?” He waited for me to argue. “You applied to art school, got in, but your parents made you major in business instead? Why? Because it was more practical? That tends to be the go-to argument, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know why,” I told him honestly. “I never asked.”
“You gave up on your dream and never asked why?”
Something uncomfortable tickled the back of my throat. I swallowed it. “You make it sound so dramatic. I was seventeen. It makes sense to pursue something practical over fashion. Especially when I’m going to be inheriting the family business.”
They were the words my parents had implanted in my head. I didn’t mean them. I just didn’t want him to see the resentment underneath. Though I’d said it to him earlier, I was really the one who was a tiny little Maltipoo who rolled over and showed her belly when I tried so hard to give off a Doberman demeanor. Unbothered. Uncaring. I refused to let him—anyone—see me any other way. Sumner could call me his friend all he wanted, but there were some sides I would never let him see.
Sumner took another sip of his drink as he watched me, and I watched him watching me. With the sun glaring down, I felt far too hot in the material of my suit, even with the jacket off. “How did it go with Aaron?” Sumner asked.
Yet another side I wanted nothing more than to bury. Yvette, my father, Aaron—all of it came creeping back like a dark fog rolling over me.He isn’t interested in a video call. They didn’t matter; it didn’t matter. Perhaps Aaron was right—perhaps itwasa better idea to meet in person, to be able to play off each other’s energies face to face. Perhaps… perhaps…
I turned to face the pool, focusing on the soft ripples on the surface. It needed skimming; there was far toomuch debris floating along the surface. My mother would’ve had a heart attack if she saw, sending any staff within a ten-mile radius into the pool to fish it out with their own hands.
“Margot.”
I still didn’t look.It didn’t happen, I knew I should say.He was too busy. The admission, though, seemed too humiliating, which was ridiculous. Sumner would say something absurdly supportive; it was why I hadn’t sought him out to begin with.
“I don’t want to talk about him with you,” I said, digging my fingers into the material of my pants. “He’s all anyone ever wants to talk to me about. No one ever asks aboutme; they ask abouthim. I want you to be my one person I don’t talk about him with. The one person who doesn’t ask.”
And at first, it almost looked as if Sumner wasn’t going to agree. His lips parted in what must’ve been surprise, lashes fluttering as he blinked. Ultimately, though, he nodded. “All right.”
Discomfort settled on me once more at the thought that I could’ve offended him—he’d only been trying to make conversation. Maybe it was because I shut the conversation down so rudely, refused to answer his question.This is why no one likes to talk to you, dear.
“So.” Sumner drew the word out, linking his fingers between his knees as he leaned forward, his bubble of space pressing against my own. The sun glimmered in his hair, reflecting in his eyes. “You thought I was handsome, huh?”
“I saidpassably.”