The Secret Arrangement

by Vanessa Waltz

  I tug her hand. "There are other TVs."

  "Yes, but I think they should probably—"

  "No problem," Titus says. "But you’ll have to play a round with me."

  Saffie’s mouth drops open. "You’re talking to me?"

  "Yeah."

  "You realize I suck at this, right? Every time I’ve tried I get killed in five seconds."

  Titus shrugs. "That’s the deal. Take it or leave it."

  "Fine," she says. "I’ll do one game."

  "Six," he insists. "Chris feels bad about losing and needs someone easy to kill."

  "Whatever." She grabs the remote, changing the source to local news as Titus and Chris set their controllers down.

  I grip the head of the couch as she flips channels, stopping when my name is mentioned. A photo of Henry splashes on the screen. His Grizzlies jersey ripples as he passes the ball, clods of dirt flying around his cleats.

  "An interview published late last night with Henry Pardini, the center forward of the San Francisco Grizzlies and his sister, Saffie, dispelled rumors of a feud with the team." The news station shifts to the text of the interview as the woman continues her monologue. "Quote, 'Grayson and I have worked many years together, and we’re excited to train for the World Cup in 2018. I have nothing but good things to say about him, and I wish him and my sister all the best with their relationship.'"

  The screen flicks back to a platinum blonde with a cherry-lipped smile. "Well, that’s a relief."

  "It certainly is, Dawn," the co-anchor says. "I cannot tell you how disappointed I’d be if that partnership were severed. They’re so great together on the field, and losing a guy like Shaw would be devastating for the Grizzlies. He’s probably the most complete player on the team. He can score, assist, shoot free kicks and penalties. There’s nothing he can’t do."

  Saffie grins as she watches them wax anecdotes about my best games.

  Christ, she thinks she did me a favor. Tanner’s popping a champagne cork right now in celebration for getting to sink his hooks into me another five fucking years.

  I’ll never get out.

  "You okay?" Saffie’s forehead creases.

  Everything I worked for is crashing around my ears. "I’m fine."

  Her frown deepens because I’m clearly not fine. "I thought this was good news."

  It will be to the legion of Grizzlies fans who only care about winning championships and the continuing bromance of Shaw and Pardini. I should have fucking known he’d do something like this.

  "No." It’s the worst thing she could’ve done, and it’s my fault for not coming clean to her.

  An uncomfortable silence fills the living room, interrupted by the sportscasters' cheerful voices. Saffie grabs the remote and switches it off. Titus and Chris exchange unhappy looks.

  Bewildered, Saffie turns to them. "Henry told me Grayson was getting traded unless I did an interview. Did he lie to me?"

  Titus rakes his hair. "He didn’t."

  "Well, I had to help."

  "Yeah," Titus says. "But he doesn’t want to be on the team anymore."

  "What?" Her shock grates against my ears. "Why not?"

  I heave a great sigh. "I’ve asked myself that many times, and it comes down to my happiness. It’s not worth it if I’m miserable here."

  Saffie blinks, confused. "Henry said you were acting out because—"

  "He lied to you." Heat rises to my eyes, angry that I didn’t see this coming. "He wanted you to smooth over the shit between us because he needs me on the team."

  "Why would you leave?"

  I take her shoulders because I can’t stand her heartbroken expression. "I know he’s your brother, but I hate him. He’s not the guy I want on my team. I don’t want to be around him, period."

  She shakes her head. "Why didn’t you mention that in all the weeks we’ve been here?"

  "Maybe I didn’t feel like being a downer. Henry was well aware of how badly I wanted to leave. He manipulated you to get what he wanted."

  "So you'd stay in the Grizzlies." Blood drains from her face as she pulls away from me. "I can’t believe him."

  "Saffie—"

  She throws up a hand, stilling my words as she marches out of the living room.

  Goddamn it. I catch up and grab her arm. "Wait."

  She spins around, tears spilling from her eyes. "Please just leave me alone."

  "Babe, this isn’t your fault. You know that."

  "Doesn’t make it hurt any less," she says in a low voice. "Don’t follow me."

