She's Too Pretty to Burn by Wendy Heard

Author:Wendy Heard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VERONICA

The gala was being held at Humphrey’s Half Moon Inn on Shelter Island, a man-made peninsula with a marina and a beautiful view of the San Diego coastline on one side, the endless Pacific on the other. The hotel itself was a collection of buildings, all covered in dark wood and faux Hawaiian decor, a total tourist trap.

Our Uber was stuck in a long line of arriving cars, most of them limousines and town cars. It gave me a minute to peer out the windows at the fancy people going in through the huge, open front entrance. The sun was setting, reflecting orange and pink off the glass that fronted the hotel’s main lobby.

I looked aside at Mick. Her eyes were glued to her hands in her lap, which were clenched together so tight the knuckles were white. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Upset about something?”

She shook her head, but she looked like she was about to cry.

“Your mom?” I guessed. “Is she being weird or mean now that you’re back?” She’d gone home yesterday, but she’d been at swim practice all day today, so I hadn’t had a chance to ask how it was going.

She shrugged, brushed at her cheeks with the heels of her hands, and turned her face away from me. I put my hand on her tanned knee. She put a hand on top of mine and squeezed.

“Here you go,” the driver said.

Mick climbed out first and trotted around to open my door and help me get out. My dress was vintage and much more complicated than her simple black tank sheath. She helped me up, shut the door behind me, and brushed my skirt off.

“Thank you, darling,” I said.

“Just trying to be a gentleman.”

“You’re doing a great job.” Her legs and shoulders in that dress were actually slaying me. I ran a hand through her hair, which was glowing pink in the sunset light.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“You’re just so pretty. I wish you could see yourself right now.” I played with a strand of her neon-pink hair, turning the strands this way and that. I wished I could photograph it, but I knew it wouldn’t come out. I realized her expression was dark, her eyes glinting with shards of pink and orange. I released her hair. “Are you okay? Seriously, tell me. How is it with your mom? I feel like we’ve barely talked the last few days.”

“I’m fine. My mom is fine. Everything’s fine.” A man in a tuxedo and a woman in a long black dress brushed by us haughtily. We were in the way.

I pulled her off to the side. “Mick, what’s going on?”

She sighed and looked down at her toenails; she’d painted them red. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to ruin it for you, but I hate it.”

I studied her averted face. “I’m sorry.”

“I know it’s not like you asked for this either. It’s just working out really well for you.”

I frowned, ruffled by the bitterness in those last words.

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