Chapter 10

CHAPTER10

SCARLETT

It’s only been approximately seventy-two hours since my birthday party, and my life has been turned so completely upside down that I don’t know how to right it again. Tate dropping by didn’t help matters. Rachel lurked in my bedroom while I spoke to him, and I was so angry about everything. All of it. Especially at how nonchalant Tate acted about the entire situation. Everything that’s happened to him since Saturday night has been great. Wonderful. He’ll be able to reclaim his career and find new stardom, while I’ll be that one heiress nobody he made out with the night he got a second chance at fame.

It’s so unfair. But who said life was ever fair?

No one, that’s who.

I sent Rachel home after Tate left, not wanting to talk about any of it with her or anyone else. I tried texting Ian, but he mostly gave one-word responses, which told me he was super busy. Or mad. I don’t know which.

Fine. Whatever. I’m done waiting around for him. Oh, I’ve thought this before, and I’ll probably continue to wait around for him like the lovesick fool that I am, but God, I really didn’t need Tate to come along and screw everything up for me.

Like my entire life.

It’s Tuesday night, and I’d spent the majority of my day sulking in my room when my father announced at lunchtime that his friend and lawyer, Kincaid Baldwin, was coming over for dinner, accompanied by his wife, Miranda, and their son.

Ian.

I was a frantic mess trying to get ready for this dinner. I tried on what felt like fifty dresses, every one of them disappointing me in one way or another. I straightened my hair, then curled it. Applied too much eye shadow and out of pure frustration washed my entire face before I started all over again.

I basically drove myself so out of my mind with apprehension and worry that by the time the Baldwin family showed up, I was still in my room, half-dressed and with no makeup on my face.

The first course of dinner is being served when I finally glide into the dining room, a smile pasted on my face as I approach the table where everyone is seated. The chair directly across from Ian is empty, meaning it’s my seat, and for once in my life I wish my brothers were here.

And I never wish for my little brothers to be around. They make me crazy most of the time. They’re twins, they’re mean, and they like to play tricks on me. Dad always says they’re more Lancaster than he is, whatever that means.

Okay, I know what it means. The Lancasters are mostly a ruthless bunch. My father is a gentle soul compared to the rest of his family. Even compared to his sons.

“Scarlett, there you are! Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Miranda greets me, her lips curved into a polite smile.

Panic swarms like a cluster of angry bees in my stomach, and I plop into my chair heavily, offering her a smile in return. God, did she see the photos of me and Tate? Most likely. “Thank you, Mrs. Baldwin.”

My father starts talking, Kincaid interjecting here and there, which allows me to retreat for a moment and gather my bearings. I run a hand through my hair, keeping my head bent so I don’t blatantly stare at Ian, and I swear I feel his gaze on me.

Watching me.

Assessing.

“Still recovering from the party, Scarlett?” Miranda asks me out of the blue after the second-course plates have been taken away.

I jerk my gaze to hers, the knowing smile on her face filling me with dread. Maybe she never thought I was a good prospect for her son, and this is her chance to sink her claws into me. “There was nothing to recover from, Mrs. Baldwin.”

“Not from what I saw.”

“Miranda,” my mother chastises, but Ian’s mom completely ignores her.

“I saw the photos.” She tilts her head in my direction. “Who didn’t see those photos, hmm? They were everywhere. I had no idea you were seeing that Ramsey boy.”

“I’m not,” I start to protest, but my father talks right over me.

“I’m the one who put them together, Miranda. Thought they might make a fantastic couple,” he says, chuckling. Taking all the credit as usual. “I know ol’ Ian here has been dancing around my daughter for, what . . . the last couple years at least? But something needed to happen to force his hand. It was time for him to shit or get off the pot, don’t you think?”

The entire table goes quiet while I try to process what my father just said.

Am I the shit? Or am I the toilet?

“Fitzy,” Mom murmurs. “That probably wasn’t an . . . appropriate thing to say in regard to your daughter.”

