Which is why I bite back my laugh at her brittle smile and the way her eyes pinch. She’s like this beautiful mirage on the outside, all sour on the inside. And if looks could kill, Rhett would keel over on the spot.

Luckily, that’s not the case, and he raises his poop emoji cup toward her in a silent cheers.

Behind me I hear a snicker that sounds distinctly like my dad. I don’t turn, though, because Luke is looking so uncomfortable with everyone watching that all I can think about is getting to him.

“Hi, Talia.” I interrupt the awkward moment by striding forward with my hand out to shake hers as I give Luke’s shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Oh please, Cade. Are we so far gone that we need to shake hands?” Her giggle trills and grates on my nerves. It doesn’t sound like wind chimes the way Willa’s did that day in Le Pamplemousse or the way it does when I step into the house after a long, hard day at work. And Luke’s doesn’t blend in with it at all.

Luke stands there awkwardly, most likely hitting the age where he’s piecing these things together, noting the body language and drawing his own conclusions.

I stand woodenly while Talia wraps her arms around me. One hand rubs up the back of my neck, and I instantly reach up and grip her elbow, pulling her arm away, even as she sneaks a kiss against my cheek.

“Oh gosh”—she laughs—“let me get that for you.” And then she’s standing close to me, licking her thumb and rubbing at my cheek, trying to get the thick layer of lipstick off my skin.

Marking her territory.

It’s been years and Talia hasn’t changed a bit. She’s always playing some game. The difference is that now I see it. I didn’t all those years ago. I saw a pretty package and a willing body.

I was horny and stupid, and she was calculated.

“It’s fine. I’ll get it.” I step away as the surrounding conversation picks back up, which somehow makes me feel better. Like our complicated little family isn’t the center of attention. I desperately want to turn around and check on Willa, but I also know Talia will pick up on it immediately.

And I’m not subjecting Willa to her shit. Not until things with her and me are solid. Official.

I should have made things official already. I’m kicking myself now. The pads of my fingers itch to touch her, to run over her neck reassuringly. Possessively.