Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
My lip tries to twitch into a smile.
She takes up double the space in that royal-blue dress. Mounds and mounds of tulle. It practically swallows her lower half, and I suspect Claudia chose it for her.
“Oh, I just love how cute this is. Look, Jake,” Phoebe says and tugs Jake over to their seats, pointing out the monogrammed napkins.
Trent tilts his head. “Phoebe, you look like a princess. I didn’t think I’d see the day.”
I stop grinding my teeth, but before I say something, Jake snaps, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Trent mocks.
“Boys,” Claudia chastises in a flat tone that I’ve heard a hundred times before. Unfortunately, it’s not my first Koning dinner.
Oliver grins into his wine, which pleases Trent. Phoebe’s brother is on his side in this brother rivalry.
Jake pulls out Phoebe’s chair for her. “I just need him to not be an asshole for five seconds.”
“Jacob.” Claudia is horrified.
I nearly smile.
Trent looks bored. “It’s fine, Mom. Jake has no sense of humor. He doesn’t know what a joke is.”
“Were you joking?” Jake flings back.
As they bicker, Phoebe takes her seat between me and her fake boyfriend, and I check on her with a short glance.
She catches my gaze, her tenacity focusing her eyes, determined to see this through. Her lips lift into a satisfied smile. She got it. She has the blackmail.
It eases me in one breath and concerns me in another. Because what exactly did Claudia do?
“Thank you for inviting me, Claudia. It’s been so wonderful so far.” Phoebe rises to her feet like she means to give a toast, but instead she lifts her flute to her lips. “You’ve truly outdone yourself this Easter weekend. I cannot wait to spend every holiday here.”
Claudia’s eyes narrow into pinpoints. “Settle, dear.” She holds out a hand and lowers it as if Phoebe is a toddler that needs physical cues.
Phoebe’s smile glints in and out. “Yes, of course.” She dutifully plops back down in her seat. Claudia seems pleased with the change of pace.
Servers, including my sister, silently place a pickled baby-beet amuse-bouche in front of us. Nobody acknowledges Hailey. We keep the attention off her.
Next two courses, Jordan hasn’t stopped talking about a red carpet he walked in December for some action movie. “The publicists were barely doing their jobs. And the security was complete shit. They just let this fourteen-year-old girl stroll through like she was part of the cast. She barely spoke four words in the film.”
“Definitely less than that,” his wife, Nadia, chimes in.
“Exactly.” Jordan sips his wine so quickly. Zero pause. “It was an absolute mess. It’s my last premiere in L.A.—once you go to Cannes, there is no comparison. Leagues above the rest. And Tom, well you know, Tom is Tom.”
“You know Tom Hanks?” Collin says, impressed.
“No,” Jordan says. “Tom Cruise.” He looks to Trent like why is your idiot friend here?
Trent rolls his eyes. “There are a million boring Toms in the world, Jordan.” It’s refreshing seeing him stick up for Collin, but I also know he’s only doing it to punch his brother down. Oliver leans in, whispering something to Collin.
Jordan scowls, then continues talking about award shows. At one point, I spot him slyly pop something in his mouth. From what Jake has told me, I’m guessing it’s an upper.
Three minutes later, Claudia puts a hand on top of his, a silent gesture to shut up.
Phoebe, Oliver, and I are in the front row of a dark family satire where the pillhead son can’t win over mommy’s attention.
“Mom, you would’ve loved the Vanity Fair party last year,” Jordan tries again. Claudia looks uninterested as she swirls a spoon in her gazpacho.
Nadia peers past her husband. “Anne Hathaway was even there.”
Claudia perks. Barely. “Really? What was she wearing?”
“Um.” Jordan looks at his wife and whispers, “Vera Wang?”
“Balmain,” Nadia says sweetly. “I think.”
Claudia sighs at the answer, but then Trent raises his whiskey and stands. Her face floods with relief and gratitude.
“A toast,” Trent decrees, then motions his flute glass to Collin and Oliver. “To old friends and new friends.” His eyes land on me. “To best friends.” I lift my glass back to him. He points like we’re two peas in a rotten pod. God help me not kill him. He raises his glass to his mom. “To family.” He never acknowledges Jake in that.
But his smirk widens on Phoebe. “And lastly, to my brother’s girlfriend—I hope this Easter weekend…fulfills all your needs.”
Jake is stewing. Outwardly.
His mother is shooting Jake daggers, silently warning him not to ruin the toast.
“Cheers,” Phoebe says to Trent. We all drink.
* * *
—
I’m crawling out of my skin. I hate my black button-down. I hate the Rolex on my wrist. I hate the belt at my waist. I hate my socks suctioning to my calves. I want to rip everything off my body.