“Yes, hello,” I say, shaking her outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“It’s fine,” I promise, glad for the escape. I like Hazel, but there are more than enough rumors swirling around Uncle Archer without me adding to them. I probably shouldn’t have said as much as I did, so now seems like a good time to cut my losses and run. “I need to find my cousins, anyway. I’m sure I’ll see you both later.”
I scoot away, nearly bumping into a server holding a bottle of champagne. He tips it toward my almost-empty glass. “Can I top that off for you?” he asks. I don’t answer right away, trying to count how many I’ve had already, and he does it anyway.
Well. When in Rome. I gulp the fizzing bubbles and keep moving, my eyes roving across the well-dressed crowd. Directly ahead of me, I see a familiar blond head: Reid Chilton, fellow Towhee and senator’s son. I have zero desire to talk to him, so I spin on my heel and almost collide with the person behind me.
A hand reaches out to steady me. “Whoa. Sorry. I was just trying to…” It’s Jonah, handsome in a tuxedo, and his eyes widen as he takes me in. He doesn’t say anything for a beat, his Adam’s apple rising and falling a few times before he finally adds, “I forget what I was trying to do, because—all the blood left my head just now.” He swallows again. “You look incredible, Milly.”
Something warm and fluttery nips at my chest. “Thanks. So do you.” It’s true. Maybe it’s because the best tailors on Gull Cove Island were at his beck and call this week, but Jonah looks born to wear a tux. His dark hair is smoothed off his forehead for once, and while I kind of like his usual tousled look, I can’t argue with how the current style accentuates the angles of his face. I hold up my glass before taking another sip. “Have you tried the champagne?”
“No. I had cocoa.” I raise a brow, and he shrugs. “It was, like, made from chocolate they flew in from France and hand-ground with a mix of cinnamon and nutmeg. And also a little bit of chili, I guess? That’s what Carson says anyway.”
“Was it good?”
“The best cocoa I’ve ever had in my life,” Jonah says, so fervently that I smile.
“Mildred knows how to throw a party. You have to give her that.” I feel myself relaxing for the first time all night, and press my fingertips against his sleeve with a sudden rush of affection. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He grins, looking both pleased and confused. “Well, I had to be, right? Mildred’s orders.”
“I know, but I don’t mean just here here. I mean in general. On the island.” Jonah still looks a little uncertain, and I can’t blame him. My thoughts aren’t as organized as I would like right now. “What I’m trying to say is—I’m glad I met you.”
As soon as the words slip out, my face heats with embarrassment. That’s not the kind of thing I usually say, and while I’m not sorry, exactly, because I mean it…it’s possible that the third glass of champagne was a mistake.
Jonah’s deep-brown eyes get soft. “I’m glad I met you, too. Really glad.” He licks his lips, and I have the sudden urge to trace the movement with my finger. Okay, the third glass of champagne was definitely a mistake. That realization does not, however, stop me from grabbing a fourth when a server passes by. Jonah’s gaze shifts to my glass, and he tugs at his cuffs as he adds, “The thing is—”
“There you are!” A voice interrupts from behind us. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Milly. Hello, Jonah.” It’s Reid Chilton, wearing an extra-large bow tie and a smarmy grin. The bigger, butterfly bow tie is in this year, according to GQ, and I kind of hate myself for knowing that. It’s the sort of useless information I’ve been accumulating for years, just waiting for the opportunity to dazzle my neglectful society grandmother. Joke’s on me.
“What?” Reid asks, frowning. Jonah is also looking at me strangely, and I realize I said that last part out loud.
“I said, I like your tie.”
I very obviously did not say that, but they’re both too polite to contradict me. “Thank you,” Reid says smoothly. “But nobody in this room can hold a candle to you.”
Oh, barf, I think. Then I freeze. Did I say that out loud, too? But Reid is still smiling at me, so probably not. “I think we’re at the same dinner table tonight,” he continues. “My mother is here as a guest of your grandmother. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Senator Genevieve Chilton? Democrat from Massachusetts.”
