Sitting in the truck, watching Eric and Trace in their little stand-off, I look at Jordan. “Okay, explain.”

“I lived in Tennessee last year when Eric came to live with me. He would ramble on and on about his ex-girlfriend and how he had to get her back.”

I shake my head. He continues after taking a deep breath.

“So we moved here because she—well, you—were going to school here.”

“How did he know I was here?” I interject.

“He’d heard it from one of your sister’s friends. Anyways, we moved here together, and he had me enroll in one of your classes and befriend you.”

He shakes his head as he remembers.

I glance again at Trace and Eric, wondering if anything is going to happen. “Continue,” I say, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

“So, I met you and, well…” He looks at me with a slight grin. “Well, I liked you. You are amazing. Then, as Eric told me more and more about you, the more and more I wanted you to get away from him. He isn’t the nicest guy, and he even threatened me. He said, if I didn’t help him, he’d kick my ass.”

I let out an audible breath as he continues speaking.

“So then, the night of the party, I begged you to leave. If you moved back with your parents, I figured they could protect you.”

“Oh Jordan, I’m sorry I didn’t see what you were trying to do. You should have told me,” I say.

“No way. Had I told you, he’d have killed me.”

“He wouldn’t really kill you.”

“I don’t know—he gets so angry. Anyway, after the party when you started spending time with Trace, Eric became enraged. He wanted you back and became so angry, he had me leave notes and flowers for you.”

“I see. Did you tell him that maybe I didn’t want him?”

“Tried, but he wouldn’t hear it. I followed you to make sure you were okay. He was obsessed.”

“I just don’t understand. Why did he attack me?”

“What? I don’t know. When I asked him about it, he was cold and distant.”

“Oh,” I say.

“I’m so sorry, Vanessa. I didn’t know he would hurt you. I was too afraid to do anything about it. I tried to monitor you, to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. But I guess I wasn’t very good at that, either.”

“Thanks, but you should have at least told me,” I say, shaking my head. I glance back toward the doorway, where Trace is poking a finger into Eric’s chest. I wonder how the conversation is going.

Jordan watches the exchange between the boys, too, as I cross my arms.

“Do you think one of them is gonna hit the other?” he asks, nodding his head towards the apartment.

“Probably.”

“I can’t believe everything has gotten so far out of control,” he says, returning his attention my way.

“Me, either.”

“You have to believe me, Vanessa. I never wanted you to get hurt.” He hangs his head low and looks out at the gravel on the road.

“I believe you, Jordan.”

“For the record, if either of those guys hurt you, I’ll hurt them.”

“Okay, deal.” I laugh.

Suddenly, people pour out of their apartments to watch the show. I hear Jordan let out a huge breath beside me as Eric punches Trace.

“Oh, shit,” he says, watching Trace and Eric. I can tell by his stance that he is debating his next action but looks ready to sprint over there and help. Who would he help?

I see Trace smile and then his right fist connects with Eric’s jaw. Leaping out of the car, Jordan and I race over.

Trace yells profanities at Eric as we get closer. Eric is lying on the ground, squealing like a baby. Trace stands over him and continues to curse and yell. Jordan reaches them first and kneels to check out Eric’s condition. I reach the scene and look at Trace.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, placing a hand on his arm.

He turns to me, then looks one last time at Eric and spits on him.

“Really? Come on,” I say, turning back toward the Cobra.

Trace rushes us into his vehicle, then speeds out of the apartment complex, rubbing his fist as he steers.

“He won’t mess with you again,” he says, racing through the streets.

“Slow down. How can you be so sure?”

“We kind of came to an agreement.” He pops his knuckles.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you when he hit you?” His eye looks bruised from Eric’s attack.

“I’m fine.”

I tug on my seatbelt and Trace slows down as his adrenaline lowers.

“You have to work tonight, right?” he asks as he pulls onto the highway.

“Yeah. Are you going to be okay? What if Eric comes back to finish the fight?”

“That piece of shit won’t step anywhere near me.”

He pulls into my neighborhood and slows as he nears my house. Maxine’s car is in the driveway as Trace pulls up. We head into the house where Maxine is lounging on the couch.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks.

We tell her the story of what happened, and she listens attentively.

“Wow, I can’t believe it,” she says when we finish.

“I know.” I sit on the couch beside her.

