Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(16)

“Uh, yeah,” Daisy says. “I’m fifteen, remember? Hell would freeze over before she let me do fashion week by myself. How did you not know that?”

“I’m kind of out of the loop.”

“That is the understatement of the century,” Rose says.

Poppy smiles. “Don’t be mean, Rose. You’re going to scare Lily off for another two months.” We all know who the nice sister is. Still, I can’t help but love Rose more. Maybe because we’re the closest in age or because she actively tries to be a part of my life. I see her more than I do anyone else.

Rose sips her mimosa with tight lips.

Daisy points an accusing finger at me. “You haven’t been to Sunday luncheon for two months?” She scrutinizes me, as if searching for any visible wounds. “How are you not dead?”

“I ask the same question all the time,” Rose cuts in, “seeing as how I get crucified if I miss one.”

“The perks of dating a Hale,” Poppy says, this time sounding bitter too.

Lo’s fingers tighten on the notch of my chair at the sound of his name.

My throat tightens. Poppy spent years convincing our parents to accept her boyfriend and welcome him into the Calloway brood. Since Sam had barely six figures to his name, my parents feared he wanted Poppy for her inheritance. So my father hired him at Fizzle even though Sam only had a high school diploma and a resume with Dairy Queen as his sole employment. Eventually, my father learned Sam’s benevolent intentions and approved of their marriage. And subsequently my mother did too.

Now a small munchkin with Sam’s dark hair and bright blue eyes runs somewhere around here. Poppy smiles often and has more maternal affection than our own mother, but she won’t ever forget the judgment they cast on Sam or all the hassle, even if their intent was pure.

Her resent ricochets back to me since they swiftly embraced my relationship with Lo.

“If I could change my name I would,” Lo says, the room blanketing with even more uncomfortable tension.

Poppy says, “Which one?” And the mood begins to lighten. The girls laugh at Lo’s expense, but laughter is better than taught muscles and furtive glances. Lo has never been too keen on his full name. One reason why Rose always calls him Loren.

“When did you get so funny, Poppy?” Lo asks, tossing a grape in her lap. I’m surprised he chooses not to banter back with a flower insult, considering my mother named all four of us after a plant. It’s only embarrassing when we’re all together in public, so I can deal.

“Resorting to food fights already, Loren?” Rose interjects. “The luncheon hasn’t even officially begun.”

“Now you know why they don’t care if we bail for months,” he tells her. “Mystery solved.”

“Can I see Daisy’s book?” I ask Poppy.

She hands it to me across the table and it knocks into the stem of my champagne glass. I curse under my breath and jump up before the orange juice stains my dress.

Lo quickly grabs a napkin, standing with me. He rests a hand on my arm and dabs the spill around my chest, thinking nothing of it. I guess no one else would either because we’re together (not really), and my mind has begun a serious free-fall. A server enters with more towels, and I am burning too much to actually move.

“I’m sorry.” Who am I apologizing to? Myself for being clumsy?

“Ohh, Lily is turning into a rose,” Poppy teases.

Rose shoots her a glare at mentioning her name within a slight insult, and I only redden further.

Lo sets the napkin on the table, and whispers in my ear, “Be cool, love. It’s just a little spill.” He smiles in amusement and his breath tickles my skin. I practically ooze into his arms. He kisses me on the lips, so light, that after his mouth has separated from mine, all I can think about are them returning.

The staff zips in and out of the patio, cleaning the mess around us like worker bees.

When everyone settles and I reattach my head to my body, I stiffly sit back down, and flip open Daisy’s book. Lo leans into me to peek at the pictures, his thigh meshing against mine. The photos. Yes. I blink, focusing. In most of them, Daisy stands against a white backdrop without any makeup. Beauty shots, I suppose. I turn another page and my mouth falls.

She’s naked! Or nearly naked. She stands with five-inch heels and wears a men’s suit jacket. Nothing else. The shot focuses on her long bare legs and the sides of her breasts. She has slicked-back hair into a tight ponytail, and her makeup makes her look twenty-seven, not fifteen. Daisy’s hips bend awkwardly in the pose, the only indication that it’s high fashion and not Penthouse.

Lo whistles a long note, sounding as shocked as I feel.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, careening her head to try and see the photo.

“You’re not wearing anything.” I hold up the book so she can see which photo we’re discussing. She stays perfectly calm, not even embarrassed. “I have underwear on. It’s nude though.”

“Did Mom see this?”

“Yeah, she suggested I try to book mature photo shoots. It’ll increase my value.”

Her value. As though she’s a pig up for auction. “Do you like modeling?”

“It’s fine. I’m good at it.” Okaaay. That is not the answer I wanted to hear, but I’m not her mother. I skip these weekly events for a reason, and attaching myself to situations won’t help me ease out of the Calloway household unseen.