The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,71

about how loud we were being. But also, I couldn’t even be bothered to care. It had been some kind of wonderful.

“Well, you’re glowing,” Katherine said when she finally made her appearance.

“Glowing?” I asked in surprise, sipping on a glass of champagne Sam had retrieved for me after insisting on several glasses of water first. I looked down at the green sundress I’d brought with me. Another from my mother’s Bergdorf purchases. She really had figured out my style. It made me weirdly uncomfortable. But I still wore it.

“Indeed.”

“You’re as stunning as ever.”

And she was in a blush sundress with her magnificent hair piled up on the top of her head. Her lips were tinted a lush pink. She looked like the epitome of summer. When she was clearly a winter flower—prized and rare.

“I make do,” Katherine said with a choice smirk.

“How has it been, staying here with Camden?”

Her smile vanished. “Acceptable.”

Translation: horrible.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t,” I said instantly. I knew Katherine liked pity as much as a bag of tarantulas being dropped on her head.

“Luckily, Fiona isn’t in the Hamptons,” she admitted. “It’s harder in the city.”

I could see that. More options. More ways to hurt one another. I just wished they could talk it out and figure out how to move on. But I didn’t see it happening anytime soon.

“I’m going to go find a drink,” Katherine said. She leaned in and kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m happy for you.”

I beamed. “Thanks. Me too.”

“You deserve this.” Katherine gave me a sad smile and then disappeared in search of that drink.

My heart ached for my friend. I didn’t know how to fix them. It was beyond me. Maybe even beyond English’s expertise. I just hoped they didn’t do anything else that would irreparably ruin them in the meantime.

Sam reappeared then with a kiss on my lips. “God, you look great.”

I laughed and wrinkled my nose at him. “Katherine said I looked like I was glowing.”

“Must be the sex.”

“Sure, throw me up against a shower wall, and I start to emit low-level radiation.”

He snorted. “Is that what’s causing me to fall in love with you again?”

My mouth opened and then closed. And then he kissed my lips again.

“Rhetorical question,” he amended. Then a few seconds later, “But…I am.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “How could I not?”

“Good question.”

“Cocky much?”

I grinned and brought his mouth back to mine. “I am too. So…you’re lucky.”

“I am. Very.”

We sipped on our drinks as the party passed by. I was so glad that we’d agreed to come out here. The Hamptons had a lulling effect. As if everything was going to be okay. And the problem with lulling was that it didn’t make you stay on your toes. It didn’t prepare you for what was coming next.

My back stiffened. My eyes locked on the figure that walked into the house. He was tall and lanky with dark hair and hazel eyes. Nothing too distinct about him, but I’d recognize his gait and mannerisms in a heartbeat.

“What is it?” Sam asked, reading my body language and following my gaze to the front door. “Who is that?”

“That’s Thomas.” I sighed. “My ex-boyfriend.”

28

Lark

“Ugh,” I grumbled. “Maybe he won’t see me.”

“Why? What happened between y’all?” Sam asked.

I shook my head. “Fuck, he just saw me.” I shot Sam a pained expression. “I’ll tell you about it later. But first, keep me from killing him.”

“That serious?”

“Please.”

“All right. I’ll do my best,” he said warily.

I didn’t blame him for being wary. Every time I saw Thomas, I felt like I’d been mowed over. And I hadn’t seen him in a while. I’d thought it was a sign of good fortune. Then here he was, at the Kensington Cottage. He had to have at least guessed that I might be here. Had he come to purposely torture me?

And there he went…walking toward me. As if he were drawn to the one person who least wanted to see him.

Of course there was a woman on his arm. Or maybe a girl. She looked really fucking young. But since we’d broken up, he’d been going younger and younger. She looked like a model—tall and emaciated with large eyes and intense cheekbones and collarbone.

“Larkin,” Thomas said in greeting. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Hello, Thomas,” I said stiffly, losing any lingering buzz.

He looked the same. And yet so different. When we’d dated, he’d always worn these designer jeans and button-ups that he rolled up. He liked jackets and had several dozen of them—leather, linen, bomber, jean. None