Trace lingers in the hallway, watching us. “I should get going so you can get ready for work.”

I go wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” I ask, brushing my lips on his.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I still want you to call me when you get home, though.”

“Okay,” I say, walking him to the door and waving as he drives away.

When I turn back to Maxine, she gets up from the couch and says, “Wow, you have it bad for him, huh?”

I laugh to myself. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

We arrive at work later in the evening. I watch the front door all night, afraid Eric may walk in at any moment.

When I can finally check my phone, I see two missed texts. The first one is from Trace and makes me smile:

Just thinking about you, I miss you.

I type out a quick response to let him know I miss him, too. The second text is from Jordan:

Good news, I called Eric’s dad, and he’s furious. Eric is on the next flight home to Ohio. Hope you are okay.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I read Jordan’s words and write him back, thanking him for the news. I relay the information to Trace, who answers me within seconds:

That’s great news. Can’t wait to see you.

I return my phone to my purse and place it back in the cabinet where it sits all night. Work consumes me as I serve guests and tell Kristine, Meghan, and Maxine all the news. They each hug me with relief. It seems like everything is fine and dandy now.

After a full, busy shift, we all leave the restaurant late. My bed calls to me so, after a quick call to Trace, I fall asleep quickly.

On Sunday morning, I awake early and get dressed in my new pink maxi dress. I blow dry my hair and straighten it, so the waves of my tresses are tame.

Then I sit patiently, waiting for Trace to pick me up. When he arrives, I smile and open the door to find him in his khaki pants and a nice black polo that accentuates his eyes.

“Love the dress, gorgeous,” he says, pecking my cheek with his lips.

“You ready?” I grab my purse and shut the door behind us.

On the drive to the club, I ask about his family.

“So, how many sisters again?”

“Three. All older. There is Ellen. She is the oldest and married with two kids. She’ll have her kids with her today, too. Then there is Aspen, the next one. She isn’t married, and I don’t think she ever will be. Then there’s Joy, and she isn’t married either.”

“Wow, hope I can keep it all straight,” I say, fearing this could turn into a disaster if they don’t approve of me.

“Also, I may want to mention that Tony will be there. He told me this morning that he is joining his parents. To be honest, I think he is only going because he knows what a big deal this is for me.”

“Oh really? You’ve never brought girls to brunch?” I smile.

“No, never.”

“So, tell me about your parents.”

“My father runs a successful company and is eager to meet you. My mother, umm, typical Palm Beach housewife.”

“And what exactly is a typical Palm Beach housewife?” I ask.

“Let’s put it this way, she will love you to your face and won’t cause a scene in front of the other women at the club.”

“And outside of the club? Is she gonna love me?”

“She’d be crazy not to,” he says, beaming. He pulls into the parking lot of a huge clubhouse. The grounds are beautiful, and a golf course is off in the distance. The lawn is freshly manicured. We pull into a parking space as women exit their cars in beautiful sundresses and men in summer-y suits. It looks like something out of a catalog of the rich and famous.

We walk up the pathway to the club entrance, side by side.

Trace grabs my hand as we enter the glass doors. As we walk into the ballroom, I grab his hand harder. A majestic glass chandelier hangs from the center of the room. The carpet is beige, and the far wall is all glass overlooking the golf course. Tables line the floor with freshly-pressed white linens and fine china atop each, plus sparkling water glasses at each seat.

Off in the back of the room is the huge buffet table lined with silver chafing dishes where many elegant people are getting their food. There is an omelet station with its own chef who flips eggs at each patron’s request, making omelet after omelet. Waiters shuffle through the tables, filling water glasses and bringing fresh-squeezed orange juice to guests. Trace smiles as he spots his family sitting at a large oval table.

There is a man in a suit who I assume is his father. To the right of him sits a woman with short blonde hair wearing a brightly colored sundress patterned with flowers; she is older, so I can only guess she’s his mother. Sitting next to her is a child of about six or seven who wears a suit made just for him; his short black hair falls low over his eyes. He sits next to another child, a little girl of about four or five who is having a hard time staying still. She wears a beautiful white and purple dress, and her long, black hair is tied in pigtails with big purple bows. She whines to a woman whom I assume is her mother sitting beside her. This woman is tall and slender with locks of black that fall past her shoulder. She is trying to handle the little girl as she talks to her husband. Her husband (of course, I’m assuming again) sits straight as he taps away on his phone, paying no attention to her. Next to him is a lady who looks very similar to Trace; she has black hair and blacker eyes and when she sees us, she smiles and waves her hand to call us over.

