I lean toward Abby and gesture over my shoulder to where Callisto is.
“Should we go say hi?”
Her eyes widen. “Ohh, should we? I don’t want to be rude.” Concern touches her brow as she looks. “She’s probably a bit overwhelmed, don’t you think?”
This is why I like Abby. Though her face is well-known after several successful, worldwide campaigns, she hasn’t been poisoned by the well of vanity and self-absorption most young models drink from daily.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
We turn to look at Callisto, now trading air kisses with a matronly woman overwhelmed by pearls and garish red lipstick. A stately man stands behind them, his attention on the phone in his hand rather than the women. He’s the only one in the vicinity, though, who doesn’t have at least one eye trained on Callisto. Her notoriety is a magnet—half the people here want to fuck her just to say they did, and the other half want to see her fall apart.
I continue, “Or maybe she’d like a little break from the sharks.”
Abby nods thoughtfully as several small groups of people merge on Callisto’s location. “She does seem in need of some rescuing.”
I offer her my arm. “Shall we?”
She slips her arm through mine and grins. “We shall.”
20
I saw him first.
In fact, he was the first person my eyes landed on when I stepped outside to join my sisters. Thankfully, I was already buffered by a sneaked shot of vodka and a morning spent dedicated to projecting apathy. The shock that pulled my ribs tight to my heart? Inconsequential. The why why why pinging in my mind? The way my body sang a high, pure note at the sight of him? All of it, ignored.
His naturally haughty features are pulled tight, the stormy blue of his eyes visible even from across the pool. He doesn’t know I’ve seen him—I’ve been careful not to look directly his way. Because he doesn’t know this version of me. What she’s capable of. Callisto Avellino, heiress. Raised to rub elbows with the rich and powerful. Trained to compliance and grace. This is perhaps the first time I’ve truly plied my skills, but they come easily. A familiar skin.
Who I was in Solstice Bay, the fumbling, raw person, is locked back in the darkness she rose from. A tender sapling cut off from the light. Here, now, I am my father’s daughter.
I’m unaffected by Finn McCowen.
At least on the outside.
When he finally makes his play, approaching me with a gorgeous model on his arm, I’m ready. Or as ready as I can be for his nearness. I struggle to hold the conversation with Mrs. Stapleton, wife of a big studio exec and friend of my stepmother’s.
He’s closing in. My skin ripples with awareness as I watch him from the corner of my eye. The way he moves draws heads, and not just the female ones. His tattoos are covered by an untucked, long-sleeved button-down, his hair combed back, but there’s no mistaking his wildness. His otherness. He’s a force of nature deigning to visit the realm of men, exuding the promise of destruction.
Mrs. Stapleton says her farewells, giving me a patronizing pat on the cheek before turning to her husband, who looks up from his phone and gives me a brief, disinterested nod. At least there’s one person here who doesn’t give a shit about me.
“Callisto?” asks a soft voice. The model. “I’m Abby Hassler, and this is my friend Finn Reid. We thought we’d keep you company for a bit so you could have a break from… everything. No questions from us. Just”—she gives a small, tinkling laugh—“a buffer, if you want it.”
I’m taken aback by the gesture, by the kindness in her eyes. And even more by the word friend. I glance briefly at Finn, not maintaining eye contact for fear my mask will crack. When I saw them embrace with such familiarity, I assumed they were more. Casual, perhaps, but more than friends. From her tone—and the giant diamond I spy on her ring finger—they aren’t.
I ignore the resulting swell of relief.
“That’s very nice,” I tell Abby, “but I’m quite all right. Are you enjoying the party?”
She looks surprised, a little hurt. “Uh, yes, thank you.”
The conversation stalls. Finn clears his throat, and I brace for the impact of his voice. But before he can speak, Ellie appears beside me. She vibrates with excitement, and I notice at once that she’s unbuttoned the top of her dress to display her creamy cleavage.
“Oh my gosh, Mr. Reid, it’s so amazing you’re here. I’ve followed your work for years. You are the best photographer in the business. The way you capture such raw emotion in your subjects is incredible. I’m Elizabeth Avellino, by the way.”
Finn smiles, shaking her hand even as his eyes shutter to blankness. I wonder if Ellie can pick up on his withdrawal, but from the way she’s swaying toward him, I decide—rather pettily—that she can’t. With her gorgeous face and figure, not to mention her bank account, I doubt it occurred to her that her prey might not immediately roll over.
Never one to miss an opportunity to befriend the famous, Ellie turns to Finn’s companion. “And Abby Hassler. It’s so nice to meet you. You’re even more beautiful in person. Oh, and congrats on your recent engagement!”
Abby beams. “Thanks so much.”
“I was just about to head to the bar. Would you two like to join me?”
“Sounds good to me,” Abby says, looking in question at Finn.
He pivots to face me, stalling my retreat.
“I’m fine here, thanks.” Firm, focused, final.
My pulse quickens, my eyes widening and snapping to Ellie. She’s as shocked as I am, but for different reasons. What the fuck is he thinking? I try to apologize to my sister with my eyes, but she doesn’t look at me.
