Page 204 of The Perfect Wrong

“Of course not, dear. It’s a mocktail. The chef comes up with such delightful things, even if they lack the usual kick I’m used to.” She holds the drink up, staring at it glumly. “Your father will be joining us in a few minutes. My request. Pleasant night, isn’t it? I’d like to put this all behind us, Cordelia.”

“Cool. So you’re suddenly okay with me dating your son?” I ask.

I’m not surprised when she rolls her eyes and huffs.

“You’re too cute. All that time alone must’ve gone to your head. I’m just glad you finally decided to come out of your cave...” Evie flashes me that man-eating smile and cranes her neck down, too close for comfort. “You know there are a hundred other boys out there to fuck, right? I’ve done plenty of that between husbands, dear. Sometimesduringthem too.”

“You’re so gross,” I fling back.

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, grow up, little Delia. You’re too old and too smart to be acting out like a child.”

If she’s trying to flatter me, it doesn’t work.

“Will you just back off?” I snarl.

It’s all I can manage.

I swear, if she doesn’t get out of my face, Iwillslap her.

I hate how she makes me wonder if I’m secretly a violent person.

And what the hell does she mean byacting out?

“Ah, there’s your dad now.” She takes a long sip of her drink and looks up at the windows past the gardens, where there’s a figure striding around the kitchen. “I’m afraid you’re in deep shit, missy. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning before this got messy.”

Next thing I know, her hand slips into her pocket. There’s a crinkling sound, and she raises a clear plastic bag of something that looks like flour and—

Oh, no.

What the actual hell? Is that cocaine?

“Evie, what the—” I bolt up so hard I knock her drink out of her hand just as she drops the bag in my lap. The glass goes tumbling to the ground and shatters like a broken ornament, and then she jumps.

The bag falls out of my lap and hits the ground as I stand and stare.

Evie staggers back, her eyes big with shock and hurt.

Just what she wants.

Just what sheplanned, I realize too late.

By the time Dad appears at her side, she’s doubled over and wailing, staggering around like she’s blind.

Too bad the glass shards are everywhere, crunching under my flip-flops.

My eyes are locked on that white bag of lies, slightly torn now and leaking powder everywhere.

“What’s going on?” Dad yells, pulling her into his arms and shooting me a dirty look before he notices the glass under his shoes and looks down. “My God. Is that...”

“Bruce, Bruce! Thank God. I just came out here to talk to her and I...I found her like this. She was just sleeping out here with that crap in her lap. When I tried to get a better look and took it, she pushed me. I dropped my mocktail and...and...”

The conniving mega-bitch actually gives me the evil eye for a split second before she’s gasping, covering her face with one hand to hide the fake sobs.

Dad whispers reassuring words I can’t hear—or maybe I just don’t want to—crushing her protectively against his chest.

What is even happening?

I have a pretty good idea, but my brain doesn’t want to believe it.

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