“My mother is a Democrat from New York,” I say. “But not a senator. And not here.”
Jonah mumbles something under his breath that sounds like This is going well as Reid’s smile gets a little strained. “Your family history is fascinating,” he says.
I didn’t intend to drink any more champagne, but somehow the glass in my hand emptied itself while Reid was talking. I blame him for being long-winded. “That’s one word for it,” I say. I mean to accompany the words with a sophisticated light laugh, but it comes out as a snort. Which makes me laugh even harder. Reid stares, brow furrowed, as Jonah grips my elbow.
“My cousin and I were just going to get some air,” Jonah says. I’m still laughing. Who knew Reid was this funny? “It’s getting really hot in here. You ready, Milly?”
“Absolutely,” I say, angling for a regal tone but failing when I slur the s.
“See you at dinner,” Reid says.
“Not if I see you first,” I giggle before Jonah steers me away.
“How much champagne have you had?” he asks quietly.
Too much. That becomes clear as the room wavers around me. I’m used to sipping cocktails with my friends over the course of a couple of hours—not downing four glasses of champagne on an empty stomach. Or was it five?
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Mildred already hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She does. She likes Aubrey better than me. She likes you better than me, and you”—I stab one finger into his chest for emphasis—“aren’t even related to her.”
“Shhh,” Jonah mutters. He steers me around a small knot of Donald Camden clones, all silver-haired and ruddy-cheeked, chuckling in a genteel sort of way as they clutch tumblers of amber liquid. I almost point that out—Look at all the Donalds!—but Jonah is still talking. “Milly, you can’t let her get to you. I don’t think your grandmother is an especially good person. Maybe she was once, but not anymore.”
We’re at a big gold curtain now, and when Jonah parts it there’s a French door behind it. Jonah unlatches the door and—oh, blessed cool air. We step onto a stone balcony, and when Jonah closes the door behind us, it’s as close to privacy as we’re going to get at the Summer Gala.
I lean against the balcony’s rail, pushing my hair back with an unsteady hand. It’s a clear night, and the stars look low and bright against the blue velvet sky. “Are you having a nice time at my grandmother’s extremely important party?” I ask.
“Are you?” Jonah asks.
“Super,” I say, and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing again. “It was totally part of the plan to get hammered. Mission accomplished.”
“You just need some air,” Jonah says. Unconvincingly.
I turn to face him. The motion makes the balcony spin, and my hand shoots out to clutch at the railing. I don’t find it, but Jonah catches my arm before I stumble. “This floor…should be straighter,” I tell him gravely, and he nods.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“It’s an old hotel,” I say. “Needs updating.”
Jonah clears his throat. “Listen, while we have a minute alone, there’s something I want to tell you. About why I’m here.”
I’m still light-headed, and he looks reassuringly stable, so I loop my arms around his neck to anchor myself in place. Much
better. “Is it to keep me upright?”
“Not exactly.” Jonah laughs a little. “Happy to do it, though. The thing is…” He trails off, licking his lips again. This time, I give in to the impulse and detach one hand from behind his neck so I can trace his bottom lip with one finger. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re making it hard for me to concentrate.”
“You talk too much,” I say, and reach up to brush my lips against his.
I pull back, just enough to see his eyes widen and then go a little unfocused as his hands cup my face and pull me closer. “Well, I tried,” he murmurs before his mouth covers mine. It’s warm and searching, and I feel a jolt of desire so strong and unexpected that it roots me to the spot. I mean, I wanted this, obviously, because I’m the one who started it. But I didn’t understand, until right this second, how much. My arms go around his neck again, my fingers twining in his hair and my heart hammering in my chest. Jonah’s tongue slips into my mouth, and the taste of him, all chocolate and spice, makes me swoon.
“Oh my God!”
The voice that interrupts us is loud and shocked, and in the split second it takes Jonah and me to break apart, I sober up completely. His gaze holds mine, and I see my own question mirrored there: What did we just do?
