Page 43 of Pucking Sweet

Anderson Montgomery, the man I left at the altar three years ago.

The man who is now engaged to my spoiled baby sister.

15

Anderson strides up to our table looking like a million bucks, so confident knowing he’s worth easily fifty times that. He wears his hair with that deep side part, casually flashing his grandfather’s heirloom wristwatch as he waves.

Dad and Rowan push back their chairs and stand to shake his hand, welcoming him to our little family lunch. Mom stands too, wrapping her arms around him with the same warmth she just showed me.

From over her shoulder, he looks down, locking eyes with me at last. His piercing blue gaze roots me to my chair as the corner of his mouth tips. “Hey, Poppy. Good to see you again.”

I shiver. I haven’t heard that voice in three long years. It feels like my heart hasn’t beat for almost a full minute. It sputters to life, and I exhale through parted lips. “Oh, this isnothappening.” I slap my napkin down on the table, rattling the silverware.

“Told you she’d take it poorly,” Rowan says, scooting his chair back in.

“You all knew?” I search their faces, first Rowan, then Deidre, then Ivy. “You knew they were together this whole time?”

“Violet asked us not to tell you,” Deidre explains, her worried eyes wide.

Furious, I push back from the table and stand.

“She didn’t want to hurt you, Poppy,” Deidre goes on, desperate to placate me. “She just wanted to give you time to grieve and move on. It didn’t seem right to tell you.”

I turn away from them to face my mom, who’s still standing with Anderson. “How long?”

“Poppy, please don’t make a scene,” Mom says, glancing all around the dining room with a fake smile on her face.

“Sit down, and eat your fish,” says Dad from behind me.

“How long?” I say again, looking up at Anderson.

“About two years,” he replies.

My heart drops right through the floor.Two years.My family has been sneaking around and lying to me about this fortwofreaking years? My sister is too much of a social butterfly to keep something like this quiet by herself. How many people helped her? Who else smiled in my face and made me look like a fool?

Mom wraps a hand around my forearm and leans in, voice stern. “Poppy, you will sit down and hear Anderson out. It’s not his fault you called things off—”

I wrench my arm away from her. “Not his fault?”

Her eyes flash with malice. “Sit down.Now.”

“The fish is getting cold, Princess,” says Dad.

I spin around. “Oh, Daddy, I fuckinghatefish! I hate it, okay? So, you can take that plate of seared bass, and shove it up Rowan’s ass!”

“Poppy,” Mom cries, reaching out with both hands like I’m a wild horse loose in the dining room.

Dad’s fork and knife clatter down to his plate as he glares up at me. Normally, that face would be enough to have me bursting into tears. But in this moment, I feel only rage.

“Poppy, sit down,” he says.

I take a step back, looking around the table. “You all knew. You kept this from me, you lied to me, and then you manipulated me to get me here so you could spring this on me like—likewhat? God, this is like the world’s worst intervention!”

“A little decorum right now would go a long way,” Mom urges.

I glare at her. “And Anderson, Mom? Seriously? After everything I said?”

Now it’s Anderson’s turn to step in. He towers over me. “Go on, Poppy. What lies are you going to tell your family about me now?”