“Cool. And what are you thinking for a major?”

“Nursing. What about you? Didn’t you just graduate?”

“Yeah. Pre-law,” he said.

“You’re going to law school in the fall, then?”

He nodded. “Yale.”

I coughed, trying to seem nonchalant. “Not a bad choice.”

“Didn’t get into Harvard, so it will have to do.” He rolled his eyes—not in a cocky way, more self-deprecating.

“Right. Yale, a real concession. Your parents must be very disappointed.”

He chuckled, and his eyes lingered on mine. He was merely looking at me, but somehow I felt it.

Our attention turned to Weldon, who got up and walked toward us. He left his dirty, chili-encrusted bowl at the edge of the sink on the way.

As Weldon started to leave the room, Gavin called him out. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he answered.

Apparently, he can hear.

“Rinse out your fucking dish and put it in the dishwasher.”

Well, if I didn’t like Gavin already…

Weldon looked over at me for the first time. “Isn’t that what she’s here for?”

Forcing my mouth shut, I looked between them. Gavin didn’t have to say anything. The icy look on his face said it all.

Remarkably, Weldon followed Gavin’s instructions without further argument. It was clear who the big brother was.

After Weldon left in a huff, Gavin turned to me. “He thinks he’s fucking Prince Harry.”

I cackled. “Pretty sure Harry would have put his dirty dish away without having to be asked.”

“You got a point. Harry seems cool as shit. Will, too.”

“Speaking of the royals, I would imagine it’s pretty cool living in London.”

“Yeah. If your parents are gonna ship you off to boarding school, I suppose they could’ve picked a worse place. After going to high school there, I didn’t want to leave, which was why I chose Oxford for university. It was my excuse to stay in England. I’d love to live there again someday. I’ll miss it. It’s the total opposite of Palm Beach, and I mean that in the best possible way. It’s cloudy there most days, but people aren’t carbon copies of each other.”

“I might have to bite my lip on that one.”

“Oh, but it’s so much fun when you don’t,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes. “I prefer honesty. I can only imagine what you must go home thinking sometimes.”

“Maybe occasionally. It can be a bit militant. But I feel fortunate to work here. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever set foot in. Definitely beats bagging groceries.” I looked around. “Speaking of groceries…I’d better finish putting everything away.”

As I returned to stocking the cabinets and fridge, Gavin hung around. He attempted to help me. He lifted a package of whole-wheat flour and opened various cabinets, searching for its spot.

I chuckled. “You don’t know where anything goes, do you?”

“Not a freaking clue.”

“A for effort.”

We were both laughing when Ruth Masterson came into the kitchen. I always played evil music in my head when she entered a room, like when the Wicked Witch of the West appears in The Wizard of Oz. Simply put, she wasn’t very nice.

“Gavin, there you are.” She glanced down at his chest. “Put a shirt on, please. And why are you holding the flour?”

“I was trying to help.” Gavin grabbed his T-shirt from the counter and pulled it over his head. “What’s up, Mother?”

Her eyes darted over to me before she said, “I need you upstairs. I ordered you a tux to wear to the gala tonight. You have to try it on in case we have to make emergency alterations. We don’t have much time.” Her gaze moved over me again.

If looks could kill…

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

She didn’t budge. “I meant now.”

“Uh…alright, then.” Looking annoyed, Gavin turned to me. “Catch you later, Raven.”

I nodded, too nervous to utter a sound, given the look his mother had for me.

After Gavin exited the kitchen, Ruth lingered. Her stare was penetrating, her eyes filled with something that resembled disgust as she stared daggers at me. She didn’t speak, but I got the message.

Stay the hell away from my son.***That night, after the Mastersons left for their charity gala, it was about eight in the evening when my mother and I drove over the bridge to head home. The sun was setting, and the palm trees in the distance looked like they were slow dancing in the evening breeze.

With the exception of a few neighborhoods bordering the foot of the bridge near the water, West Palm Beach, where I lived, was working class and residential—the opposite of opulent and ostentatious Palm Beach. The giant mansions were soon replaced by modest, one-level, stucco homes.

As I gazed out the window at a woman rollerblading on Flagler Drive, my mother snapped me out of my thoughts.

“I was so busy getting everyone ready for the gala, I didn’t see whether or not you got to meet the boys.”