“Mama packs for the lake like a survivalist preparing for the end days,” Lily said in a hushed voice. She fell silent at the sound of incoming footsteps, which stilled right outside our hiding place.

I held a breath, and a moment later, the pantry door flew inward.

“Hasta la vista . . . Lily!” Lily’s younger brother, John David, punctuated that statement with a cackle and began pelting us with Nerf darts.

Ducking, I noted that our assailant was dressed in camo, had painted black stripes under his eyes, and was wearing an enormous life vest that I could only assume belonged to the dog.

“I try my level best to avoid fratricide,” Lily said pleasantly. “However.” The however was meant to stand on its own as a threat, but I decided to lend a little specificity Lily’s way.

“However . . .” I suggested, advancing on John David. “Noogies are more of a gray area?”

I caught John David in a headlock.

“You mess with the bull . . .” John David tried his best to wriggle his way out of my grasp. “You get the horns!”

“And you get a noogie!”

Lily stared at the pair of us like we’d just started mud-wrestling in the middle of Sunday brunch.

“What?” John David said innocently, before trying and failing to bite my armpit.

“You two are bad influences on each other,” Lily declared. “I tell you, Sawyer, there are days when I’d swear he was your brother, not mine.”

That was Lily’s version of teasing, but still, I froze. Lily had no idea—none—what she’d just said.

No idea that it was half-true.

John David seized the moment and managed to wriggle out of my grasp. He was taking aim with his weapon when Aunt Olivia rounded the corner.

I’d swear he was your brother. Lily’s words echoed in my head, but I forced myself to focus on the present—and the stormy look on Aunt Olivia’s face. I stepped in between John David and my aunt and offered her what I hoped passed for a sedate smile.

“Aunt Olivia,” I said calmly. “We found William Faulkner’s life vest.”

John David and I were summarily convicted of “inappropriately timed horseplay” and “wearing on my last nerve, I swear” and sentenced to loading the car. I wasn’t about to complain about a much-needed distraction.

Months ago, I’d moved into my maternal grandmother’s house after she’d offered me a devil of a deal: if I lived with her and participated in Debutante season, she’d pay for college. I’d agreed, but not because of the half-million-dollar trust now held in my name. I’d willingly become a part of this lavish, glittering world because I’d wanted, desperately, to know which scion of high society had knocked up my mom during her Debutante year.