The answer comes soon enough. I turn to see Donald Camden gaping at us, a red-faced Aubrey by his side. The curtain we slipped behind has been pulled aside, the French door leading to the balcony is open, and every single person behind Donald—and there are a lot of them—is staring at us.
Including my grandmother.
I’ve never seen a train wreck in real life, but I finally understand the metaphor. Looking at Milly and Jonah is unbearable, but I can’t not look, either.
Especially since this is kind of my fault.
I knew Milly was upset when Donald brought me to Gran’s table. The whole time Gran and I were talking, I tried to keep an eye on Milly as she moved around the room, but I kept losing sight of her. My last glimpse was of her disappearing onto the balcony with Jonah. So when Gran asked Donald to bring Jonah by, I said, He just stepped outside, I can get him. Then Gran replied, Fresh air sounds lovely, Donald and I will join you.
And here we are.
I should say something. I’m not sure what, but anything would be better than the horrified silence of two hundred black-tie party guests who think they just caught a couple of long-lost first cousins making out. In fact, now would be the ideal time to explain that they’re not cousins. But I have no idea how to open that conversation, and before I can start, Gran speaks.
“I suppose this is what comes from not listening to my instincts,” she says coldly. “Your parents were nothing but disappointments, and you are entirely the same.” Heat rushes to my cheeks at the blanket statement as her eyes narrow in on Jonah. “I shouldn’t be surprised that Anders’s son is utterly depraved.”
Jonah, who has looked like he was in a fog since he and Milly broke apart, snaps out of it at the mention of Uncle Anders’s name. His face settles into an expression of intense hatred as he steps away from Milly and through the French door, stopping within a few feet of Mildred. “Yeah, well, I have a message from Anders,” he says. His voice is low and angry, but it carries easily through the silent ballroom. “He fucking hates your guts and always has.”
Shocked gasps run through the room as Gran’s face turns a mottled purple. I gape at Jonah in confused astonishment, half believing that I must have heard him wrong. Why on earth would he take a horrible situation like this, and make it worse? Donald inhales sharply beside me, looking as though he’d like to hurl Jonah right off the balcony.
The balcony. Where poor Milly is still standing, frozen, all by herself. I’m about to push past Donald and go to her when another voice rings out over the buzzing hum surrounding us.
“What a vicious lie. But what else can you expect from an imposter.”
I turn at the voice, but can’t see the speaker. Gran stiffens beside me and clutches Donald’s arm, her eyes going wide and almost terrified. “Go,” he says to her in a low voice. “I’ll take care of this.” And Gran just—leaves. Turns on her heel and heads back in the direction of her table, walking as quickly as her dress will allow.
The speaker breaks through the crowd, pausing as he catches sight of Donald. He’s short and slight but still oddly imposing, and crackling with suppressed energy. He has a shock of dark hair and a thin, ferret-like face. I recognize him instantly.
“Hello, Donald,” he says, stuffing his hands into his tuxedo pockets with a smirk. “Nice to see you again.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Anders?” Donald growls. “Who let you in?”
Uncle Anders shrugs, hands still in his pockets. “Security here isn’t what it used to be. You should thank me, though, for setting things straight before this entire room has a meltdown at the thought of cousinly incest. This boy?” He jerks his head toward Jonah. “Not my son. This is. JT!” He raises his voice, and another figure steps reluctantly forward. Even without the name, I would have known my actual cousin anywhere. He’s a carbon copy of his father, except instead of an arrogant smirk, his narrow features are pinched into a shifty, furtive expression. “Donald, let me introduce Jonah Theodore Story.”
“Holy crap.” Someone breathes into my ear as the ballroom erupts into low, urgent chatter. I turn to see Brittany beside me in her server’s uniform, and make a grab for her arm. I feel a surge of gratitude when I actually make contact, because all of this has such a dreamlike quality that I wouldn’t have been surprised to grasp thin air. “Jonah’s not Jonah?” she says.
“He is. Sort of,” I murmur back. “It’s complicated.”
