Page 20 of Paradise in Progress
“And risk you dying and me being the prime suspect? Hell no.”
“You’re right.”
His body twists in my direction as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, fingertips nearly brushing my shoulder. I cower closer in my corner as he huffs a breath. “Right about what?”
“You’ll be prime suspect. I have a hidden folder that says if I go missing, Tristan Nelson did it.”
A booming roar of laughter explodes from him, vibrating off the walls. “You fucking would.”
“I know I would because I did.” I fold my arms across my chest, frustrated that he’s invaded my space with no sign of leaving. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the television.
The food he ordered better arrive quickly because playing domestication with him is my worst nightmare.
Chapter eight
Tristan
“Tristan, honey?” my mommuses from where she’s sitting across from me. It’s Sunday afternoon, and the family is gathered around for our weekly lunch. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Growing up, we would all go to Grandma and Grandpa Nelson’s house, and in the summer, we would all go to the beach house in the Hamptons.
Once my grandpa passed, my grandmother moved into a retirement home, which left my mother to pick up the hosting obligations. She didn’t mind, though. Mother is a natural-born hostess with her collection of fine China and an elegant palette. Her joy is spending hours in the kitchen preparing a feast, even though it’s just the five of us. It’s always way too much food, leaving me stuffed beyond measure and craving a workout. This is why I found myself leaning back on the couch, relaxing after her lunch of a roasted rack of lamb, dauphinoise potatoes, roasted parmesan asparagus, and homemade dinner rolls.
I turn my attention back to my mother, whose warm hazel eyes, ones that match mine, are staring right back and analyzing me. “Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”
“I asked if you’ve been seeing anyone?”
Absentmindedly, I move my hand holding the glass in a circular motion, causing the amber liquid to swish and the ice to clink against the sides. Images of bright red hair sprawled across my chest flash through my mind. Thursday night plays on repeat. I don’t know what came over me, but there was no way I was sending Kennedy on her own when she almost passed out after our workout class. One thing led to another, and sometime after dinner, I found myself sitting opposite her as we watched HGTV. An HGTV show where they’re looking for their new house and given three options to pick from quickly led to a heated debate over which to pick and then some rom-com Kennedy put on afterwards.
What felt like only minutes later, I heard a throat clearing, startling me from my spot on the couch, and when I looked up, Lana was staring at me, her eyebrow quirked. Glancing down, that’s when I realized at some point during the movie I had drifted off to sleep with Kennedy's head on my chest. She looked peaceful. No stress, no competitiveness, just calm. There was no way I could stay the night—hell, I didn't plan to stay as long as I had. So I had reached for the pillow that was behind me and gently replaced my body with it. Lana watched with fascination in her eyes, but I couldn't risk the wrath of Kennedy if she woke up to me beneath her. Somehow, she would end up twisting the harmless, innocent moment with accusations that I was trying to sabotage her or some shit. And I was a little worried that not only had it been one of the better nights I’d had recently, but it had felt good having her weight on my chest, breathing her in, just having her so close.
“No, Mom, I’m notseeing anyone.”
With a deep breath, she sighs. “Will one of my kids please settle down and give me grandbabies to spoil?”
“Jesus, Mom.” Victoria sits in the empty spot next to me with a heavy pour of wine in her hand. “Kids are not in my forecast anytime soon.”
“No, you’d have to settle down for that.” Xander peers up from where he’s been typing away on his phone.
Victoria scoffs. “As if either of you are any better.”
“Please leave me out of this.” Bringing the glass to my lips, I let the smooth, oaky liquid slide down my throat.
Victoria’s body turns toward me, an evil smirk on her face as her eyes light up. “Oh right, we have to leave Tristan out of it since he’s so desperately in love with Kennedy.”
“Who’s Kennedy?” Amusement and curiosity lace Mom’s voice.
“She’s no one,” I say, just as Xander says, “She’s his nemesis.”
“Ooo, tell me more.” Mom claps, actuallyclapsher hands in excitement.
I can’t fight the groan and glare at my annoying little sister. “There’s nothing going on between Kennedy and I. She can’t stand me, and I’m not ready to settle down.”
“If there’s nothing going on, then why did you spend the night at her house?” Victoria mumbles behind her wineglass.
Xander chokes on his drink, and through his coughs, he asks, “You did what?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and shake my head. “First, I did not spend the night at her place, and second,” I pause, turning my attention back to Tori. “who told you that?”
She shrugs, taking a long gulp of the red liquid.
