Page 89 of Lessons in Faking
“Ten minutes, people!” somebody shouted over the music. The rest of the crowd erupted into cheers. Hands, and possibly bodies, were thrown in the air as the numbers on the projector screen began counting down.
The hand holding my cocktail glass shot upward, and if I weren’t as euphoric as I was, perhaps I would’ve cared more about some of the sticky liquid spilling onto my dress.
But I was euphoric, and I didn’t care. My glass clinked with Wren’s water midair, and I made a point of looking her in the eyes to avoid bad luck. Then I repeated the procedure with Laila, the “extremely casual” date Wren brought to the annual Pressley New Year’s Eve party.
The only difference from the past few years was the absence of views from the top of a New York City skyscraper, which had been replaced by idyllic gardens and rosebushes in the Hamptons. Additionally, instead of one McCarthy Williams getting invited (reluctantly), six of them got (enthusiastic) invitations.
I twirled in place to look for my one, though seeing through the dense crowd proved to be far more difficult than anticipated. With an excusing glance toward Wren, one she rightfully understood asI’ll be right back, I wove through dancing bodies, sharing smiles and laughs with vaguely familiar strangers as I pushed past them.
I spotted my brother leaning against the bar in the back, a drunken, wary look on his face. If I just followed his gaze... bingo. My McCarthy stood with the rest of them, having formed a casual circle from which only the youngest of his family members was missing. Even his dad showed a relatively pleased expression.
By the time my gaze shifted back to my brother, his attention had already drifted. Henry had always been a people-watcher more so than a mingler, though I was surprised by who I found at the other end of his gaze.
“You invited Paula,” I said by way of greeting, watching her curly hair bounce with the sway of her hips, in tune with the music. “Are you guys better?”
“No,” he grunted, though his eyes stayed on her. “I also invited her friends. I invited most people I’ve spoken to. This has nothing to do with Paula, specifically—” He caught himself rambling and immediately shut it off.
I nodded. “Classic. You invited her friends to make it seem less like you wanted to see her—”
“I didn’t want—”
“They didn’t hook up, by the way. Her and Dylan,” I blurted out, and I felt Henry’s eyes on me for the first time.“And you never told me that you thought that just because you saw themhug. Are you twelve?”
Henry blinked one, two, three times, computing the information. His mask of nonchalance barely slipped out of place, but the fact that it had at all told me the revelation changed things. Hopefully for the better.
Now that the summer house debacle had been fixed, the MLS draft was over, and Henry had a professional contract lined up, maybe he’d have more time for other things in his life. Relationships that weren’t familial or professional.
“Dylan.” He hummed disapprovingly. Like his first name tasted sour on his tongue. At the mention, Henry’s eyes slid back to him across the room. “Still wondering if we really had to invite all six of them,” he said dryly. “I know you’re taking advantage of my guilty conscience. And I still can’t seem to do anything about it. You ask, I say yes.”
“Don’t worry, I just have that effect on people.” I winked. “I do appreciate you trying. With him.”
Henry snickered, clearly overcoming something before he asked, “So you guys are... what? Dating?” He winced, like the thought caused him physical pain. “You’d think after what you put me through the past few months, I’d be used to the thought by now.” Clearly, he was not.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, eyes trailing back to Dylan at the other end of the room. He spotted me at the same time, smiled, and started in our direction, right as someone in the crowd announced, “Five minutes!”
Loud cheers erupted through the room. Henry leanedtoward me to make sure I’d hear him over the noise. “For the record,” he said. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”
I think that was as much of an approval as I’d get from Henry.
“You said you’d be nice,” I pointed out before Dylan could make it to us. Henry’s hands shot up in defense, almost offended at the accusation. “Even Wren liked having him atHamilton.”
Henry shook his head dismissively. “You know how she gets aboutHamilton,” he pointed out. “That’s not a fair comparison.”
Maybe not. “Still—”
“I haven’t said anything,” he grunted back.
“It’s thewayyou said it.”
“Said what?”
“If he hurts me.” I tried my best to mirror his tone and attitude. Henry snorted. “It’s like you’re expecting it.”
“I said it perfectly normally, Athalia. The way any brother would.”
I groaned, turning toward him with an accusatory finger lifted. “You didnot—”
Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, effectively cutting me off. “You most definitely did not,” Dylan chimed in, his eyes on my brother. I didn’t need to see the smug grin on his face to know it was there.
