Page 68 of Stolen Moments

“You’re such a perv.”

He pushes me back, and my wine sloshes over the edge. “Well, I’m happy for you. He seems like a good guy. Dinner was fun. He didn’t bat an eyelash at me—or my crazy—so if you say he’s not like that assholeyoucall a father, I believe you.”

I roll my eyes at Chris, disregarding the jab at our absentee parent. He’s not wrong—our father is an asshole, but I can’t let that kind of thinking get in my way. I have a plan that I need to stick to.

“What’s that look for?”

“What look?” I take a sip of wine and curl my feet onto the couch.

“The look that said you have something going on that I don’t know about. What are you hiding from me?”

At times, I hate that he can be so perceptive—the minuscule downfall of your brother being your best friend. “It’s nothing, Chris. Just drop it.”

He eyes me warily. I can see the questions he wants to ask.

My phone dings, and I am almost grateful for the distraction, hoping like heck it’s Mason. My hopes are dashed when I see who sent me the message.

I slip on the mask I’ve honed over the last few years, wiping away my emotions. Sliding open my phone, I open the message and read it while Chris stares daggers at me, carefully studying my every move.

Mother:Your presence is required next month for the annual Beginning of Summer Soirée.

Ugh. Why does she have to be so damn cold?

I am not looking forward to this event. She throws a horribly chic party that’s catered to the nines. It would be fun if everything wasn’t beige and everyone in attendance wasn’t fake. My parents and their friends all act like they love each other but, in reality, can’t stand each other. They all talk about each other behind their backs. My head hurts already, having to plaster on a smile and nod at all the inane small talk I’ll have to put up with.

I respond to her with my usual clinical tone. Not that it matters—my mother doesn’t expect to have a real conversation with me. All she expects is for me to do my father’s bidding.

Emery:I’ll be there.

I turn off my phone and throw it on the table. I’ll probably regret missing a call from Mason, but I need to put my mother out of mymind. Grabbing my wine, I finish it off before pouring another glass. I’m glad I don’t have to fly out until tomorrow morning.

“Why are you going to their Summer Soirée, Emmy?” My brother leans back and crosses his arms, agitated at my participation in our parents’ lives.

“Chris, I taught you better than to read other people’s texts,” I chide, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re not other people, and now I for sure know something fishy is going on.”

I know I should tell him, but I have spent so long protecting him that I can’t stop. At least not now, when I’m so close to the end. I only have a few more months of pretending.

You mean lying.

I run my hands over my face, trying to ignore the annoyingly accurate voice in my head. This is getting harder to do, especially since Mason has come into my life.

I exhale. “Chrisy, I promise it’s nothing. I’m taking care of it, okay?”

“What does” — he uses finger quotes — “you’re taking care of it mean?”

“It means that, right now, I can’t tell you all the details, but I will. I’m figuring it out. The end is near. I just need you to finish college so we can be done with everything, and then I can tell you what’s been going on.”

He shakes his head. He’s getting angry at my evasion. “Why can’t I know now?”

I want so badly to tell him the truth, but…

“Because I know you,” is all I say.

There is no way Chris would let me do what I need to do in order to help us get away from our parents.Weneed me to do this. Then, when we cut them off. Then, there will never be a need for them to come back into our lives.

“Chris, I need to do this for you and for me. It’s the only way.”

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