Destructively Mine

ONE

Phoebe

NOW

I'm so far from normal, I should probably give up on figuring out the true meaning of the word. But what's happening right now in the dining room of a snobby country club with hundred-grand membership dues-it's not even my normal. The normal of a so-called "daughter" of a con artist-raised to rip off egocentric assholes and board fancy yachts and live lavishly until the money runs dry. Then do it all over again.

No, this right here is not my normal at all.

It's bizarre.

Terrifying, even.

My mom is in Victoria, Connecticut, with her best friend, Addison. And they're pretending to be fucking matchmakers. Probably to matchmake me and Rocky for a payout. They're here without warning. Without a text or a smoke signal.

And to pile it on, my mom might not be my mom.

It's been a literal day since I learned that we might not be related. She might've kidnapped me and my brothers.

Addison most definitely isn't biologically Trevor's mother. So where the hell did he come from?

There is a foundational rule to what we do. We deceive other people. We never deceive each other. Yet, our parents lied to all six of us.

They conned us.

I didn't realize how mad I was, not until this moment. Seeing them here. Facing them. An inferno builds in my lungs and combines with extreme levels of unease. I'm crawling out of my skin, but no one can see the alarms going off in my entire body, telling me to evacuate from this fucked-up situation. To find Rocky. Find Hailey. Find my brothers.

While I stare right at Elizabeth Graves and Addison Tinrock, the country club doesn't fall hushed. No spotlight is shining down on little ole me-the blue-haired, drama-filled server at Victoria Country Club.

The midafternoon lunch crowd has packed the dining room, and everyone is absorbed in their own social sphere. Pickleball-clad ladies chitter-chatter as they stab forks into shrimp Louie salads. Full-bellied laughter bellows from rich men over their tuna tartare. Clinks of silverware on plates sound obnoxiously loud, and flames roar in a fireplace behind my mom.

I'm the only one who knows two con artists have just slithered their way into this town's cracked foundation, and they're going to sink their poisonous fangs into someone.

Not me.

They won't trick me?

My pulse won't slow. Because that's never been a question before. Now all I have are furious questions for them. The most pressing one: Why the hell are you here?

"It's so nice to meet you, Phoebe," my mom says with a charismatic smile. She brushes her blonde hair off her shoulder and extends a hand to me. "I'm Isla Rivers." Aka Elizabeth Graves. Do I even call her Mom?

Do I want to?

Not really. She doesn't deserve that, does she? Even if I'm biologically her daughter. Even if I am a triplet with Nova and Oliver. Even if this is all true-she's an accomplice to something nefarious with Trevor. That makes her just as guilty for duping us.

What else could she be hiding? Would she ever admit to the truth? Can I trust anything she ever says?

My head spins, and I wish I were holding a serving tray right now-something that'd give me an out from shaking hands with a . . . devil? I don't know what she is.

I always figured if my mom were a devil, then so was I. The Graves and Tinrocks-we were all just a merry little gang of heathens in hell together.

I loved it that way.

Everything is off-kilter now. My world is tipping at the axis.

I shake her hand and try to throttle myself out of this hot stupor. "Sorry, I missed what Stella said about you being . . . professionals?"

In my peripheral, I catch Stella bristling in her Chanel getup. "It's Mrs. Fitzpatrick, sweets." Her tight, acidic smile deserves one in return, and I could force one back-but I like this job.

I want to keep this job. And I'm clearly not on a first-name basis with Mrs. My Shit Doesn't Stink. I am still just the lowly server who happens to be "dating" town aristocracy, and Stella is the rich best friend of Claudia Waterford.

And Claudia-she's the mother of my fake boyfriend, Jake Waterford. Oh, and they all despise the idea of a Phoebe and Jake union. Which should be fine. Just fine. Because today, I was supposed to be ending this fake dating scheme so I can truthfully (and finally) date the guy I actually love.

Rocky.

Now, whatever boat I've boarded is being capsized, and I'm used to it. I'm also used to having backup-where people wait in a life raft and pull me from the rough ocean. Then we flee unseen together.

None of them are here. I am alone.

Drowning.

Leave, Phoebe.

