Page 120 of Wicked Promises

I mirror her earlier movements, putting little dabs of paint on my palette. It’s rough wood on the underside, old dried paintsmoothing the top. A lot of other students took the plastic ones, but I prefer this. It doesn’t let me forget I’m holding it as it scrapes against my hand.

“I’d give it to you, too,” I add.

“You would not.”

I watch her until she spins her entire body toward me. She’s rigid, and her eyes are wide.

She’s cute when she’s alarmed.

“Caleb. You can’t waste money like that.”

“Do you know how much I’m inheriting?”

She pauses. “Why would I know that?”

“I’ll be a multimillionaire at eighteen, and I didn’t earn a penny of it. So if I want to pay for your education so you don’t have to graduate with debt, I’m going to.” I set my jaw.

She stares at me, and I realize… maybe shedidn’thave any idea what I’m going to be receiving on my eighteenth birthday.

Four months to go, a voice in the back of my head whispers.

“Did I just scare you?” I ask.

She forces a laugh. “Me? No. No, I totally… expected it. You know, with the crazy uncle controlling your money and the house left empty and your mom not getting a penny. That makes perfect sense.”

“Mom did something,” I say. “Something that made Dad hold a grudge.”

“And I doubt she’d actually tell you, right?”

“Right.”

She shakes her head and turns back to the canvas. “If we both don’t even get our brushes dirty, Robert will ground me and send you…”

“To detention?” I smirk.

She grins. “Maybe.”

We lapse into silence, and I put my best effort into the bowl of apples and oranges. It passes the time quickly, and it feelslike minutes later Robert is clapping, giving us the five-minute warning.

We pack away our things.

“Are you bringing me home?” she asks.

“We’re back to conditioning for hockey,” I say. “A five-mile run is in my future.”

She nods.

I snag her hand. “Maybe today would be a good day to go over my uncle’s house?”

Her eyes widen. “Really.”

“They’re out of town.” I grab my phone and pull up a photo my aunt posted on Facebook. The picture is of her and Uncle David on a beach somewhere. He’s moody—a remnant of his drowning modeling career—and she’s beaming.

“How can she look so… happy with him?”

I shrug. “I’m pretty sure she’s acting.”

She frowns.