by Sara Cate
Copyright © 2020 by Sara Cate
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Coverinked Book Design
Created with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Thank you
Bonus Epilogue
Keep turning for a sneak peek of Delicate…
Chapter 1
Logan
Chapter 2
Sierra
Keep reading…
About the Author
You have no place being in my thoughts.
And yet, you own every single one.
Sunny
The fine blue tip of the pen bleeds ink into my pores as I color in the azalea on my inner thigh. It’ll wash off in the water, so I snap a pic of the flower before I slide into the pool. The backs of my legs are scorched from the hot stone deck, and the cool water soothes the burn as I sink beneath the surface. I’ve been avoiding the water because I know my sister’s friends will only start harassing me once I’m at arm's length.
“Aww...Sunny’s come to play,” Fischer drawls as he swims over. I splash him in the face to keep him away, but it doesn’t last long. His hands wind around my waist anyway and pull me deeper into the water.
Fischer is the worst one. He has warm honey hair and crystalline blue eyes that make it a crying shame he doesn’t put that pretty face to good use by being a decent human being. Why my sister keeps him around, I have no idea.
I assume she sleeps with him from time to time, but she’s never told me about it. Not that anyone would brag about letting Fischer Huntley get between their legs. It’s hardly an accomplishment.
“Fischer, leave her alone,” my sister Cadence calls from the patio. She’s mixing herself another margarita while her other friend, Liam, flirts with her from the other side of the bar.
My sister, recently on the splits from her long-term, disloyal boyfriend has always preferred the company of boys over girls. Very rarely, she’ll have a girlfriend over, but then Cadence will complain to me nonstop afterward about how annoying she is.
“I’m just playing with her,” Fischer says as he tries to dunk me in the middle of the deep end. I use the opportunity to swim away, making it clear across the pool before coming up for air. When I resurface, I hear him shouting to my sister. “Why doesn’t your little sister like to have any fun?”
“She’s just not as immature as you,” Cadence answers as she saunters over with her margarita and vape pen.
“You have any fun friends, Sunny?” he asks as he takes the cig from my sister and pulls a long drag from it. The strawberry-scented cloud wafts my way so that I have to hide behind the waterfall feature to avoid it.
“Do you have any friends at all?” I ask.
“Ohhh…” Liam howls from the side of the pool. I like Liam. He’s a stoner and isn’t the most reliable guy my sister hangs out with, but at least he’s nice and understands boundaries.
I know for a fact Cadence hasn’t slept with Liam. She tells me about every guy she sleeps with, and there have been a few. She tells me, so I can live vicariously through her, or so she says.
Cadence is hell-bent on keeping me as virginal as possible, like my own personal chastity belt. Not that I want to get naked with any of the guys in Pineridge anyway.
“Hey, kids,” Mom calls as she steps outside with more margarita mix in a big clear pitcher. “Who needs a refill?”
The boys rush forward to get their red solo cups replenished, and I catch my mother’s eyes drift toward Fischer’s bare chest as he climbs out of the pool. I have to look away. Ever since Dad left, my mom has been acting like she’s Cadence's age. It’s a desperate attempt to siphon some of her youth, like if she appears young and fun, she’ll be able to shed the twenty years of life she’d rather forget.
And she is...until the tequila drunk turns stale and vicious.
I wish she’d go back inside. I wish for one moment she’d act like a normal mom and go do something on her own while her kids hang out with their friends...even if neither of these guys are my friend.
But she doesn’t. Of course. She pours herself a glass and walks towards the water in her two-piece suit and sheer coverall that ends just below her tush.
Cadence throws me a cautious glare, and I move naturally toward the edge of the pool. I don’t want to evade my mother’s presence too obviously. I just don’t want to be around when she starts pointing unanswerable questions at me: when are you going to get a boyfriend? Why don’t you ever have friends over? Why can’t you just be normal?
She used to be confused by me, maybe even a little annoyed, but since my dad left, it’s morphed into an obvious hatred. He was the buffer between us.
Climbing out, I forgo the towel and just air dry on the lounge chair in the sun. It’s been an unusually hot spring in Pineridge, and while roasting in the sun is easy to do everywhere else in California, here in Northern California, it’s a luxury we don’t waste.
Picking up my blue pen next to my water bottle, I try to fix the azalea tattoo, but now it just looks like a stain, smeared and too fuzzy to repair. So, I move to the other leg and start the roots of a Sycamore tree.
A hushed gasp steals my attention. My mother is gawking at the yard behind ours, hiding her face with her giant water bottle filled to the brim with tequila, lime, and sugar.
“Oh my god.”
