Allie smiled. That was such a Trevor thing to say. He was more like his mother than he realized.
“Now, what are you going to wear, Allison? How about something white and frothy? Like Changing Rooms, the bridal version?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but it’s your wedding, Mags.” Allie shrugged. She didn’t want to wear something white and frothy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the wedding at all.
After hearing about Trevor’s childhood, Allie understood his animosity toward his parents. And while she liked Nigel and Mags, Allie disapproved of them too. She felt protective of Trevor, didn’t want to see him get hurt again. She knew he was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and she already had too many people to take care of. Still, she worried. That was the one thing she was good at.
Allie watched Mags and the saleswoman flit around the store while she remained in the comfy chair and sipped sparkling water. Mags indulged in champagne, but after yesterday, Allie was sticking to nonalcoholic drinks. She reached out to the mirror-covered square table and nabbed a toast point covered with caviar. After one bite, she grabbed a napkin and wrapped up the rest of it, sticking the whole thing back on the table. Sipping her water to rid herself of the fishy, salty taste, she heard her phone buzz and pulled it out of her purse.
“Where are you?” Trevor’s tone was clipped and impatient. The exact opposite of last night. Then, his words—whispered in a husky, sexy accent—had shocked and excited her. But now he acted like it never happened. So, last night really hadn’t meant anything to him.
Her heart skipped a couple beats. She was being stupid. For him, this was the norm—sex was just sex. He didn’t attach any importance to it. But she felt like an idiot for being so satisfied and content this morning.
She took a deep breath. “I’m great, English, thanks for asking.”
“Fine. Allison, how are you, darling? Well, I hope. Now, where in the bloody hell are you?”
“I’m in one of the most exclusive department stores in town, learning that caviar is disgusting and they should leave the poor fish eggs alone.”
“You’re shopping with my mother, then?”
“You got it, Slick.” She leaned back over the tray of goodies and picked up another toast point, this one with pâté. She nibbled the edge. “Oh, this is fantastic. The caviar was horrible, but the pâté is delish.”
She heard a long, deep sigh. “Don’t ever call me Slick again, Miss…Allison. And the way you’re moaning over that pâté has me as hard as a rock. Why don’t you come home and take care of that for me?” Suddenly, she felt lighter. He’d been affected by the hot sex too. So glad to know she wasn’t alone.
She smiled and sipped. “I think I’ll stay right here. Besides, your mother is picking out a bridesmaid’s dress for me.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding.”
“She wants to have it in your garden. And you should see the dress she plans to wear. It’s barely there and fire-engine red. Sorry, English, but I think there’s going to be a wedding. And if your mother has her way, you’ll be wearing a kilt.” She smiled and hung up the phone. It was nice to get one over on him for a change.
Mags came back with a one-shouldered, ivory, beaded mini dress. “What about this, Allie, love?”
“I thought you were going with the red dress, Mags.”
“Not for me, for you, dearest.” Then she got a thoughtful look on her face. “Although, it is my size.” She walked back over to the mirror and held it in front of her. She sighed. “No, this is for you. I’ll get one in blue.”
***
At two o’clock, Mags was still going strong and showed no signs of letting up. She actually liked trying on clothes. Allie left her in the capable hands of the saleswoman and let Simmons drive her to her home.
When he held the car door open for her, he tipped his head. “Just let me know when you’re ready to be picked up.”
Allie let herself into the house and glanced at the cluttered living room—clothes, shoes, newspapers covered every surface along with a fine coating of dust. In the kitchen, dirty pans littered the sink, there were cracked eggshells on the counter, and two bags of trash sat next to the back door.
Seriously? Her dad couldn’t even take out the trash?
Trevor was right. Her family was fully capable of managing this stuff without her. Her dad especially. Allie wasn’t their damned maid, and she wasn’t even living at home anymore. Instead of clearing out the living room clutter, she would make a to-do list. But she wouldn’t be able to function, thinking about the germs breeding in the kitchen.
With a sigh, she kicked off her shoes and began loading the dishwasher. She had just poured the dish soap when she heard the front door bang.
Allie grabbed a hand towel and strode to the living room, a smile on her face. Brynn made it home after all. But the smile faded when she saw it wasn’t Brynn but Monica. She stood with her back to Allie, facing a guy in his mid-twenties. He rubbed his hands up and down Monica’s ass and squeezed it like he was checking a ripe tomato.
“What the hell, Monica?”
Her sister jumped and spun around. The guy—Brad?—smirked.
Monica’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here, Allie? Are you checking up on me?” She sounded defensive. Her clothes were wrinkled and she looked pale.
Allie narrowed her eyes. “That would be a little hard to do, considering you’ve been gone for days and haven’t bothered to let anyone know where you were.”
Monica stepped toward her. “I don’t have to check in with you. You’re not the boss of me.”
Allie crossed her arms. “Really? That’s all you can come up with, ‘you’re not the boss of me’? How about acting like the responsible adult you think you are and letting Dad know you’re still alive?”
Monica moved past her, slammed into Allie’s shoulder, and stormed to her room. Allie glanced at Brad. What an asshole. She supposed he was good-looking in a just-got-out-of-jail kind of way, with his longish blond hair and darker stubble.
He gave her the once-over, his eyes lingering on her breasts. “You, uh, must be the big sister.”
“Yeah. And you must be the dick Monica’s boning.”
That wiped the smirk right off his face. “She said you were a bitch.”
“Get out.”
He crossed his arms. “Monica invited me in. According to her, you don’t live here anymore. So, I have a right to be here.”
Allie walked over to the phone and punched in 911. “Yeah, I’d like to report an intruder.”
He sneered at her before turning to slam out the door.
She apologized to the dispatcher and hung up before making her way to the girls’ room. Standing in the doorway, Allie watched Monica throw clothes into a duffel bag.
“Don’t try and stop me, Allie.”
“Is that possible? Or are you so far up Brad’s ass, you can’t even listen to reason?”
Monica paused, a T-shirt in her hand. “You know, when you came home from school, everyone was so grateful—Allie the Savior, taking care of the family. And you love it don’t you? You love that Dad lets you make all the decisions. Makes you feel important. Well, you’re not making my decisions, and if you try and stop me, I’ll kick your ass.”
Allie drew herself up, placed her hands on her hips. “You and who else?” Their eyes locked in a contest of wills. Monica backed down first and shoved the T-shirt in the bag.
“Are you even going to let Dad know where you’ll be staying?” Allie asked.
“It’s nobody’s business. Besides, I don’t want you guys coming over and nagging me to move back home.” She crammed a handful of underwear in the bag.
Allie shook her head. “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life, Mon. Don’t do this—at least not until you graduate. You’re so close to getting that diploma.”
Monica zipped the bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I love him. I know you don’t get that, because you’re too busy being perfect to have a life, but we love each other. I want to be with him.”