  Sighing, I watch her run down the hall. The slam of her bedroom door echoes through the house. I walk into the living room. Titus and Chris are still there, looking at me with puppy-dog eyes.

  Titus shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Dude, we want you to stay, too."

  "We’ve been over this, man. It’s not the team—it’s him. I can’t be in the same place without fantasizing about strangling him. You have no idea what that’s like."

  Chris’ sigh hits the air. "You shouldn’t have to leave everything you’ve worked for because he fucked up."

  Nope. "C'est la vie."

  "Don’t be an asshole, Grayson." Titus glares at me. "You are talking about this like it’s a minor hiccup in your career. If you go through with this trade, you’re an idiot."

  "It’s all anyone ever wants to talk about. My goddamn job. "As though I haven’t battled with myself for hours making this decision. "I know what I’m giving up."

  Red in the face, Titus steps forward. "Stabbing us in the back because you can’t handle one moron is pathetic."

  "I’m not going to the World Cup with that asshole."

  "Then you’re an even bigger jerk than I thought," Titus says in disgust.

  Chris grabs his shoulder. "Hey, there’s no need for insults. Come on."

  My heart slams against my chest as Titus yanks his arm out of Chris’ reach. "We stood by him when Henry fucked his girlfriend. Now he’s making the biggest mistake of his life."

  "Why don’t you say it to my face?"

  Titus whirls around, hair clinging to his mouth. "You’re making a huge mistake."

  I want to seize the nearest projectile and hurl it at the fucking TV screen. "What makes you both think you know what’s best for me? I’m twenty-six. I’ve had a good run and more cash than I can spend."

  "Come on, man," Chris says with a laugh. "It’s never been about the money for you. You love the game."

  I still do. I can close my eyes and smell the freshly mown grass, feel my cleats digging into the earth, the sun warming my face. The blast of the whistle echoes in my head, sending a rush of adrenaline better than any drug.

  "Don’t you get it?" Titus says. "If it were a choice, we’d rather have you on the team than Henry."

  "He’s not breaking his contract, so I don’t see what else I can do."

  "What about Saffie?" Chris asks. "Are you and her, like, serious?"

  Didn’t he hear me at the damn meeting? "We’re dating. I meant what I said yesterday."

  Desperation leaks from Titus’ voice. "Then how do you’ll think she’ll feel when she realizes this was her fault?"

  "What are you talking about? I just told her it wasn’t." I wave him off. "You know what? I’m done discussing this."

  His echoes chase me down the hall. "This wouldn’t have happened if you left her alone. Right?"

  Ignoring him, I grab the phone out of my pocket and dial Henry’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. Fucking asshole must’ve turned off his cell. The glass feels hot in my hand. Its edges dig into my skin as I clench my fist.

  Am I making a mistake?

  Saffie stares into the mirror, white-faced with fear as she brushes her hair. "You don’t have to go, you know."

  My smile has no humor. "You want me there."

  "I do, but that was before the blowout."

  "I’ll behave." I tighten the knot at my throat. "Will you?"

  "I want to see my dad," she says, ti
ght-lipped. "There are a lot of unsaid things between us. At least on my end. I never got to say how much of a bastard he is."

  "That’s not behaving." Sighing, I pull the stiff jacket and walk toward the windows, peeling the curtains to gaze at Union Square. "This whole thing is a giant cluster fuck."

  "I won’t make a scene if you won’t." She applies a fresh coat of lipstick, grinning.

  "I have nothing to say to Henry." Her brother will be there, but I’m capable of behaving like an adult even though I want to throttle him for what he’s done. "It’ll be fine, I guess."

  "Not like it matters, but Henry apologized."

  It doesn’t.

  She slides an earring through her ear. "He said he thought he was doing what’s best for the team. I asked him if knocking up your ex was for the team as well."

  Laughing, I close the blinds. "And?"

  She shrugs. "He hung up on me."

  I walk across the hotel suite and wrap my arms around her waist. My fingers stroke the little black dress, curving into her hip. "We shouldn’t go."

  "I’ve wanted to talk to my dad for ages. Now’s my chance."

  "You’ll be disappointed, babe. That’s a guarantee."