As we approach the table, everyone turns. I plaster a smile on my face, but the butterflies are rapidly trying to fly into my throat.

Trace holds out one of two empty chairs for me to sit, then pushes it in after I sit.

“Hey, everyone. This is Vanessa.”

He goes around introducing everyone to me, starting with his father and then mother, who says I should call her Delores.

I smile at her as her brown eyes light up. “Hello, darling. So glad you could join us today,” she says from across the table, then smiles at her husband. A look of happiness crosses their faces.

“Next is my sister Ellen and her husband, William,” says Trace. They both say their hellos, and I return mine. “Their kids are Bryan—he is the oldest—and Madeline.” He waves to the little girl as she bounces in her seat at seeing her uncle. “This one here is Aspen.” He looks at Aspen as he takes his seat beside me.

She is a beauty to behold: she looks like a supermodel.

I smile and say, “Hi, everyone. It’s so nice to meet you.” Then I grab my napkin and place it in my lap.

“Where’s Joy?” Trace asks his family.

“Oh, you know her. She loves to be late,” his mother says with a wave of her hand.

Just then, a woman with long black hair comes strolling up behind her mother and places a kiss on her cheek.

“Hi, Mom,” Joy says. “Hi, Trace. Who’s the hottie?” She glances at me.

“This is Vanessa, my girlfriend.” He shifts in his seat as the table gasps in response.

“Wow, a girlfriend? This is the first I’m hearing about it?” His mother looks offended as Joy takes her seat next to me.

“Sorry, Mom, I would have called, but with finals and everything…. Plus, it’s still new. But I’m telling everyone now.”

Joy leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t mind her. She probably hasn’t taken her medication this morning.”

I grin to myself as Trace gets up from the table, then reaches his hand down to mine.

“Want to get some food?” he asks and leads me to the buffet.

When we return with our plates, we all begin to eat. The conversation is stifled and consists mainly of Trace and his father speaking about his summer internship. He tells Trace that Mr. Roberts should be joining us for brunch soon. As if on cue, Mr. Roberts arrives at the table and shakes Mr. Weston’s hand. He reaches his hand to Trace’s next, and they engage in a handshake. Then he takes a seat between Joy and her father before saying hello to everyone else at the table. His demeanor is creepy; Joy glances over to me and rolls her eyes.

“He’s a real piece of work,” she whispers to me.

“Oh really? Why?”

We keep our voices low so no one at the table can hear.

“He just always comes around, and I swear he is just using my father.”

“How can you be certain?” I ask.

“Just a feeling I get. But I think you’re great and am really happy my brother has finally found someone.”

Her words make me happy. “Thanks.” I blush.

We continue eating. The conversation is dominated by Trace, Mr. Weston, and Mr. Roberts.

Mr. Roberts occasionally glances my way, trying to include me in the conversation, but I just sit and nibble on my food.

I excuse myself from the table and head over to the hallway leading to the restrooms. As I’m adjusting my dress in the mirror, the door opens and in walks Hailey. She smiles at me, but not in a friendly way, like you smile to a friend; more like a smirk you’d give a natural enemy right before landing a final blow.

“Hi there,” she says.

“What do you want?”

“Just wondering how the little princess here is enjoying her time with Trace. What, about two weeks left now?” Hailey looks into the mirror as she runs her fingers over her lips, then takes out a tube of lipstick from her purse and paints them in bright pink.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Trace was dared to date you, Vanilla Vanessa, by losing a bet,” she snarls.

“What?” She can’t be serious. A bet? My heart stops as the words ring in my head like cymbals smashing together.

“Oops, I guess you didn’t know. You poor girl. Did you really think Trace actually liked you? Sorry, he doesn’t like Vanilla.”

Her laughter picks up as I stutter, “Wha…? What does that even mean?” I fist my hands by my sides.

“Vanilla. You know—pure, sweet, and innocent. Come on, you had to know.” She laughs harder.

My palms sweat, and I rush out the bathroom doors.

All I see is red. A red so deep, it’s eternally hot. How could he do this to me?