Stuck With The Four Hotties

Not … exactly the conversation I want to be having while Dad’s touching my hand. I almost grimace but manage to keep the expression off my face.

“Barbeque and fishing at the lake,” I say firmly, exhaling. “I know I’ve been kinda strict about the vegan and vegetarian thing, so we’ll grab some big, fat steaks, some ribs, some chicken-”

“I will grab some big, fat steaks, and whatever else you want,” Windsor says, setting his lemonade aside. “Just make me a list, and your wish is

granted.”

I give him a look.

“No more extravagant gifts this time. It’s not a competition.” But my mouth curves into a smile anyway because he knows how much I love my car.

“It’s a deal, Your Majesty,” he says, without a hint of irony. “Just the basics. Do you want a cake? Candles? A crown?”

I smile and Dad chuckles, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

“She’s been wearing a crown since she was born, my little princess …” His voice trails off, and the way he looks at me … I know he thinks he’s dying. Really and truly believes it. I squeeze Grandma June’s charm bracelet in my hand and keep eye contact with him.

“Any normal party stuff is fine …” I start, and then as if Windsor can sense we need it, he stands up and leaves me and dad alone in the sunshine.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

My eighteenth birthday rolls up just days before school starts. The weather is perfect, a balmy seventy degrees with just enough shade to keep us cool, but plenty of sunshine gleaming on the surface of the lake. Using some of my gambling money, I bought Dad and me new fishing rods, seriously freaking fancy ones. That, and a new bait box and plenty of supplies to go in it. I even bought him a new hat, and a small metal boat that cuts across the water like a dream.

“This is not my birthday,” he insists, but he accepts the items anyway, and we spend a good portion of the morning in silence on the water, bringing in several fish but keeping only a couple to cook for lunch. By the time the boys arrive, rolling up in Zayd’s Jaguar, Zack’s McLaren, and a Mercedes sedan that Miranda got for her eighteenth birthday, we’re bringing the boat in and getting coals prepped on the small barbeque.

Windsor sets up streamers and ties a ridiculously huge cluster of balloons to a tree while Zack takes over the grill. Andrew is with his family in Hawaii

until tomorrow, so he won’t be here, and Lizzie isn’t sure she’s going to be able to make it. Is it wrong for me to hope it’s just going to be me, the boys, and Miranda?

“A crown, as promised,” Windsor says, putting a tiara on my head that has my eyes bulging out of my skull.

“How much did you spend on this?” I whisper, but he ignores me, sweeping away to help unload gifts, snacks, and a giant three-tiered cake that looks a little like the Burberry Prep campus. “Talk about gauche. Whose idea was this?”

“We all pooled money and got you the crown and the cake,” Miranda says, putting a plastic wand with a light-up star on the end in my hand. I raise my eyebrows and she grins. “We figured we were all saying goodbye to Burberry this year, so why not eat it in cake form?”

“Uh-huh.” She saunters by and starts opening bags to dump chips in the metal serving bowls. A few minutes later, Lizzie pulls up and my heart drops. She gives me a brief birthday hug before helping Miranda with the snacks.

Zayd starts up some music while Creed and Tristan drape themselves on

the picnic table like kings.

“Fair warning,” Tristan says, glancing in the direction of the road. “We saw a champagne colored Cadillac on its way up here.” I nod, but it’s okay. Actually, this time, it was me that invited Jennifer … and Isabella, and the baby Jennifer gave birth to last month.

I have a gut feeling that won’t go away.

The car pulls up and Jennifer climbs out, looking far too pretty for someone that just went through labor. I hate myself for thinking it, but if I could, I’d transfer her health and vitality into Charlie. I really would. He’s the parent who stuck around, who took care of me, who raised me all by himself. Jennifer is just a selfish wannabe socialite.

“Happy birthday, honey,” she says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. Isabella stays far behind her, nostrils flared as she looks at the party in disgust, like it’s far below her usual standards. Jennifer hands me the package in her hand before heading back to the car to grab the baby.

It could be Dad’s baby, I think as I watch her and then glance down at the gift in my hand. It’s a small box with a bow on it. I look up again, my mind spinning a million miles a minute. No, the baby can’t be Dad’s, right? I

mean, when did he start the chemo? It definitely messes with a man’s fertility …

I look at Isabella next, and then go sit beside Creed, struggling to keep my breathing in check. He notices me having a mini freak-out and pulls me into his lap, putting his mouth near my ear.

“What’s the matter, birthday girl?” he asks, and I realize I only know his birthday because of Miranda. August 26th. I don’t know any of the guys’ birthdays. They’re all older than me by at least a few weeks, I do know that. None of them had any extravagant parties or anything that I’m aware of.

“Do you think Isabella looks like my dad?” I ask, and Creed turns to glance at her. The brown-haired, brown-eyed girl is looking between the five boys at the party with renewed interest, but she doesn’t make any effort to join us at the table.

“You think she’s your father’s daughter?” Tristan asks, turning to look at me. I nod, but then grimace.

“How soap opera is that? That shit just doesn’t happen in real life.” “Doesn’t it, though?” he asks, sighing and reaching up to push back some

locks of raven-dark hair. “Your mother wants a comfortable life, and money,

and a healthy husband. But she loves your dad.” Tristan stands up suddenly and stalks off toward the lake. I watch him as he heads to the end of the dock, removes his shoes, and rolls up his pants, putting his feet in the water.

It’s such an … well, an un-Tristan-like thing to do that I end up enraptured by the sight.

Lizzie follows right behind him, sitting down at his side, the whisper of their shared conversation wafting back to me. My mouth tightens into a thin line, but I have other things to worry about right now.

Jennifer is presenting the baby to Charlie, and I swear, his entire face lights up.

Isabella finally relents and takes a seat at the table, but other than making eyes at the boys, she says and does nothing. She doesn’t even bother to wish me a happy birthday.

When it comes time to open gifts, I start with Jennifer’s, just for curiosity’s sake, and find a key on the end of a chain.

“My home is your home,” she tells me with a huge, shiny smile. “This is the key to the house. The address is tucked in the box, and I’ve got a room all set up for you.”

That, apparently, is just too much for Isabella Carmichael. She takes off, locks herself in the car, and doesn’t come out for the rest of the party.

“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t plan on taking her up on that. Forgiveness is one thing, but … Jen

nifer’s offer is just too little, too late.