"She can be a little slow," Stella tells Elizabeth into a sip of mimosa. They're all appraising me like I'm a pet project. Great, I've become the fascination of the bored elite.

"This is Wendy St. James." Elizabeth motions to Addison at her side. "We own the northeast's most prominent and exclusive matchmaking service. Eros. It's designed for individuals who require a similar lifestyle to their own."

Similar lifestyle is code for the rich just wanting to date rich. Tempering my feelings, I plaster on the world's fakest smile and ask, "And you think I fall into that category?"

"Absolutely not," Stella answers first. "You could never afford them or even qualify, but these lovely women have so graciously agreed to extend their services to you at the request of Claudia."

Correction: Claudia is paying these women because she hates that I'm dating her son. Eros isn't real, and Elizabeth and Addison are already profiting from this scam. How long have they even been setting this up?

Elizabeth smooths out one of her blonde curls and looks me over with a slow, excavating gaze like she's hollowing out bones from beneath the earth. "Hmmm," she muses. "We might need to work on some things to make you more . . ." Her eyes hit mine. "Just more."

Heat bathes my cheeks, and a memory floods me.

I was thirteen.

My mom had slipped into high social circles in Charleston and landed on the cotillion's board of directors. She'd pretended to be my wealthy aunt who was presenting me to society at the upcoming debutante ball. She examined the length of my thirteen-year-old body with the same intrusive gaze, and she said, "We might need to work on some things to make you more . . . just more."

This is a way for her to tip me off. To let me understand this is a ploy like in Charleston. An act. She might as well be winking at me.

It just makes a wave of sudden grief roll over me, and my eyes burn. I'm trying not to glare like I have gnarled, rooted history with her.

Stella fingers her teardrop diamond earring. "Like I was telling you"-she speaks to Elizabeth and Addison-"Phoebe is a work in progress, but if you'd seen how rough around the edges her ex-husband is, you'd understand how perfect they are for each other."

Little does Stella know, my mom has always drawn hearts around me and Rocky and tried to smush us together like two slices of PB&J.

Nausea flips my stomach. Rocky. I need to find Rocky.

The urge grows tenfold. At least Hailey is safe from our moms. If she was at work serving with me today, she'd go sheet white seeing Addison. I rest easy remembering she's at the loft and taking care of Trevor after the Halloween horror story from last night.

He was stabbed.

I feel like I'm being metaphorically stabbed, so there's that.

Stella adds, "Grey makes much more sense than pairing her with Jake Waterford."

"She has good bones," Addison announces, pushing her tortoiseshell glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. "We can work with it."

I don't want them to work with anything that belongs to me. Not my body, not my mind, and stay the hell away from my heart. It already feels pulverized from one betrayal. Before anyone can stop me, I say a quick "I'm not interested" and beeline for the exit.

Katherine Rhodes, the manager of guest relations and my boss, intercepts me. "Where are you going?" Her red eyebrows arch in both panic and disapproval. "We're swamped, and ladies are waiting at the bar."

"I don't feel goo-"

"No, no. You leave now, I'll have no choice but to terminate you."

I use the only card I have. "Jake won't be happy about that." It comes out sharper and more threatening than I intend.

She bristles.

Jake Koning Waterford is a Koning boy. It's Claudia's maiden name and often toted over Waterford since Koning is the true source of their wealth. Jake is an heir to one of the oldest beer companies in America, and his family owns this country club.

I might be two seconds from breaking up with him, but Katherine doesn't know that.

Surprisingly, she waffles. I thought it'd be a knockout punch. An ace in the hole. What the fuck? "You'll be suspended then," she snaps. "He'll compromise with me on this."

"Will he? I'm his girlfriend."

"I'm his godmother."

I blow back a little. I did not think they were that close. "Jake never said . . ."

"Well, I'm not shocked. You've barely been dating." Not wholly untrue. She's eagle-eyeing the restless ladies at the bar. "You leave, you're suspended for two weeks. No pay."

I need the money.

I've been trying to make an honest living in Connecticut with Hailey, and that also means relying on my paycheck to cover rent. She took off today, and I don't think we can both afford to skip.