“Is that...?” My sister jumps in, swimming closer to my mom. The boys don’t seem the least bit interested, both now elbow deep in a bag of chips on the patio table.
“Alexander Caldwell,” my mother whispers loud enough for everyone within a square mile to hear.
I try to pretend I don’t care, but still I look.
Our yard is gradually sloped downward beyond the pool, and between our yard and the great big white house behind us is a row of leafy trees that almost hides the deck, pool, and pool house of what was, until now, a vacant home.
I can make out movement on the wide deck, and I notice dark blue pants, tightly fit and tapered above the ankle. He’s walking around the large yard, quiet and alone. I can’t make out his face yet to confirm my mother’s original claim, although she’s been claiming for weeks that there was rumor the house was purchased by Pineridge’s richest and most elusive bachelor.
“No way,” Cadence breathes, her lips parting as she tries to watch him from the corner of her eye. She swims across the pool, attempting to look as normal as possible just to steal a glance, and when she does, she suck
s her lips in between her teeth and swims back with a stifled smile and wide eyes. “Oh my god, it is!”
My mother practically squeals, but Cadence hushes her with her hands over her mouth.
“What is he doing in a big house like that?” Cadence whispers.
“Who cares? He’s loaded. He can live wherever he wants.”
“Is he still single?” Cadence continues, fishing another look over Mom’s shoulder.
“Single enough. That man will never get married.”
Cadence actually starts fixing her hair. Even after a day in the pool without makeup and a blow dryer she still looks like someone you’d see in a perfume commercial. My sister has that natural beauty that draws men in like ants to honey, and that attention has been her lifeblood since she was fifteen.
“Well, he hasn’t met me yet.”
They break out in a tittered laugh as I steal another look at the man across the yard. I’ve seen Alexander Caldwell online, mostly when he did charity benefits or when he started dating a supermodel in the valley, showing up on Buzzfeed and making Pineridge proud.
But I’ve never seen him in person.
He’s walking in the grass now, seemingly inspecting his new property and unaware of the two hyenas behind him, ready to pounce. With his back still to me, I can’t make out his face, but somehow, just by his walk, I recognize him.
“Oh my god, he’s coming this way,” Cadence mouths quietly.
“Hey neighbor!” my mom shouts in a sing-song tone as she stands up and waves at the man standing down by the low hedges that separate our yards. My sister and I watch in mortification as he waves back, hesitantly.
“Jesus, mom,” Cadence mutters.
“Can I interest you in a margarita?”
He walks up to the yard now, resting his broad forearms on the aluminum fence, and even with the Raybans covering his eyes, I recognize him. That’s him. Alexander Caldwell, practically in my backyard.
It takes him a moment to respond, and with that almost-hidden scowl on his face, I imagine he’s trying to find a reason to decline my overeager mother’s invitation. With her energy, I wouldn’t doubt she could tie him up and chain him to the porch if given the chance.
I can see the war he’s waging with himself from here.
“What the hell…” he says as he heads toward the open area between the trees.
My eyes nearly bug out of my head when he climbs the slope toward the pool deck. My sister jumps out of the pool to greet him while my mother pours his drink. Hope he likes tequila.
Cadence stands less than a foot away from him, wearing no more than a square foot of fabric on her whole body. I watch as she shakes his hand, while he holds onto it a second too long, smiles into her eyes, his teeth brighter than the sun.
My sister looks like someone has just sat her in front of a buffet after weeks without eating. Her hungry eyes are trained on him as they exchange greetings. He makes some remark about her name, asks if her parents played the drums in a marching band, and she laughs. I bet if he didn’t have those glasses on, we would all see his direct gaze at her full boobs, but with the way they’re hanging out of her bikini, I have a hard time not staring at them too.
I should get up. Maybe I’m expected to greet him or something, but I can’t seem to move. From the corner of my eye, I notice my sister’s friends scatter, going inside or leaving for all I know. And I understand why. Alexander has a presence. If I were a man, I wouldn’t want to be around him either. He’s not even on our porch yet, and already everyone and everything dwarfs in comparison. My mom calls him up to the bar where she has his drink waiting, but in order to get there, he has to pass me, still sitting in my lounge chair.
At first, he regards me with a lazy glance, but just as he’s completely blocked the sun, his eyes on my face, he stops.
“And who are you?” he asks.
My name falls out of my mouth on its own as if summoned by his request. “Sunny.”
“What’s that?” he mumbles, nodding toward the intricate blue design on my inner thigh. I feel myself gulp as I look down at the now-faint azalea.
I’ve forgotten how to speak, but when I look up at him, his smile is gone, and his sobering gaze is on me.
