Poppy’s smile is wide enough to show that she and her brother either both got braces or they’re truly just graced with great genetics. “You have to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Now, I would take offense to that—” Betty pushes up from the bed and hooks her arm around the back of my neck. “But everyone knows this girl is deadly. I’m saying it’s her—” She waves her arms around. “Perfect concoction of ethnicities.”

I shove her away gently, emptying the rest of my drink down my throat. “I’ll drive.”

Betty rolls her eyes for the second time in thirty minutes. “What happened to drinking tonight?”

“I can!” I snatch my keys off the counter. “Oscar can drive it back.”

Poppy hangs back a little, and it’s not until we’re outside waiting for one of the soldiers to drive my car around from the underground garage that I turn to face her. “We don’t have to go tonight. We can stay back and watch movies? Honestly, I’m over high school parties.”

Our home is right in the city of Chicago on North Burling Street. With twenty-five thousand square feet and high concrete walls and black wired gates, my father keeps a lot of his business underground while remaining the perfect infrastructure on the outside. The dirtiest men I know are the ones who appear clean.

She shakes her head gently, running her hands down the shirt she’s paired with skinny jeans. “No, I want to.”

“Okay, well, if you ever want to leave—” I hear my DB 11 purr as it stops in front of us. “We can leave. Any time.” I don’t know Poppy’s story, so it’s hard to gauge whether I’m doing the right thing. She has to be around our age, with her brother a little older, so I’m guessing she’s old enough to make those decisions on her own.

Betty pulls the door open and leans the chair forward. “Slide in, pretty girl.”

Poppy slips to the back and I look over my shoulder until my eyes collide with a black Rolls Royce that’s coming up the drive. It’s not Papa’s Rolls that’s a distraction, though. It’s the car behind his.

My smile falls and I quickly slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed and driving us down the long driveway.

“You okay? Was that Mikhail?”

My heart stammers in my chest as I suck in deep breaths. “Yes.”

Betty’s hand rests on mine without a word spoken. It’s why Betty and I have always worked. She knows when to speak and when to not. Friendships can be tricky because so many people don’t know how to respect those boundaries, so I’m lucky I have Betty who does.