“Oh, come on, we’re all thinking it. I’m just the only one who’s brave enough to say it.” Dad turns his attention to Ian, who suddenly appears a little pale. “What are your intentions for my daughter?”

“I . . . don’t have any intentions for her,” Ian admits, his gaze falling to his lap.

I stare at him wordlessly, shocked he would just give up so easily. My gaze flits to Kincaid, who appears confused, before shifting to Miranda, who’s smiling.

As if she’s enjoying this conversation.

“You’re a coward.” My voice is loud. Heated. I’m speaking right at Ian, and when he barely lifts his head to look my way, he immediately glances at his mother. As if he needs her approval to . . . what? Talk to me?

Without thought I jump to my feet and exit the dining room, practically running back to my bedroom. I slam the door behind me and lock it, just before I fling myself onto the bed, clutching one of my pillows so I can cry into it.

Ian’s mom is mean—and he does nothing to stop her.

My dad calls Ian out—and Ian makes it seem like he’s not interested in me.

At all.

Strangely enough, Dad also takes credit for supposedly putting me and Tate together—a bold-faced lie I don’t understand.

Men. That’s at the root of almost every problem I’m currently dealing with. They’re all ridiculous. It’s like they’re purposely trying to drive me crazy.

A sob escapes me, and I press the pillow harder against my face, letting the tears and frustration flow out of me. My entire body shaking with my sobs, my throat raw from the crying. When there’s a light knock on the door, I sit up straight, wiping at my face, staring at the closed door almost with longing.

Is it Ian standing behind that door? Did he come to check on me? Because if he did, that would make up for everything. Even that look he sent his mother. I can’t be mad at him for coming to check on me.

It’s a sign that he cares.

Slipping off the bed, I pad my way across the thick rug, stopping just in front of the door and leaning my head against it, wishing I had x-ray vision. There’s another knock, this one louder, and I startle, shifting away from the door.

“Scarlett, are you in there?”

I didn’t think I could be any more disappointed than I already was, but I am.

Sighing, I unlock and open the door to find my father standing on the other side, an irritated expression on his face.

“Please don’t tell me you’re mad at me,” I say as he enters my bedroom.

He shuts the door behind him and studies me, concern written all over his face. “Mad at you? Why the hell would I be mad at you? That damn kid is so freaking weak. Why can’t he stand up and say he actually likes you? Is it because of his dragon-lady mother?”

My mouth drops open at my father’s outburst. “I thought you liked the Baldwins?”

“I love Kincaid. He’s my lawyer and my friend, but his wife? She’s a bitch, and their son? He’s a complete pussy.” Dad rests his hands on his hips, scrutinizing me in a way I’ve never seen him do before. “What do you even see in that kid, huh? You’ve been mooning after him for years.”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t want to admit this sort of thing to my father. “He’s . . . cute.”

Dad snorts. “You could do better.”

I keep talking. “He’s smart. Polite. Steady. Ambitious. I can count on him. He’d take care of me in the future, you know?”

My father’s expression switches from interrogating to incredulous in a second. “He’ll take care of you? Honey, you can take care of yourself for the rest of your life, and all of your future generations as well. You don’t need a man to help you out in life, though it’s nice to find someone who can be your partner, I can’t deny it. Look at me and your mother.”

They are the epitome of a perfect love story, and while I admire their relationship, I don’t think it’s the kind I’m going to find for myself. I’m built different, and they know it.

“You’re too young to think like that, Scarlett. I don’t want you to settle for something safe.” He says safe like it’s a dirty word. “You just turned eighteen! Shouldn’t you be going out and living it up with your crazy friend Rachel?”

My father adores Rachel. I know he wishes I were more like her sometimes. “That’s not my style. It never has been. I want something . . . quieter.”

“What are you? A wannabe librarian? I’ll tell you what happened—you’ve settled for something quieter, that’s what you’ve done. You’re far more special than that, sweetheart. I wish you could see it.” He shakes his head. “You should’ve given that kid a chance, let him explain himself.”

“Who? Ian?”