  "I don’t expect him to see the error of his ways." She applies eyeliner on her lids, and I cringe as the pencil draws over her waterline. "I want him to say it to my face."

  "What?"

  "Why he hates me."

  I press my lips to the back of her neck. "I could think of a way better use of your time."

  A blush rises to Saffie’s cheeks as I wrap my arms around her, playing with the neckline of her cocktail dress. It’s the same she wore to dinner with Henry. She told me it was one out of two she saved from the apartment. If I’d known, I would’ve taken her shopping. A girl like her should seize every opportunity to show off her curves. My hand dips under the fabric clinging to her thigh. I splay my fingers over her creamy skin.

  She lets out a hiss as I ride the hem higher, grazing her panties. "Damn you."

  "Don’t get mad at me because you can’t control yourself." I kiss her ear. "Let’s stay."

  "I want to go. The party’s at my cousin’s house."

  "So?"

  "I haven’t seen him in years." Saffie readjusts her neckline, my hand still halfway up her thigh. "Can you keep your hands to yourself for one evening?"

  "I can try." But it’ll be fucking hard watching her sip champagne in that skintight fabric and strappy heels.

  She removes my fingers from her thighs, grinning, and marches to the bed to grasp her clutch. "Let’s. Go."

  I grab her ass right before she reaches the hotel-room door. She throws a venomous look behind her that’s ruined by her curving lips.

  We leave and take the elevator to the streets, and I call for an Uber. A black Toyota whisks us away to Pacific Heights.

  An evening dining with high-society assholes is the last thing I feel like doing. The home is white brick, a three-level, Mediterranean mansion with a gated entry and a small lawn. In San Francisco, most homeowners forgo the front yard to maximize square footage, which is a premium in this city. The iron-wrought gate surrounds hedges that enclose the property.

  On foot, we buzz through and step into a surprisingly big courtyard. It’s a quiet neighborhood, but the shrubs block all sound. It’s insulated, like its own little world. Coral-pink rose bushes crawl up the white stone. Lavender flowers grow around an outside table set that they probably use once a year. The air feels thick with moisture and plant life. It must cost a fortune just to keep this garden wet.

  We walk the path to the front doors, which look like they were imported from a church in Italy. I grab the massive knocker, and the door opens to an honest-to-God butler.

  After years of jetting around the country, I thought the charms of old money were lost on me, but as the entrance reveals smooth marble floors and gold-leaf trimmings on the ceiling fresco, I realize this is a world I’ll never understand.

  "Wow," she says, gazing at it. "Looks like a painting straight from the Sistine Chapel."

  "It’s ridiculous," I mutter. "Who the fuck wants that in their home?"

  She sighs. "People in my family, I guess."

  Luckily, the butler didn’t overhear our exchange. "Welcome. May I take your coats?"

  He grabs our jackets and gives us tags. "There’s refreshment in the living room if you like. Dinner is in one hour."

  Which is the living room? I gaze at the Roman columns, the women in flowing skirts, the waiters drifting through the crowds in black-and-white tuxes. Saffie gapes at them, a pink tinge rising in her cheeks. "Coming here was such a bad idea. I’m so not dressed to be in the same place as these people."

  "Stop it." I grab her waist, pinning her to my side. "You’re hot enough to be a waitress, at least."

  She jabs me with a swift punch. I walk with her into the foyer and pick up one of the cards.

  Luke & Jessica Pardini’s Fourth of July Bash

  Join us outside for barbecue, sangria, and crochet. If you’re in the mood for music, head to the second-floor patio for a live band performance. Artisanal tacos catered by Tacolicious are available on the first and second floors. Open bars are located on the first floor, and outside. Don’t miss dessert! We’ll have custom cupcakes by Noe Valley Bakery later this evening, along with homemade truffles made by Dandelion Chocolate.

  "Jesus Christ. I thought it was a small get-together." Saffie puts down the card, swallowing hard. "I don’t even know how I’ll find Henry."

  It’d suit me fine if we never ran into him. "Check your phone. Maybe he texted you."

  Wide-eyed, she digs into her clutch and finds her rose-gold iPhone. "He says he’s outside."

