Page 57 of Deadly Little Scandals
Given that she was eight months into this deception, I doubted it.
“She’s a piece of work,” my mom declared, coming to stand beside me. “Happy Fourth of July, baby.”
She hesitated when she called mebaby, like she wasn’t sure she was still allowed to call me that. The hesitation hit me harder than any attempt she’d made to mend things between us.
“Happy Fourth of July,” I returned. I might have left it there, but I realized, suddenly, that I knew something that she didn’t know.
Something that she probably should know.
“Mom,” I started. “Don’t do anything rash or stupid when I tell you what I’m about to tell you. Aunt Olivia? She knows.”
on’t worry,” Liv whispered in Charlotte’s ear. “You’re prettier.”
Charlotte wanted to say that she hadn’t been worried, but that was a lie. Down below, the boat was anchored. Sterling and the other boys—and the interloper—were making the climb up. The girl might have been wearing a bathing suit, but she was also wearing an oversized T-shirt that made it hard to tell. She should have looked hideous in it, but she didn’t.
She shouldn’t have been touching Sterling, but she was.
“Hello, hello!” Charlotte forced a smile onto her face, sweet as sugar. She waved, letting her eyes lock onto Sterling’s as he helped Miss T-shirt up the incline.
“Who’s she?” Julia asked, coming up behind Charlotte and Liv. Charlotte would have liked Julia significantly better if she’d sounded the least bit upset about the unexpected addition.
At least she’d asked the question loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Her name is Trina,” Sterling called back. “She’s a local. We met her when we went to gas up the boat and decided to invite her along for the ride.”
Charlotte could feel Julia assessing the situation. The local girl was getting touchy-feely with Sterling, not Thomas—and certainly not J.D.
Charlotte wouldn’t let that be a big deal. She could be gracious. She could be beautiful.
She could be fun.
“Don’t worry,” Liv murmured beside her. “If she gives you any trouble, I’ll happily push her off the cliff.”
gainst all odds, my mom didn’t do anything rash or stupid when I broke the news that her sister knew exactly who my father was. I could only conclude that she was saving that for after the pie-eating contest.
“The rules are simple.” A woman with a microphone was standing in front of a stage that had been erected near the tennis courts. “The first person to finish their pie wins. Of course”—she winked at the crowd—“there is one other tiny detail.” She held up what appeared to be a bunch of silk scarves. “Our contestants’ hands will be tied behind their backs!”
With quite a bit of further ado, the would-be pie-eaters had their hands bound. Pies were ceremoniously placed on the table in front of each of them. There were nine contestants total, eight of them male. The pies, from what I could see, appeared to be heavy on the whipped cream and/or meringue.
Lily was seated at the very end of the stage. Her posture was impeccable. Her hair had been pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
“On your mark…” the woman with the microphone said. “Get set…”
Lily bowed her head slightly, as if in prayer.
“Go!”
I expected Lily to hesitate, but she didn’t. Sheburiedher face in that pie at a high enough velocity that pieces of meringue went flying. As she started chomping away, I realized that was the point. Her competitors were eating the pie with their mouths. Lily was quickly turning this into a whole face endeavor. She was eating the pie, but she was also demolishing it.
The important thing about a pie-eating contest, it turned out, was not so mucheatingthe pie as it was making sure that your tin was empty first.
“Done!” Lily yelled, lifting her head. To her left, eight men ranging in age from their teens to their forties turned to stare at her. The judge walked over and examined Lily’s pie tin, which contained only faint traces of pie.
“It appears,” the woman said, casting a mildly horrified look at Lily, whose face, hair, and clothing were covered in pie bits, “that we have a winner.”
“Are you sure she’s Olivia’s?” my mom asked beside me. “Because that was really something.”
Up onstage, someone was handing Lily a towel. It took me a second to realize that the person in question was Walker.