“Nice to meet you, Sunny.” He closes the distance to the bar where he shares a drink with my mom. I can do nothing but relive the moment when he stood, towering above me, his eyes on my inner leg, somehow as intimate as if it had been his touch.
My finger traces the blue flower while I try to pretend he had no effect on me. And every so often, I glance up toward where he stands, flirting with my mother and sister, but almost every time I look, he’s staring at me.
The ring echoes through the phone five times before the voicemail picks up.
This is Daniel Thorn of Thorn Talent Management. I’m sorry I missed your call. Please contact my assistant, Ilsa Levi at [email protected] if you can’t reach me. Thank you.
I let the silence settle for a moment before I start speaking. “Hey Dad. Me again. Wondering if you wanted to meet this weekend. Maybe do lunch. Ilsa can come. I’m not going to email her though, like your voicemail message said. I’m not a client. I’m your daughter. So maybe just pick up when I call. Just once would be fine. Or you know...call me back. Whatever.”
Instead of hanging up, I let the call run in silence while I sit alone in my room. It takes a long two minutes before the voicemail beeps and the call ends. Staring at the black screen, I pick it up and scroll through my recent calls, counting the outgoing ones never answered.
Seven. Seven since he last answered, and that was a month ago.
Tossing it back on my bed, I pick up my sketchbook and finish the dark tree sketch, adding detail to the leaves the way they look out my window against the cool sunset.
Cadence lands on my bed with a crash, totally fucking up the sketch I was working on. It was just a doodle, but still...it pisses me off when she does that.
“Cadie! Dammit.”
“Can you believe Alexander-fucking-Caldwell was here?” She grabs a pillow from my bed and starts doing vulgar movements with it. “I can’t wait until he wrecks me.”
“You’re disgusting,” I laugh, taking the pillow from her before she can hump it anymore.
“You’re just jealous.” She plants a margarita-scented kiss on my cheek.
The reminder of alcohol prompts my next question. “Where’s Mom?”
“Out cold. Let’s hope she stays that way.” Her voice is only slightly slurred. My sister can drink as much as our mother without the side effect. Cadence is funny, loud, and overtly sexual when she’s drunk. Mom is almost exactly the opposite.
Hence why Dad left six months ago.
Well, that and his twenty-two-year-old secretary.
“Yeah, forever,” I mumble, not even feeling bad for it. Some days I wish she was dead because then at least I could miss her. Let time and death conjure up positive feelings about my mother while I forget the bad parts.
“Don’t say that, Sun. You don’t mean it.”
“I know. Did Fischer and Liam leave?” I ask.
“Yeah, they didn’t like me flirting with the rich guy so much. Seriously, Sunny. Think about how nice it would be if I could land a guy like Alexander Caldwell.” Flipping onto her back, my sister fans out her gorgeous black hair against the bright white comforter on my bed. It almost looks like the roots of a tree or ink spilled into the ocean.
“Don’t move,” I mumble as I sketch each strand of contrast onto a blank white page. My sister is used to it, so she continues on like I said nothing.
“And I don’t mean just fucking him, Sunny. Imagine if I could settle down with a guy like him. We could both get out of this house.”
“I’m not living with you and your husband.” Concentrating on my sketch, I think about it anyway. How nice it would be to have a fresh, happy home to live in, instead of one filled with so much spite that we eat hate for breakfast each morning. I don’t want to live
with my sister, but if my dad doesn’t start answering my calls, I might be out of options.
After dropping out of art school last semester, I don’t have any real opportunities, and no one is answering my job applications—even though I put out about a hundred last week alone.
“Besides,” I continue. “I don’t think Alexander Caldwell is really the settling down kind of guy.”
“He bought that house. He’s what...thirty?” she says, screwing up her face.
“Forty.” Yeah, I looked him up on my phone while my mom was trying to get him to drink a second margarita.
“See? I bet he’s looking for a nice young girl to give him lots of orgasms and babies.”
“Gross,” I mutter, as I finish the sketch with the curls at the top of the page.
“You’re almost twenty, Sunny. You’ll be horny for guys like Alexander Caldwell soon enough. It’s weird that you’re not already.”
I already am, but I don’t tell her that. Sometimes it’s all I can think about. What it must feel like being pressed against the wall, his body covering mine, his lips on my neck, my breasts, and everywhere else.
The very few kisses I’ve shared with random boys at school were nothing more than sloppy and overly aggressive expressions of lust. No feelings involved. Nothing to write home about. I let one of them, a college kid who assumed I’d be as loose as my sister, put his hands up my shirt, and it was nice. But when he tried to unbutton my jeans, I pushed him away. He called me an ugly tease and left.