Prologue

"If it ends with sushi, it starts with sushi."—August Wellington

Hazel

Summer 2016

I peered around my favorite tree, smack-dab in the middle of our front yard. We'd inherited the house from my great-grandma Nadine. She had been a force to be reckoned with when she was alive and told my dad—her eldest grandson—that she'd had a premonition I would need my own place of solace. Somewhere to read and hide. She then told him she'd disown him if he didn't build a little rope ladder leading to the top.

He tried to call her bluff.

It didn't work.

She stood her ground, which was almost always followed by her tapping a red or leopard-print heel until he gave in—which he always did.

Now that I was seventeen, he wanted me to help out with the family businesses during the summer, but how many chores could a person do?

Each of our vineyards, the farm, and even corporate, had an insane number of staff members, and I still had to wake up at seven to help my mom with the garden. It was midsummer. I was supposed to have some semblance of freedom before my senior year.

The midafternoon was hot, and I just wanted a break. Dad always said my life wasn't stressful, but he knew nothing about the drama in high school, especially living with the awkward, gangly body I still hadn't grown into: weird, stringy blond hair that refused to grow past my boobs; and oh, boobs that also refused to grow.

If I weren't so tall, I'd get shoved into lockers. Apparently, my mom had been popular. So had my dad and even my uncle. But the universe failed to send those genes down. It was like everything stopped with them.

Ugh. Even my great-grandma had been cool.

Before she started deteriorating, we'd all assumed she would just move back into the house and allow us to take care of her. Instead, we found her missing daily, heels gone, lipstick snatched, and designer purse off the hook.

My dad said she'd moved back in to haunt him, even while she was still alive. Then again, she was the matriarch of the family and had set up the great Pacific Northwest Titus empire in a way that was unmatched—unless you brought up the name Wellington. One of Great-Grandma Nadine's past lovers. I swore she both blushed and stomped out of the room every time you did.

It was a story we all assumed she'd never tell. We were right. But oddly, she went to Arizona a lot for business, even when she was supposed to be retired.

Weird.

I shook the errant thought from my head; she wouldn't mind if I took a short break. I grabbed my copy of Pride and Prejudice—cliche, I know—scurried up the rope ladder into the giant oak and lay down in my favorite spot right where the large leaves blocked the sun. My legs dangled on either side of the branch. The trunk was itchy, even against my white tank, and my jean shorts would probably be indecent if I wore them at school. Oh, good, I was getting even taller.

I groaned, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and got back to my book, only to hear a throat clearing at the base of the tree.

I knew that sound.

It was a trigger.

One I had nightmares about. "No."

"Hazel." His voice was deep and raspy. "You know your dad's going to be pissed if he finds you shirking your responsibilities up there. We all have crosses to bear."

I slammed my book shut and looked down.

The person with the inability to not clear his throat in my presence, also known as August Wellington III, stood grinning up at me. He was one of our rich neighbors—a class above me, just graduated, and a total waste of space.

He'd rather fix motorcycles than join the family business, which was some weird art empire that stretched from the East Coast to the West, with around seven locations.

Then again, I couldn't imagine him being an art dealer when he couldn't even shower.

"Shirking. Is it a big-word day?"

He leaned his muscular body against the tree. I hated that we almost matched with his ripped jeans and tight, dirty white tank top. He was so annoying.

"Just because I don't want to go to college doesn't mean I'm stupid," he argued, running a hand through his sandy-brown hair.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my book. "Your hand's greasy, and now your hair looks even worse than it did before. Actually, maybe it's an improvement since it takes the attention away from your nose. Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself? You're a hot mess and probably couldn't get into college unless your dad bribed the board."

He laughed. I hated his laugh. It was always mocking as if what I said was funny—but only to him. It was so stupid. "You mean how your dad bribed me so I'd be your friend?"

I lifted the book into the air, ready to chuck it at him. "Take it back."

"It's true, though." He smiled. I hated how good-looking he was, even with grease all over his face. His high cheekbones and green eyes should be a crime against humanity. "Remember? When you were fourteen and getting bullied, and he gave me money to protect you? Damn, I was like the mafia. Getting paid for protection and to make sure you were safe."

Tears welled in my eyes. "It's just a rumor."

"Rumor?" He leaned against the tree until he was close enough to my leg to tug it. "I'm shocked you don't still wear Keds. Then again, you are still growing. Maybe future you has a serious responsibility. Not all heroes wear capes. Maybe instead of college, your thing is to find the magic bean to make people tall."

"Hilarious. And we all know your girlfriend started that rumor."

"Not a rumor. Truth." He leaned in. "Which means it's my responsibility to tell your dad right now that you've taken a time out because the heat is just so intense. Poor spoiled little princess."

"Poor spoiled prince!" I yelled back at him, flailing my arms, only to slip and fall.

He broke my fall with his head, but my arm hit the ground at a weird angle. The crack was so loud that I shook with it.

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. "Leave me alone, August."

"But your arm…" He reached for me, but I jerked away in pain. "I think it's broken. I heard a crack."

"Oh. Well, maybe my dad will give you more money to make it feel better," I yelled as tears started to truly fall down my cheeks.

I hated him.

I hated him so much. He always made everything worse. Made me feel worse. He teased and teased and teased.

Just like everyone else.

What if my dad really did pay him to be my friend?

My stomach sank. Knowing that I had to go into senior year while facing the rumors that he and his girlfriend spread—that I was so pathetic and friendless that my rich dad had to pay the boy next door—was worse than the physical throbbing in my left arm.

"Is it?" I asked in a choked whisper. "Is it actually true? Did he pay you?"

August's eyes locked on mine, and he slowly nodded. "But not in the way you think—"

"I never want to see you again." I sounded calm, but I was shaking from both emotional and physical pain. "Go away."

"Hazel, I was just teasing earlier. I would—"

"Leave me alone," I spat. "Now."

The loudness brought both my mom and dad out.

"Hazel…" August leaned down to touch me, but I kicked at him, jarring my arm more as I rolled over in pain. "Stay still."

"Stay gone," I whispered. "You're a hazard to my health."

"But—"

"GO AWAY!" I screamed.

So, he did.

And I wouldn't see him again for six years.