Sinful Ever After - Vivian Wood Page 0,70

ceiling. The next I’m standing back in the house’s front yard to look at the finished work.

The new paint job looks great. The hedges are impeccably trimmed. The front porch looks brand spanking new.

Carter sidles up beside me, turning to look at the house. He cocks his head. “I can’t believe it. The house looks move-in ready.”

I glance at him, unbuckling the work belt I’ve got looped around my waist. “It does. It’s funny what can happen in a week when you’ve got a whole crew running ten hours a day.”

His lips curve up. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” His gaze slides down to take in my dirt-streaked shirt. “You’re not going to wear that tonight, are you?”

For a second, I don’t get that he’s talking about the ball. Then understanding hits me. I scrunch up my face.

“I’m not going at all.”

Carter’s eyebrows lift. “I’m pretty sure that Aunt Margaret is going to expect to see you.”

That takes me by surprise. I frown. “I mean… I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t know anyone was going to expect to see me, honestly. Shit, I don't even have anything that remotely resembles what you would wear for a ball.”

He gives me a deadpan look. “Wear a white button up and dark pants. Surely you have that?”

I fidget, gritting my teeth lightly. I set my belt down on the ground next to me. “Well… yeah… but I don't have a mask or anything.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Mom bought a metric ton of different masks. They’re in the parlor for whoever shows up without one.”

I think for a second. “I don't really want to go, though.”

Carter’s eyes meet mine, narrowing. “Neither do I. But instead of sitting by myself and drinking, I’m going to at least make an appearance. It would be nice if I knew there was going to be someone my age there, aside from Olivia.”

“Olivia’s going?” I picture Olivia in a revealing bright blue gown and a mask, immediately feeling perked up by the knowledge.

He gives me a shrewd look. “Of course. I told you. Aunt Margaret invited everyone, pretty much.”

I sigh. “All right. What time is the whole thing?”

Carter looks at his watch. “Guests are going to start arriving in half an hour. The idea is that when the sun sets, the party will be in full swing.”

“Christ,” I mutter. “All right, I better go get ready, I guess.”

I walk back to my little apartment, putting on an Outkast record. As André 3000 takes me on a trip through early 2000s Atlanta, I take my time to shower and shave. Getting dressed in my white button up and dark jeans is a slow affair; I guess that I am just dragging a little, hoping against hope that I won’t have to go.

It takes me a while to realize what I’m feeling. Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning: everything about tonight reminds me of being a pre-teen, in the years before I met Grayson. My dad would host these office-wide parties and fundraiser events at our house because it was appropriately impressive. Everyone would dress up in their tuxes and ballgowns and pull around our circular driveway, admiring the house’s quaint mix of beige brick and creeping ivy.

Inside, they would find my mother, my sister, and myself, pressed and starched and waiting for their coats. What they didn't know was how my father screamed at us for hours before each of these events. Every little thing had to be perfect or else it was somehow our fault.

Wrong color napkins? A wrinkle in the pant leg of my suit? One of the members of the four-piece quartet called out sick at the last minute?

We were screamed at by my father for each of them. Sometimes he would even hit my mother and I, his temper making him completely unhinged. Eve was immune from the worst of it, but even she had to stand straight and be inspected time and time again.

It’s no wonder that I’m trying to avoid a big, dressy event. Especially one held by my secret family, where I pretend to be merely the handyman and they pretend to care about me.

By the time I finally drag myself back out to the main house, the sun has set. Every light in the main house is blazing bright against the summer evening. I can hear loud jazz music playing sooner than I see the house.

When I get to the front door, no one I recognize