  Lovely. "Great. How do we get there?"

  The owner of the house, whoever the hell he is, posted helpful signs with arrows pointing toward KITCHEN and BEER GARDEN and MUSIC. We head to the beer garden and meander through a set of halls with gilded frames surrounding a couple and their infant son.

  "That’s Luke," says Saffie. "He’s my cousin."

  A small shock runs through me when I realize Saffie is part of this family. Meeting her, you’d never think she was born in one of the wealthiest families in America. It’s hard to connect the girl who only had room in her suitcase for two cocktail dresses with this ostentatious wealth.

  The doors leading outside are open to the sprawling backyard that puts the villa’s yard to shame. An English garden surrounds a lap pool, which leads to a patio with a stainless steel barbecue. A chest of ice and beers sits next to the grill. Tables are laden with upscale comfort food, with little cards describing the dishes. The aforementioned cupcakes sit on every available surface, a candied American flag sitting on each pillow of white buttercream. This is much more my speed.

  The cook glances at us, setting his tongs to the side. He dusts off his hands before walking to us. "Hi, I’m Luke Pardini."

  He’s the guy who owns the house, then. Unlike the people inside, he’s dressed in khakis and a Calvin Klein polo. He wears his chestnut brown hair short.

  "Grayson Shaw," I say, shaking his hand.

  "The soccer star, right? Wonderful," he says when I nod. "Henry said you were coming. I’m a big fan, by the way. You were brilliant in the last match. That header was incredible."

  "Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?"

  He laughs, turning toward Saffie, who can barely contain her excitement. "Good Lord, it’s been ages. How are you, Saffie?"

  She wraps her arms around him, eyes gleaming. "I’m doing all right. You?"

  Luke pats her back. "We tried getting in touch with you so many times, but your brother said you’d fallen off the grid."

  Judging by how quickly Saffie’s smile fades, he lied.

  Dickless bastard. Where is he?

  I spot him nursing a beer near the children playing croquet. He notices my stare and toasts the bottle to me, grinning.

  Ignoring the hatred searing my veins, I turn b
ack to Saffie.

  She feigns a smile. "Henry’s had my number. It’s been hard getting him to pick up the phone."

  Luke frowns. "We wanted to invite you to the wedding, but Henry said he’d lost touch with you years ago."

  "My brother says a lot of things. I’ve been here the whole time. Law school in the East Bay, and then I moved to the city for a job."

  His voice brightens. "Well, we should get together more often." He digs into his pocket, pulling out his cell. "Give me your number."

  Startled, she rattles it off and programs Luke’s into her phone.

  Luke shoves the cell in his pocket. "Awesome. Can I grab you guys a drink? We have wine, champagne, anything you like."

  "I’ll just have a beer," she says.

  "Same."

  He takes cold bottles from the chest and passes them into our hands, popping the lids with an opener attached to the barbecue. "You need to meet my wife. Hold on." He yells at a blonde standing nearby. "Jess!"

  A willowy woman with long, golden hair and pink-stained lips turns from her conversation with a shorter redhead. She drifts to Luke. "This is my cousin, Saffie. Saffie, my wife, Jessica."

  Jessica shakes Saffie's hand. "How are you?"

  I watch them as they make introductions, silently taking in this rich family. It’s not as though I haven’t been exposed to this before. Henry and I used to be close, but even his house wasn’t this glamorous. Luke’s okay. He seems nice, and Saffie’s thrilled to meet him. I guess I assumed Henry’s cousins would be jackasses and wasn’t looking forward to an evening of snide commentary, but they welcomed Saffie like an old friend. I could have a good time hanging out with these people if it weren’t for Henry skulking nearby. Every so often, a smug grin spreads across his face, sending a bolt of rage into my heart. His smile fades the more we talk with Luke. I can only imagine the panic whirring in his brain as he watches us. Then he steps around the croquet bars, kicking the ball aside.

  "Hey!" Two kids race after it, throwing him dirty looks.

  Henry pays them no mind, making a beeline for us. I face him as he joins the circle. "Henry, where’s your wife?"

  The smug look disappears fast, as though it was slapped off. "She’s visiting her family."