planning the Ravens’ social calendar with her sorority sisters, she’d waited for his short, sporadic texts and pictures filling her in on his travels—Just swam in Lake Como—wish you were here; You have to see the water in Capri—I’m taking you here after you graduate. It wasn’t like Mason to shirk his family duties or keep her waiting all summer to see him. As a general rule, Scarlett didn’t wait for anything or anyone, but Mason was worth it.
“Bring him by the house as soon as you can,” Marjorie urged, her voice as warm as it ever got. Eugenie shifted in her seat and began to aggressively scroll through her work emails.
Scarlett hid a smug smile. Mason was the one place Scarlett had Eugenie beat. Mason was a complement. That was the word the sisters used to describe those worthy of a Raven. And there was an incredibly high bar for who qualified as a complementary. Only the best would do, and Mason was the best. He not only had the right past—he was the son of Georgia’s second-most-prominent lawyer, after Marjorie, of course, and the president of their brother frat—he also had a future. He was at the top of his class, athletic, dead sexy—and all hers. The icing on top: her mother absolutely loved him.
“Thanks for the ride, Mama,” Scarlett said, her hand on the door of the car.
“Oh, here,” her mother said as if she were remembering something suddenly. She handed a wrapped box over the back seat.
Scarlett felt herself brighten as she took the box—she didn’t remember her mother giving Eugenie a back-to-school present on her first day of junior year—and she had to stop herself from ripping the paper as she opened it.
It was a deck of tarot cards, beautifully rendered. A woman with a knowing smile wearing a dress made of feathers practically winked out at her on the back of each card.
“Were these yours?” Scarlett asked, wondering if these were the cards her mother and Eugenie had used when they’d been voted in as president and, if so, touched to be included in the family tradition.
“They’re brand-new. I ordered them from a powerful Cups who is very high up in the Senate. She painted them herself,” she boasted.
Disappointment tightened Scarlett’s chest. As much as Scarlett loved political royalty, how could her mother give her these now? “These are lovely, Mama, but I already have Minnie’s cards.” Scarlett didn’t understand how her mother could know so little about her. She would never replace Minnie’s deck with a shiny new set of cards.
“New year, new start,” her mother said. “I know Minnie meant the world to you; she meant the world to me, too. But I can see that you’re still grieving, and Minnie wouldn’t want you carrying that sadness into the new year. You being a Raven—you becoming president—that meant the world to her.”
You mean it means the world to you. Scarlett pocketed the cards, bent over the seat, and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Of course, Mama. Thank you,” she murmured, though she had no intention of ever using them.
After a dutiful kiss for Eugenie and another for her mother, Scarlett popped the trunk and grabbed her two bags, which she’d spelled earlier to feel light as air. She waved, watching until the car disappeared down the street. When she took a step back onto the sidewalk, she collided with a solid, muscular body. “Hey. Watch it!” she huffed.
An indignant voice sounded behind her. “You’re the one who ran into me.”
Scarlett turned to see Jackson Carter, who’d been in her philosophy class last year, slightly out of breath and wearing jogging shorts and headphones. Sweat beaded on his dark brown skin, and a soaked shirt stuck to his muscular frame. His lips turned down in a frown. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You Kappas act like you own this place.”
“We do own it,” Scarlett said without missing a beat. This was their first exchange that had nothing to do with dead philosophers and it seemed like downright bad manners for him to begin the conversation with an insult. “You’re standing in front of our house.”
Jackson wasn’t from Savannah. Not even close. She could tell by his lack of manners and basic lack of deference—not to mention his lack of a drawl. His consonants just sat there stubbornly, unlike hers, which she stretched out for effect. A gentleman would offer to take the suitcases from her. Then again, a