Page 43 of Faded Gray Lines

Either she didn’t hear me, or she chose to ignore me. “Leighton, darling, I don’t want to fight. Let’s use this opportunity for a fresh start. If your father’s death taught us anything, it’s that none of us are promised tomorrow. It would be a shame for things to end with this rift between us. Don’t you agree?”

I didn’t give a shit one way or the other. I had bigger things on my mind. “I suppose.”

“Splendid,” she cooed. “Finn is throwing me a wonderful campaign party this Wednesday at his country club. It starts at eight o’clock, so try not to be late. You know how I feel about lateness.”

Of course. It’s one of the seven deadly sins.

The apple threatened to crawl back up my throat, but it wasn’t because of my resistance to conformity, or her insulting invitation. It was because the last time I attended one of her campaign parties, I ran away from it in a panic straight into Matty’s arms. Also, she saidhisname.Hewas throwing the party.

Finn Donovan.

A shudder crawled up my spine. My stepfather was the main reason I left Houston and never returned. My mother saved face by telling people my hasty departure was just part of my wild and adventurous spirit, and I was all too happy to let her bask in her lie.

“Wednesday’s not good for me.”

“Please, darling, I need you here.”

“Sure, you do. Just like always.” Then it hit me. “Wait, did some journalist find out I was home? Are they wondering why your daughter hasn’t been around for four years? Is your image a little dusty, Mother?”

“Leighton, fresh start, remember?” Her patience cracked. “I’m extending an olive branch. Don’t break it.”

I won’t. I’ll just shove it straight up your ass.

“I’ll think about it.” I hung up without saying goodbye—another one of Lilith Harcourt

Donovan’s cardinal sins. It felt so good I almost called her back so I could do it again.

As I dropped my phone next to me, a cloud of steam billowed into the room before he did. Maybe it was supposed to be a warning because where there was smoke there tended to be fire, and an inferno followed next wearing nothing but a white towel.

“Everything okay?” Mateo gave me a one-sided grin from underneath a hand towel draped over the right side of his face. I watched, mesmerized, as he rubbed the towel over the top of his head, squeezing the excess water from his hair before flinging it onto a chair by the window.

He nodded to the phone still crushed in my hand. “When I turned off the water, I heard shouting. Is there a problem?”

He didn’t leave me.

I bared my teeth in a humorless smile. “Oh, that? No, that was just my mother.”

“Ah, yes, the mayoress of this fine city. I forgot how intertwined with law and politics you Harcourts are. Well, she does certainly play well for the cameras, doesn’t she?”

“Always has, always will.” Looking down, I examined the chipped nail polish on my thumb. Part of me hoped he’d drop the whole conversation.

“So, what did she want?”

Damn.

“Nothing important—just demanding my presence at some campaign function she’s having on Wednesday.” As I obsessed over my non-existent manicure, I snuck a quick glance through my lashes and saw him move closer, the tiny towel shifting open with each step.

Oh, hell.

If I examined my nail any closer, I’d poke my damn eye out.

“What time do you have to be there?” His shadow fell over me, and a drop of water from his still damp hair fell onto my bare thigh. Leaning over, he brushed it away without hesitation.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not going.”

“Why?”

“In case you don’t remember, I had a hard day yesterday. I don’t think I’ll be in the partying mood, Matty.”