“So he and Milly aren’t actually…” Brittany starts nodding as her eyes dart between Jonah and JT. “Everything makes so much more sense now.”
“What in God’s name are you pulling, Anders?” Donald asks.
“Me?” Uncle Anders puts a hand over his heart. “Absolutely nothing. I’m afraid, though, that you’ve all been the victims of fraud. My son, JT, is the only one of the next generation with a conscience.” I start getting a sick feeling in my stomach as Uncle Anders continues, “I’m sure you’re under the impression that my mother invited her grandchildren here. You couldn’t be more wrong. Let me explain what’s really going on.”
He has the room’s undivided attention, and he plays to it with a deep sigh. “My brother Archer approached the children and offered them jobs under false pretenses, hoping to worm his way back into our mother’s good graces. JT was the only grandchild who refused to accept, so Archer found a replacement. I had no idea any of this was going on until I saw a picture of our neighbor’s son at Fred Baxter’s funeral. I said to JT, ‘What in God’s name is Jonah North doing with your cousins?’ And we realized what must have happened.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, frustration humming through my veins. Busted, by the Gull Cove Gazette. We should’ve realized our parents would be keeping an eye on the local paper. Once Uncle Anders saw the photo, he must’ve known JT had put one over on him. I can only imagine how quickly he forced a full confession out of JT—not just the switch with Jonah but also that Uncle Archer was behind the original invitation. After that, all he had to do was throw us under the bus with a bunch of lies to salvage his shot at reconciling with Gran.
And it seems to be working. The crowd around us is eating up Anders’s performance, whispering and murmuring behind their hands.
“You lying sack of shit.” Jonah finally speaks, practically spitting the words. “You’re trying to manipulate the entire room, just like you manipulated my parents. Your son put me up to this, and he—”
“Honestly, Jonah,” Anders interrupts with a smile that manages to be both pained and patient. “Quit while you’re ahead. No one here is going to believe a word you say.”
“He’s
right,” I blurt out. I let go of Brittany’s arm and grab Donald Camden’s, shaking it to force him to look at me. “I mean, Jonah North is right. JT paid him. And we didn’t know Uncle Archer brought us here until last week. He was…” I trail off, because from the way Donald is glaring at me, I’m pretty sure I just made everything worse.
“Really, Aubrey? It’s Aubrey, isn’t it?” Uncle Anders turns his condescending smile on me. “So you’re admitting you knew this boy wasn’t your cousin, and that you knew Archer brought you here, but you never bothered to inform your grandmother? And now you want people to believe that the rest of what I’m saying is a lie? Come on.” His voice turns silky smooth. “I can understand why you went along with it. Your father is a tough customer. It’s so hard to earn his love, isn’t it?”
The words suck all the air out of my lungs. Somehow, despite not having seen me since I was a little kid, Uncle Anders knew exactly where to hit. Meanwhile, he’s spinning everything to make him and JT sound blameless, and the rest of us sound like conniving gold diggers. And the worst thing is, what he’s proposing isn’t much more ludicrous than what actually happened.
“Where is Mother?” Uncle Anders asks. He scans the crowd with a frown, finally realizing that his audience is missing its most important member. “She needs to know that she has at least one grandchild who values honesty and respect.”
“Your mother left, thank God, before she had to listen to any of this travesty. And I’ve heard more than enough,” Donald says. He raises his hand and snaps his fingers. “It’s time for you to leave.” Men in dark suits seem to materialize out of nowhere, grabbing hold of Uncle Anders by both arms. His face flushes a deep, angry red.
“What’s the matter with you, Donald?” he yells. “I’m saving your ass.”
“His son, too,” Donald says to the men in suits. “And the other boy. Get all of them out of here.”
It’s chaos around us suddenly, a tangle of movement and shouting. Uncle Anders is straining against the men dragging him toward the exit, screaming, “This is my fucking home, Donald! Not yours! Mine!” at the top of his lungs. More men in suits appear, surrounding JT and Jonah and pulling them away as Milly watches with a blank expression.
The Cousins Page 19