With a forced smile, she says, “Well, maybe I’ll see you a bit later?” It’s impossible to miss the innuendo in her voice.
Finn says, “Maybe.”
Visibly rattled, my sister leads Abby away.
I smile politely at Finn and hiss through my teeth, “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here.”
A dark eyebrow arches. “Neither should you,” he murmurs, “but here we are. Besides, I’m famous—or hadn’t you heard?”
An angry flush lifts, unstoppable, to my cheeks. “Leave, now,” I whisper.
Finn grins affably and shakes his head. My fingers curl—I want to punch his pretty face.
“Not a chance,” he replies. “Now be a good hostess and give me a tour? I admit to being a real estate junkie.”
“Show yourself.” I wave toward the house. “Doors are open to guests.”
“Nuh-uh, princess. Need I remind you that people are watching? You make a scene and there will be questions. I don’t think you want to explain to your stepmother how we met.”
Memory assails me, pushing more heat into my cheeks—this time fueled by embarrassment. But with a glance around us, I see the truth of his warning. People are watching, including my sister and Abby, standing with drinks in hand by the pool. Thankfully, I don’t think Vivian has noticed us yet. But when I spy my uncles in a circle of men, I meet Enzo’s flat stare. My stomach clenches. Of the two of them, Enzo has always scared me more.
“Damn you,” I whisper, then wipe the expression off my face and say more clearly, “I’d be happy to show you the house, Mr. Reid.”
He chuckles. “Call me Finn, please.”
“Finn,” I grind out through my smile. Spinning on a heel, I walk toward the back doors. His long stride effortlessly keeps pace with my faster one.
As we near thicker clusters of partygoers, he says, “So how’s it been, being back?”
The tone is casual, one of generic small talk, but the undercurrent is unmistakable.
“Really great,” I answer just as casually. “It’s a little surreal, but every day I wake up grateful to be home.”
“I’m sure. I can’t imagine how difficult the last six years have been for you. I, along with the rest of the country, am so glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you,” I say stiffly,
nodding at several people near the doors. Once inside, I breathe more easily. Truth be told, I do need a break from the stares, whispers, and questions.
I lead Finn toward the formal rooms at the front of the house. We only have minutes before our absence is noted and the rumors start.
Making a quick decision, I open a door, grab his arm, and haul him inside. The door closes, swathing us in darkness.
“Is this a… closet?” His voice is too close, thick with humor, and the heat from his body paints a thick line on my front.
“Drop the act,” I snap. “This is probably one of the few places in this house not under surveillance. What do you want?”
There’s just enough ambient light to see his expression harden. “To find out what you want, Callisto. Why did you come back?”
“I think Vivian killed my father,” I confess, then shift back in surprise, feeling the press of coats at my back. Why did I tell him that?
“Color me surprised,” he says flatly. “Although I could technically thank her for ridding the world of that piece of shit, what are you going to do about it?”
Anger blooms, eager to be unleashed in place of what lies beneath it—fear and confusion. “None of your fucking business. We’re not friends. Not confidants. I don’t want you near me or my family. Can you get that through your thick skull?”
“Sure, but what makes you think I’ll do what you say?” He takes a step toward me, shoulders consuming my vision. My breath goes short and choppy. “And why can’t we be confidants? We want the same thing. In fact, I’d like to be closer to this family. Much closer.”
Intuition blooms, making me bristle. “You’re blackmailing me.”
He shrugs. “Call it what you want. I think of it more as making you an offer you can’t refuse.”
My voice comes thick, “And what offer is that?”
“Invite me into your life, and I won’t out you to Vivian.”
My stomach goes leaden. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” he sneers. “Prove to me you want what I want. Work with me toward that goal.” He pauses, head tilting. “Or are you having second thoughts? Enjoying your return to power?”
“Fuck you.”
His humorless grin slices me. “I almost did.”
“You’re disgusting,” I seethe.
“What’s it gonna be, princess? A new boyfriend, or a media lynching? Doesn’t matter to me—either one ends Vivian’s bid for governor. But can you imagine what the world will say when it comes out that you staged your own abduction? Lied to the cops? The entire nation?” He whistles softly. “You might be the one who ends up in a beige jumpsuit.”
Trembling, near tears, I whisper, “I hate you.”
“I don’t care,” he retorts. “I’ll pick you up next Saturday at seven for our date, the first of many. From this point on, you’re taken. By me. Like it or not, we’re going to do this together.”
“Bullshit,” I growl. “They’ll never buy it. I can’t stand you.”
Another chuckle, low and dark. “Oh, I think you can. I’m giving you a week to remember how much you liked me when we met.”
He steps back, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll go first. Thank you for the tour, it was enlightening.”
“Suck a dick.”
He snorts. “Don’t worry, dick sucking won’t be expected in our arrangement. Until next week, Callisto.”
Then I’m alone in the closet with my thumping heart and scrambled mind.
21
Every morning, Aunt Molly watches the news from the couch in our rented apartment, a cup of tea in one hand and a small notebook in the other. Callisto and Vivian—and sometimes one or both of the sisters—appear on the usual programs. Today Show, CBS This Morning, Good Morning America…
The conversations are so scripted, everyone so polished and fake. And Callisto’s story is the same every time. A series of soundbites to appease the curious public.