My father grimaces. “Hell no, not that guy. Tate Ramsey. I know you kicked him out pretty fast. Wouldn’t even listen to what he was going to say to you. I think that was a mistake, Scarlett. That kid—he has promise.”

“Dad . . .”

“Fuck that Ian guy. He’s the worst. He will never stand up to his mother, so he sure as hell will never put you first. Mama will always know best. Can’t you see that?”

He’s wrong. People can change. Yes, Ian loves and respects his mother, but if he were to fall in love—maybe even with me—I know he would put his partner first. Look at my parents.

But you’re built different, remember?

I shove the nagging voice inside of my head to the darkest corner of my brain.

“I’m not interested in Tate.”

“Well, maybe you should show a little more interest in Tate so it would light a fire under Ian’s ass and make him do something for once in his goddamn life!” My dad is roaring, he’s so angry.

“Darling, please.”

We both glance over to find my mother entering my room, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Our guests can probably hear you.”

“I don’t give a damn! Their boy is a menace.” My father’s tone is fierce.

“A menace?” Mom appears ready to burst out laughing. “That is not the way I would describe Ian Baldwin. You wish he was a menace.”

“You know what I mean,” Dad says irritably.

“Fitz. Darling. Please return to the living room and attend to our guests.” Mom’s gaze lands on mine, her smile reassuring. “Let Scarlett and I discuss a few things, and then we’ll join you.”

Dad strides toward me and hauls me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “I just want what’s best for you, sweetie.”

“I know, Dad.” My voice is muffled against his chest.

He lets me go, reaching out to ruffle my hair, but I duck away from him at the last second, watching as he leaves my bedroom without another word.

“Your father means well,” Mom starts the moment he’s gone.

“I know.”

“He doesn’t like how Ian treats you.”

No one does.

“Neither do I,” she adds.

See?

“And that’s why I think it might be smart of you to spend a little more time with Tate Ramsey.”

My mouth pops open. “Are you serious? You really think so?”

She nods. “If you’re truly interested in Ian, then this might be the best move to get him to do something about it—about you—finally.”

Rachel basically said the same thing. So did my father.

Maybe they’re all right. Maybe I should forget about Ian and focus on . . . Tate.

Okay, that sounds crazy. But everyone else might be onto something.

That is, if Tate is still even interested in me. After the way I treated him earlier, I wouldn’t blame him at all if he rejected me as soundly as I just rejected him.

“But isn’t that . . . tricking him?” I finally ask. “Tricking Ian into thinking he has to work harder to get me?”

Mom shrugs, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Scarlett, you’re going to learn that sometimes relationships—and love—are a bit of a game. We have to manipulate the situation in order to get what we want.”

I’m frowning. This is the last thing I expected her to say. “Manipulate how?”

“Well, if, for instance, you’re constantly texting Ian, that makes him less inclined to text you. He knows that you’ll always reach out, so why should he bother?” The pointed look she sends my way hits home.

I do always text Ian, and very rarely does he text me first. I should wait for him for once, is what she’s telling me.

“Acting like you’re not interested in someone is also a good move,” she suggests. “Oh, and when a man asks you out and you’re dying to go out with him, reject him.”

“What? Why?” That just sounds counterproductive.

“You want to look like you’re living your very best life, right? That means you’re so busy you don’t have time to just pause your schedule for a man. If they think you’re busy, that makes you sound even more interesting.” Her laughter is nervous. “I know this sounds like a bunch of silly games, but trust me. It can work. Most of the time.”

I think about what she said when we eventually leave my bedroom. As we settle back into our seats at the dining table, I ignore Ian and his mother for the rest of the evening. Eating my food and looking through them as if they don’t even exist. The reassuring smiles both of my parents send in my direction throughout dinner make me feel stronger. As if I’m making them proud.

“Chin up,” my dad used to always say when I was young and on the verge of tears. “Keep your chin up, sweetheart. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

That is something he said to me time and again, and only now can I take it to heart.

I refuse to let the bastards get me down.

Even the sexy ones.