Page 2 of Your Rule to Break

“It’s a fundraiser, meaning the whole point is to raise money. There are no free tickets,” I reply.

“Don’t worry, El. I just bought a table,” Mitch announces, while showing the entire family the confirmation message. “Maybe Emilie can introduceyou to Willow then?” He knows this is the last thing I’d ever want to do, which is why he brings it up.

I fall back in my chair, slouching, even though my mother will scold me any second. What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?

Every time he uses that nickname, I wonder how many times he’s slipped up and said Em instead of El.

“Isn’t that nice, Emilie? Mitch, you’re really a keeper.” My mother takes the knife and twists it—her favorite pastime.

Mitch makes sure to lock his eyes on mine before pulling up one corner of his mouth in a grin. The rage bursts from my racing heart to the top of my skin as a flush runs up my neck. I hate how well he still knows me.

“Emilie, don’t sit like that.” My mother’s voice is sharp. I respond by sitting up straight like it’s programmed into my being.

My head shakes with a touch of annoyance and the rage that is always sitting right under my skin. If I’m not careful, it could swallow me whole.

Not tonight.

I sit up straight, shoulders back, very aware of my open back dress. My dark red curls are pulled back, tamed in a low bun.

Willow covers one of my hands, which rests on the table, with hers. Her golden eyes, full of gratitude, catch mine. As I swallow back the lump in my throat, I reach for the glass of champagne, finish it, and smile at Willow. We’re able to say so much without saying anything at all.

Good thing, too—because if I open my mouth now, I’m not quite sure what obscenities I’d scream across the room.

Chapter 2

Zack

It turns out Ididinvite Selena to this thing, which is unfortunate because I also invited Grace. Both women, possibly both models — I can’t quite remember —stand in front of me, and I’m afraid to speak.

“You’re joking, right?” Selena is the first to break the silence. “Who forgets they already had a date to something like this? Something with a dress code?” She gestures down to her dress.

Fuck me. There’s no way to come back from this.

“To be fair, I’d had quite a few drinks and—”

“You forgot,” Grace finishes my sentence, tilting her head and looking at me through squinted eyes. People walking into the event snicker and glare as they walk by, judging my personal life from the two seconds they overhear.

I wipe my hands on the front of my Tom Ford pants, black enough to not show the sweat marks. I try to swallow but my mouth feels like it’s full of sand.

“Listen, we can choose to dwell on this idiotic thing I did, or we can make the best of it.” I clap my hands together, looking back and forth from Grace to Selena.

“Fuck off, Zack,” Grace says just as Selena chimes in with a “Lose my number.”

Both women turn and walk away—I put my head in my hands, the clamminess still there. The embarrassment reddens my cheeks, my skin hot to the touch.

“Good thing I’ve never needed your advice about women because that was truly pathetic,” a voice interrupts the smallest pity party ever thrown.

Tripp Owens, in all of his Chanel glory, shakes his head and rests his hands on his hips.

“I love that suit. I’m bummed you got to it before I did.” I walk up and dust an imaginary piece of fuzz off his shoulder.

“Less about the suit and more about whatever that was.” Tripp points to the exit. “Did you accidentally invite two different women to be your date?” His voice comes out almost like a disappointed dad, but it’s much too tame to be mine. If my dad knew about this, he’d use the tone that would make me crawl inside myself—the one that was still supportive and loving but dripped with the dreaded “you’re better than that.”

He might be right, but lately it’s been hard to convince myself of that. It sounds stupid, but I’ve sort of leaned all the way into the careless jock mentality after seeing a little success, and it’s hard finding your way back. Especially when people look at my behavior and comment on it like it’s acceptable, for someone like me.

“It was an honest mistake.” I mean it. I may like to dabble from week to week, but I didn’t intentionally set myself up for that disaster. “I paid for the plus one, so consider my mishap a donation.”

I look around the room, surprised at the number of full tables and beautiful people. The event is a hit; not that I’d expect anything less from Tripp, or Emilie for that matter.