“…very little memory of those days.”
“Yes, I’m beyond happy to be home.”
And the coup d'état:
“In the last six years, I met many homeless or otherwise at-risk young people in the United States who desperately need a voice. With my stepmother’s help, I’m founding a charity called Reach the Stars, which will focus primarily on services for homeless teens.”
This has me chuckling every time I hear it. Not because I don’t think it’s an admirable idea, but because with it, Callisto has given me valuable insight into how she plans to play her stepmother.
She wants to be the very Trojan horse I once imagined her as—and the army inside will be public opinion. Even if Vivian did manage to sidestep any accusations or evidence Callisto brought to light, her political career would be over.
I’m only a little unnerved by how flawlessly she handles the limelight, the questions, the celebrity. There are more than a few clips of her being mobbed by weirdos convinced she’s a vampire, as well as teenyboppers and grown women on the fame-train.
Molly’s also collected an obscene number of magazines with society pages featuring Callisto at different events, toasting with flutes of champagne and mingling with the rich and famous.
I have no idea how she’s handling it mentally, but all of it must be taking a toll. The lies that spill so sweetly from her lips, the constant microscope on everything from what she’s wearing to whether she’s getting therapy for PTSD.
She isn’t the person I see on television or in print—the polished socialite. I don’t examine my conviction, why I think I know her better than most. I just know it’s true.
From my seat at the kitchen table, I hear Molly mutter, “Thank you,” as she ends a phone call. Behind her, the TV is muted, the morning programs over.
Setting my pencil atop the crossword puzzle I’m dominating, I ask, “Well?”
She sighs. “No one will talk to me.”
My aunt’s career as a professional burglar ended before it started. The house in Ventura where my PI lived is now occupied by a family who has no idea what happened to the man’s personal effects. They bought the house from the bank and it was empty when they moved in a month ago.
Molly continues, “And I can’t pretend to be his sister or whatever because he didn’t have any family. Only child of only children. No wife or kids. Dead end after dead end.”
I give her a minute to soak in her thoughts, then say, “Maybe you should head back to Solstice Bay.”
She gives me a sharp glance. “So I can watch from afar as this blows up in your face?”
She wasn’t a fan of how I handled Callisto at the party on Sunday. I’m not especially proud of myself, either. I don’t know why I keep acting like an asshole when she’s around. Something inside me flips when I see her, and I start saying crazy shit.
Like I’m going to blackmail her.
The idea never even occurred to me until we were stuffed in that closet. I could smell her all around me, my skin felt two sizes too small, and I wanted to spank her for being so ornery before kissing her until she turned red all over… And since neither was an option, instead of charming her into compliance, I blurted out some bullshit about turning her in if she didn’t agree.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’ll apologize on Saturday. It was stupid, I know. I couldn’t think straight.”
Molly smirks. “Didn’t expect to be attracted to her, did you?”
I groan. “Please don’t go there.”
She grins. “The spider is caught in his own web.” Her smile falls, expression sobering. “I’m scared for you both, but I’m glad you’ll be there to help her. You’re creative thinkers. Survivors. Somehow, you’ll figure out the best course of action.”
I grunt in reply.
Molly finishes her tea and takes the cup to the kitchen. She rinses and dries it, then stands silently before the sink, her head bowed. I know she’s disappointed and battling helplessness. I’ve been there a thousand times over the last decade. I feel for her, I
do.
But right now, for the first time in so long, there’s a spark of hope inside me. I finally have an in. An ally in the family. If I play my cards right, before the year is up, I’ll have hard evidence that Vivian Avellino is a crook of the highest order.
I think Vivian killed my father.
Maybe we’ll get her on murder charges, too. Wouldn’t that be rich? Avenging the death of the man who murdered my father in order to put his widow in jail?
A shadow falls over me and I look up at my aunt, taking in her newly determined expression.
“I want you to find out how many people work full-time in that house, and I want their names.”
“Molly—”
“You think you’re the only obstinate one in this family?” she interjects. “The only one passionate about this? You may want revenge, but I want Callisto home, in Solstice Bay.”
I shift in my chair, feeling six years old and on the wrong end of a verbal lashing. “Fine,” I agree.
“Good.”
She nods, satisfied, and turns away. On impulse, I touch her arm to stall her, and when she meets my gaze, I say, “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you. For everything.”
Her eyes moisten. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted when you came back. But more than that, I’m sorry that you’ve shouldered so much over the years. You’re not alone anymore, Finnegan.”
Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, clogging my throat with long-buried emotion.
“Thanks,” I choke out.
With a soft smile, she leaves me to stare, bleary-eyed, at empty squares in the crossword puzzle. Five letters. Clue: Where the Acheron flows.
A quick Google search later—yes, I cheat—I sit back with a humorless smile.
Oh, the irony.
Acheron is the river that flows into the Greek Underworld, Hades. And that’s exactly where I’m going. Straight into the dark on a river of pain.
22
“I really don’t understand it.” Ellie sniffs primly as she examines her nails.
The Golden Hour Page 9
