Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“It’s fine, Wes.”
I’m used to the fact that no one else understands my problem with Torin.
At this point, I just think he hates my existence. His favorite thing is bringing up my reputation at the worst possible times.
Do I party a lot?
Yes. I used to, at least.
Was I acquainted with the bottom of a liquor bottle at least a few times a week?
Also yes, but I’m done with that now, too.
I should feel at home here, at a fancy wedding that’s basically a day-long party, but everything feels too sharp, too rough around the edges without the usual amount of alcohol in my blood. Champagne glasses clink together, echoing over the marble floors, and a giant fountain sits at the center of the room filling the space with the sound of rushing water.
“Oh, shit,” Wes mutters, nodding toward the front of the lobby. “There he is.”
The gilded front doors of the lobby swing open, two doormen pulling them aside.
And my gut twists.
I see a glimpse of blond.
It’s always easy to spot Torin’s tall frame. His hair is too long as usual, and I can see his Instagram-famous cheekbones from here. His eyes cut across the crowd, but he doesn’t see me.
“He’s already schmoozing and he’s been here for twenty seconds,” I tell Wes as Torin moves through the crowd hugging people I’ve never met.
“He walks in like a celebrity,” Wes says.
“Whatever. Let him peacock around all he wants, as long as he leaves me alone.”
“Damn. For a guy who doesn’t come from money, he sure looks comfortable in here.”
“He’s good at playing the game,” I explain. “He thinks I’m spoiled as fuck. I know I’m lucky, but I’ve never judged anyone for their background.”
“Wasn’t your choice to be born into it,” Wes says.
“Right. But I don’t know how to change a tire, or do craftsman-level woodworking, or build entire houses with my hands, and Torin can.”
The truth is that he’ll never respect the way I’ve lived my life.
Again, because of my reputation.
A real bitch, that one is.
I’m the youngest of six trust-fund siblings and still an undeclared major at Crimson College, without a clue what I want to do with my life.
I’m just… floating.
Being the frat-boy king of Jello shots isn’t exactly the proud accomplishment I once thought it was.
I’m better than this.
Swear on my fucking life.
I just don’t know how, yet.
“Wasn’t it supposed to be just your two families here for the wedding?” Wes asks, grabbing a couple of water bottles from a table nearby. He passes me one and I tear it open, chugging it before crushing the bottle in my fist.
“It was supposed to be a small, secluded wedding. But then Dad invited the Baxters, and then he had to bring along the Castillos, and then a chain of grapevine invites suddenly turned a getaway wedding into… this.”
Weston grins, leaning against the marble wall beside me. “Your father couldn’t have a small event to save his life. The Vancliffs have parties in your blood.”
Across the room, Torin’s found his way to my dad now. Dad’s leaning in to give him a hug, probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him. The two of them make the rounds together, disappearing back into the crowd.
“It still makes me sick seeing the strange fondness my dad has for him.”
Wes grabs a cream puff from a catering tray and pops it in his mouth, chewing slowly as he holds up a finger. “Being stepbrothers doesn’t necessarily have to be so bad,” he offers. “Maybe you two can make nicey-nice? You could be the bigger man, maybe try to be his friend?”
“Not possible.”
“His mom worked for your dad before they started dating, right?”
I nod. “Kolina became our private chef, after Dad divorced my mom. They started doing charity work together too, and Dad fell hard.”
“And what reason would Torin have to hate you more than your older siblings?”
I shrug my shoulders. “For fucking sport, maybe? Who knows? He’s just a slut for attention. If he’s going to be on campus with us this summer, Torin’s going to kill me or I’m going to kill him.”
“Noah,” a deep voice cuts through the din of the crowd.
Of fucking course.
I turn around and see him.
He’s behind us, unsmiling, with silver eyes that cut right through me.
“Torin.”
“Can’t help yourself from talking about me, can you?”
He’s in a dark green suit with gold cufflinks, likely a gift from Dad.
I shrug. “What I said was true, and I’d say it again. I don’t want you on campus.”
“Seems like you’re enjoying the wedding day so far,” Torin tells me in his low, almost baritone voice, looking down at my suit then back up to my eyes. “Been draining the open bar of their whiskey?”
A flare of rage hits my chest.
I’m not even going to dignify him with the knowledge that I’m not actually drinking anymore.