LUCAS
I’d started to go after Emerson, so I could explain myself out of this fucked-up situation, but Aster had blocked me before I could even take two steps.
Jesus. I’d forgotten how bossy she was.
“She’ll be fine,” she said, looking me up and down, and reminding me I’d been about to head out the door wearing nothing but the boxers I’d managed to locate before answering the door. “Girls like her always are.”
I’d also been rock-hard when I’d answered the door. Not now, though. Seeing Aster had been an instant cold shower.
I grabbed for my discarded shorts.
“We need to talk,” Aster insisted. Bossy, just like I said.
But talking was the last thing on my mind. I couldn’t stop picturing Em when she’d stormed out of here.
She might’ve told us to fuck, or rather to fink off, but the look on her face—damn if she hadn’t been hurt. I’d never seen her like that. That wasn’t the Em I knew. My Em was feisty and fiery. Always quick to laugh, and even quicker to punch me in the shoulder if I said something stupid, which apparently I did on the regular.
That was half the attraction—that whole emotions on her sleeves thing.
I’d never been like that. I’d grown up in the shadow of a domineering mother who dictated exactly what I should feel and when I should feel it. Being with Em was refreshing. Being around someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought of her.
The other half of the attraction . . . well, you only had to have two eyes to figure that part out. Em was blonde and had legs for miles.
Plus, there was that Texas twang of hers. There was just something about a Southern girl that always did me in.
Sometimes I wondered what had ever drawn me to someone like Aster in the first place.
Of course, I knew what. But that was the old me. When would Aster get it through her head that I was no longer that same person?
Heading out the door, I headed straight up the walkway to Emerson’s place. Her lights were off, but she was in there. I banged on the door. “Em, open up! It’s me! I know you’re mad, but let me in. I can explain all this.”
Aster was right behind me and I wanted to tell her to just go away. Her presence wouldn’t help my case, but all I could think about was Emerson.
What must she be thinking?
I knocked again and again. “Em,” I called, louder this time. “Emerson, please!” The neighbor who lived on the other side of her came out and grumbled to keep it down. It was late, and I didn’t blame the guy, not really, but I still told him to mind his own fucking business. I was past social pleasantries.
I felt Aster’s hand on my shoulder from behind and I shrugged it off. “Christ, Aster. You can’t just bust in on me and expect me to fall back in line,” I hissed under my breath, never turning around to look at her. “I’m not one of your fucking minions.”
“Language,” she reprimanded in a terse voice. God, I hated that voice. And then she added, “I wouldn’t have come, but it’s the gala.” This time, I whipped around. Just in time to see her run a hand over her already perfect hair, a habit that verged on a tic, and one that had always irked the shit out of me. “I know I promised you more time,” she went on. “But you need to come back. Everything’s gone to Herbert Hoover in a handbasket.”
I clenched my teeth so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if my jaw busted.
The gala. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now, not while Em was in there wondering why my long-lost fiancée had landed on my doorstep. While all I wanted was to go in there and do some damage control, so we could get back to square one.
But this time when I knocked, my attempt was half-hearted. I still hoped Emerson would answer, but now there was something else I needed to deal with too.
The gala.
Shit. If Aster had slummed it all the way here—no one hated the beach more than Aster—it must be important.
I exhaled loudly, letting my fist fall from the door. “Jesus, what . . . what is it now?”
And just like that, the floodgates opened. “I think your mother is starting to suspect something. She hasn’t come right out and asked me directly, but she’s starting to meddle in the details of the gala. I think it’s her way of keeping me around more. Maybe she thinks I’ll slip and reveal some detail about what you’re doing out here.” She gave me a reproachful look and I could practically read her thoughts—it wasn’t just my mother who wanted answers. “The other day I caught her trying to overrule the catering menu. Fortunately, the manager called me to confirm.”
I glanced one more time at the still-closed door. Clearly, Emerson didn’t want to talk right now. “Fine. We can talk, but not here,” I told Aster as I led her back over to my place.
It was almost comical seeing Aster pace my cluttered living room, so out of her element surrounded by second-hand furniture, surf gear, empty beer bottles, and discarded pizza boxes. She looked like a nervous kitten surrounded by hungry coyotes. I might have laughed if she hadn’t just chased Emerson away. “It’s a cry for help, I tell you. You need to talk to her,” she said as her hand slid over her hair, checking it again and again. “She’ll listen to you.”
Now, though, I didn’t bother to suppress my laugh. “Since when has my mother ever listened to me?”
Aster stopped pacing and shot me a smug look. “Ever since you told her you were marrying me, silly. Since she found out her grandchildren would be Lancaster heirs.” Then her lip stuck out in a pout that rivaled a toddler’s. “Seriously, Lukey Dukey. The gala is just over a month away. I can’t do this without you.”
Lukey Dukey. I didn’t know which was worse, the nickname Aster had so charmingly thrust upon me, or the fact Aster’s parents had given their daughter a name that rhymed with Lancaster. I’d asked her about it once, about whether they’d done it on purpose, and I honestly thought it was the first time she’d ever even considered it. As if no one had ever bothered to point out the obvious to her.
I guess when you’re the heir to the Lancaster fortune the kids in school instinctively knew not to flip you shit.
“Fine. I’ll do what I can with my mother, but can’t make any promises. And none of this means I’m coming back. Not yet anyway.” This mess was bad enough. I couldn’t give Aster the impression that just because I was lending a hand with my mother, that she and I still had a chance.
But Aster hardly ever heard the word no, least of all when it came to us. “Is this about her? Because you’re way too good for her, Lukey Dukey. Come home and I’ll make you forget all about your little beach . . . ,” she tipped her head toward the door, where Em had just fled, and lowered her voice to a whisper, “ . . . floozy.”
My fists tightened at my sides.
She was crossing into dangerous territory. It was one thing to come here because she couldn’t risk letting the gala fall apart after all the hard work she’d put into it . . . or even to think she still had a shot with me. Insulting Emerson McLean was another thing altogether. I couldn’t imagine anything Aster Lancaster could do that would erase Emerson from my mind.
It was hard to imagine forgetting Emerson at all.
“This is about a lot of things, Aster. Now go home. I’ll talk to my mother tomorrow and let you know how it goes.”