“I don’t want to talk about my mother,” I said frankly.

“Obviously.” Poppy slapped her forehead. “Sorry. Can we talk about what happened yesterday? About us?”

There is no us.

“Okay.”

“That thing with Luna…”

“Luna and I are unfinished business.” I bit on the tip of my tongue ring, slicing into her speech. “We’ll always be unfinished business. Now. In five years. When we’re eighty. That’s the deal; it’s always been the deal. You knew it. You saw us up until senior year. We were always together.”

That was Poppy’s in to break up with me. I’d handle it with grace. I’d still take her to prom. But there was no reason to keep up with this bullshit.

“I get that.” She swallowed hard. “Let’s try again. I’m willing to give you another chance. If you want it, that is.”

I don’t.

I spun toward her, studying her face: the soft planes of her cheeks, her carefully brushed hair, flawless little Neiman Marcus dress. She could be someone else’s Luna, someone else’s everything. A guy like Jefferson, maybe.

“Look, Poppy, I know you said we’d give this a chance…”

“Please.” She cleared her throat again, chuckling in embarrassment. “Please don’t make me beg. I know you don’t feel it yet, but I do. I can feel it. There’s something here. And Luna is heading back to North Carolina in a bit. It’s not like you can explore whatever it is between you two.”

All valid points, but I didn’t think it was right to string her along.

Thing was, Poppy was practically pleading to be strung along, and I had too much shit on my calamity plate to muster the self-control I needed to push her away. She begged to be here for me, and, the orphan mutt that I was, I couldn’t deprive her of the dubious pleasure. She was convenient as hell. Plus, I no longer had to pretend to be fucking anyone else. I had a steady ride now.

“I get what you’re saying, but I’m a shitty boyfriend,” I gave it one last run. “I cheated on you. In your face. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did.”

“No. I know. It’s just that…” She looked around, shrugging. “I saw the look on both your faces. Luna is not going to let you kiss her again. She regrets this. I want this, and I’m willing to take the risk.”

Was that what she’d seen? Luna regretting it? My blood sizzled in my veins.

“You’re going to regret it,” I said quietly.

She grinned, standing up and ambling my way. She parked her ass in my lap, knotting her arms around my shoulders.

“I’m not the queen, you know,” she said huskily, her gaze dropping to my lips. “You can touch me whenever you want.”

I took her mouth in mine and tried to drown myself in her beauty, giving her a sweet lie to hold on to.

“Yes, you are.” I erased Luna’s kiss from my lips, replacing it with Poppy’s sweet, soft petals. “You’re my queen.”

When the next letter arrived on Christmas Eve, obviously violating my request, I burned it in my backyard and sent Dixie a video of the whole thing.

Knight: Is it a wonder that the no-show who knocked you up left your ass? You’re clingy as all fuck. Get it into your head: I’m not interested.

This was my best Vaughn impression. Being an asshole was goddamn hard work.

“You smell like ashes,” Dad pointed out as we slicked our hair back in front of his gold-leafed mirror.

Two peacocks in Kiton Ombre suits—it was one of the rare times this past year we’d actually done anything together, which didn’t escape me. Before Mom’s lung transplant debacle, we’d still had hope, so we’d still been close. We’d spent a lot of time together. Not anymore.

“Are you okay?” He ripped his gaze from his reflection, giving me a sideways glance. I used two fingers to dab Clive Christian cologne on my neck.

“Are you?” I asked casually.

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“Ditto.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am yours,” I said by way of explanation.

He grinned proudly. I liked that look on Dad, the one that made me feel like I belonged in this world. In this house. In this family.

“I’m working night and day looking into experimental treatments.” He shook his head, referring to my mother. “She’ll be fine.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“I have to, or I’ll go mad.”

“Don’t go mad. You’re already straddling the line of insanity.”

“Straddling is quite the feminine word.”

“Then you’re punching sanity in the face sometimes. Hard.”

“Much better.” He let out a sad laugh. He caught my gaze in the mirror. “Break up with Poppy yet?”

I passed him the cologne, rearranging my moussed hair. “She’s a little young for you, old man.”

More laughing, without the sad aftertaste.

This felt good, like old times.

“So you haven’t forgiven Luna for that guy yet.”

“She hasn’t asked for forgiveness,” I admitted, taking a step back from the mirror, wondering if I should confide in him.