Page 12

I followed Aldaine down to breakfast, already dreading what awaited us. The dining room was significantly more crowded than dinner last night, filled with faces I recognized from high school and others I assumed were Roger's friends and family.

Roger stood near the head of the table, looking exactly like the trust fund baby he was.

Time had been kind to him, unfortunately.

His muscles were more defined than they'd been in high school, clearly the result of having nothing better to do than spend hours at the gym.

His perfectly styled hair and designer clothes screamed "old money," but his smirk was the same one he'd worn when he'd dumped me for Stephany all those years ago.

What surprised me most was how little I felt looking at him now.

An eerie emotional flatline where once had been mountains and valleys of feeling.

No lingering attraction tugging at my core, no echoing hurt reverberating through old wounds, just mild annoyance at his existence.

Ten years ago, seeing that smile would have sent my heart into gymnastics.

Today, I might as well have been looking at wallpaper.

An expensive, pretentious wallpaper that thought too highly of itself, but wallpaper nonetheless.

The realization was oddly liberating, like discovering you've finally outgrown clothes that never quite fit right anyway.

"Well, well, if it isn't little Rosie," Roger's voice carried across the room, making several heads turn our way. "Steph said you might show up, but I didn't believe it."

I felt Aldaine's hand press against my lower back, grounding me.

"Roger," I nodded coolly. "This is my boyfriend, Aldaine."

Roger's eyebrows shot up as he gave Aldaine an obvious once-over. "Boyfriend? Really?" He laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. "That's surprising, considering Stephany told everyone you were such a wreck last week she wasn't sure you'd even come."

Several people snickered, and I saw my father's face turn an alarming shade of red as he started to rise from his seat. But before he could say anything, Aldaine's smooth voice cut through the tension like a knife through butter.

"Interesting," Aldaine's tone was deadly pleasant, the kind that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"I find it fascinating when people feel the need to spread rumors about others to make themselves feel more secure in their own, well, questionable life choices.

" He looked at Stephany with a raised brow and a small smirk.

The room went dead silent. Stephany's face turned an ugly shade of purple, while Roger's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"Come on, little minx," Aldaine's hand slid to my waist, guiding me away from the awkward situation. "I see Rita saved us seats."

As we moved down the table, I caught sight of my father having what appeared to be a very heated whispered discussion with Jan.

His hands were clenched into fists on the table, and Jan looked both defensive and alarmed.

Meanwhile, Stephany was trying to soothe an obviously rattled Roger, but her concerned girlfriend act wasn't quite covering up her own embarrassment.

Rita grinned as we sat down beside her. "That was beautiful," she whispered, passing me a plate of fresh fruit. "I haven't seen anyone put those two in their place since high school."

"Yes, well," Aldaine's hand found mine under the table, "some people need reminding that their actions have consequences."

I squeezed his hand, grateful for his intervention. "Thank you," I murmured.

He turned to me with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Don't thank me yet, little minx. The day's just getting started."

Looking at the way Roger and Stephany were whispering and shooting us dark looks, I had a feeling he was right.

I followed the crowd outside after breakfast with Rita at my side, and had to admit that Jan had outdone herself.

The front lawn had been transformed into something straight out of Alice in Wonderland.

Professional-looking white tents housed vendors offering everything from champagne to fancy finger foods.

But the centerpiece was an elaborate croquet setup that sprawled across the manicured grass.

Flamingo-shaped mallets leaned against white wooden stands, and the wickets had been painted gold and adorned with tiny roses.

String lights were already strung between the trees, waiting for dusk to transform the space into a twinkling wonderland.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of reluctant admiration.

My stepmother might be cold to me, but she certainly knew how to throw an event that would make people talk for months.

"Ladies versus gentlemen!" Jan announced, clapping her hands together like an overexcited kindergarten teacher. "Won't this be fun?"

I barely had time to register what was happening before Aldaine tugged me against the solid warmth of his chest. His fingers traced a delicate path along my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

When his lips captured mine, the world dissolved into a haze of sensation, soft yet demanding, sweet yet wicked.

The kiss deepened until I forgot we were standing in the middle of my stepmother's perfectly manicured lawn, surrounded by a bunch of hostile people.

My fingers curled into the crisp fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like an anchor in a storm.

Someone let out a wolf whistle, probably Rita, followed by scattered whoops and calls that made me want to sink into the perfectly trimmed grass and disappear.

When Aldaine finally drew back, the look in his eyes sent electricity dancing down my spine.

Dark and possessive with just a hint of mischief, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me and was thoroughly enjoying himself.

My legs felt about as stable as melted butter, and I had to resist the urge to fan my burning face.

The satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth told me that was precisely the reaction he'd been aiming for.

"For luck," he whispered against my ear before sauntering away.

"Girl," Rita grabbed my arm, fanning herself dramatically. "That man is something else."

I watched Aldaine join the other men, noting how even Roger seemed to unconsciously step back to give him space. "He certainly is."

We lined up for the game, and I quickly realized this wasn't going to be the casual backyard croquet I remembered from childhood. Jan had hired professional referees, and there were scoring cards being passed around .

"So," I followed Rita to the start of the game. "What kind of gossip have I missed these last few years?"

"Oh, you've come to the right person for the gossip, girl," Rita whispered as we waited our turn. "Do you see that one there? Jessie Martinez."

I followed her gaze to a statuesque woman in designer workout wear. "Wasn't she the president of the student council?"

"Yeah," Rita confirmed with a nod. "It's the first time she's been in public since moving home. Apparently, she married some tech billionaire, but he caught her sleeping with their pool boy AND their driver."

I winced. "At the same time?"

"Different days, same pool house." Rita took her shot, sending the ball through two wickets. "And see that redhead over there? That's Michelle Peterson. Remember how she was always bragging about how she was going to Harvard?"

"Yeah?"

"Turns out she's working as a stripper in Boston. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but she kept posting fake pictures of herself 'studying' at Harvard on Instagram. Got caught when one of her regular customers recognized her when she was with Stephany."

I tried to focus on my shot but couldn't help laughing. "You're kidding!"

"Nope. Oh! And Kevin Matthous? The one who used to give you grief about your art in Mrs. Henderson's class?"

I looked over at the men's side where Kevin was attempting to show Aldaine how to hold his mallet. Aldaine's expression suggested he was reconsidering his promise to behave.

"He's actually doing really well," Rita continued. "Opened up an art gallery in Denver. Specializes in promoting local artists." She paused. "He asked about you before you came down for breakfast. He was worried about what Stephany had already started to do to you."

I missed my shot completely, the mallet swooshing through empty air. "He what?"

"Mmhmm. Said he would be back up if we accidentally-on-purpose ran her over with a golf cart."

I laughed again. "That's kinda fun to imagine, actually."

Rita grinned at me. "Wanna try to find a golf cart later?"

Before I could respond, shouting erupted from the men's side of the lawn, drawing our attention away from our gossip session.

Somehow, Roger had managed to hit his own ball with such force that it sailed straight into Jan's prized rose bushes, sending a shower of pristine white petals floating to the ground.

I couldn't help but notice the barely concealed smirk on Aldaine's face as he positioned himself next to my former boyfriend, demonstrating proper mallet form with an elegant grace that made Roger look like a fumbling amateur.

Each perfectly delivered suggestion from Aldaine - "Perhaps if you didn't grip it quite so desperately" and "The goal is to hit the ball, not assault it" - caused Roger's face to cycle through increasingly vibrant shades of red.

With each comment, his complexion darkened until I swore he resembled one of Jan's prized tomatoes from her garden.