Money wins over my emotional state, and I hightail it to the bar. Thankfully I'm not being approached by Stella and her new matchmaker-sorry, I mean, con-artist friends.

While assisting the four women in pickleball skirts, I practice patience as they ask for mimosas. Being short-staffed really sucks. There is no bartender I can tag in, and so I quickly pour champagne into the polished flutes.

"I'm telling you, Jem, he made an appearance this morning. Early. We were the only ones here."

"She's right," a freckle-cheeked early riser named Laura vouches. "You can't blame him for not wanting to be a part of the afternoon rush. He's so sweet and tenderhearted, and after what happened . . ." They let out a collective pity sigh.

I'm . . . so lost.

I'd love to soak in the juicy gossip, but my head is already crammed full.

"Did you see him, Phoebe?" Jem asks. So much for staying out of this.

"Who?" I splash orange juice in the glasses.

"Trent Koning Waterford," Laura tells me like she's introducing Angelina Jolie. Full name status.

Trent is Jake's oldest brother. A brother that I've never met.

"Huh," I say, my interest piquing. "I did not happen to see this specter of a man." Hailey thinks Trent doesn't exist. He's been the Bigfoot of Koning brothers, rarely appearing at town gatherings. Always spoken of in hushed settings.

Case in point.

"Well, he was here," Laura defends. "He even said hello to Anika."

"He did." Anika smiles proudly while I hand her a mimosa. "I just wish he felt like he could be a part of the community. We're all here for him after . . ." She leaves the sentence hanging.

They're waiting for me to ask. They're not going to leave until I do.

Fine.

Admittedly, I kind of want to know. "After what?"

"His wife's passing," Laura says solemnly.

My brows jump. "He was married?"

"He's thirty-two, dear," Jem tells me, sipping her mimosa. They all now have their drinks.

Laura bows closer to ask me, "Doesn't the staff here call him the 'unofficial fourth widower'?"

"Um, I haven't heard it if they do, but I'm sort of still new." And maybe the other servers wouldn't want to talk about Jake's brother in front of his "girlfriend"-so I've been left out of the staff gossip, too. Maybe Hailey has as well, just by association with me.

Being ostracized by both the elite and the service is not a great feeling. I wipe down the counter. "Why is he an unofficial widower and not just official?"

Jem says, "I suppose it'd be more official if Trent stopped by the club more than once in a blue moon."

"Right." I toss a towel under the cabinet.

"He married his prep-school sweetheart right after graduation," Anika fills me in. "She passed away suddenly."

"Aggressive stage-four melanoma. It was four years ago," Laura chimes in. "He's sworn off dating ever since. He'd be the most eligible bachelor in town, but Scarlett was his truest love."

They all admire his devotion to his late wife, and I'd be more touched by the story if I weren't so confused.

I've gotten the strong impression that Jake hates Trent. He not-so-lovingly has Trent's ringtone set as "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC. He grumbles Trent's name under his breath. Groans whenever he has to answer his calls.

Surely Jake, who's empathetic toward his little sister's plights, would have a soft spot for his grieving brother?

It's starting to feel like Jake is the actual asshole. But I can't worry about the Koning boys. I have a bigger mess to trek through.

After I entertain the ladies for another few minutes, they take their mimosas to the sunroom, and I check on the status of my boss. She's on the phone at the hostess podium and jotting on a notepad.

All clear.

I hustle out of the dining room, and my soles squeak on the marble floor in the rotunda. I spy the cucumber water. For guests only. Fuck it, if I'm suspended, then I'm going to be a hydrated suspended bitch. I pour a glass and chug the water on my route to where I believe Jake probably went.

I can't believe I'm hunting for my fake boyfriend before even contacting Hailey and Rocky. This feels so wrong.

But finding Jake seems imperative. And not just so he can reason with Katherine and help me take the day off with pay.

He said he'd call Rocky, and he's likely pitching the extension of this fake dating scheme to him-and things have just drastically changed.

TWO

Rocky

Sixty miles out of Victoria, I'm in a drugstore stocking up on bandages and other shit my teenage brother might need to recover from a stab wound. Just a regular Friday afternoon for a Tinrock.