The Arrangement by Suzanne Forster Read Free Book Online

years. The ring wasn’t about marital devotion, however. She wanted the exquisite stones to show because they represented everything she wanted her life to be and wasn’t. Anyway, that was Bret’s theory.
    “He said she’s shaky,” Julia said, “but that’s to be expected. She’s been through hell, and who knows what’s happened to her in the last six months. He’s never let me speak to her, the bastard.”
    Bret didn’t doubt that his mother wanted Alison back in the family fold, but he questioned how deep her concern actually ran. She’d always favored his sister, even to the point of seeming obsessed, a stage mother’s fixation with her impossibly beautiful child. Sometimes Bret wondered if Alison was Julia’s second chance—but at what, he didn’t know.
    But he was only guessing. This could also have something to do with the trust fund that was supposed to have gone to Alison. Julia never told her black sheep son anything, so he had no idea what her real motivation was.
    “I’ll be here,” he said, more to get rid of her than for any other reason. “Now, can I get back to my nap?”
    Bret had nothing more to say about his long-lost sister. This felt way too much like watching the sci-fi channel . His mother was coming unglued. He’d been waiting years for this moment, and it had nothing to do with him. It was all about his sister. That was fucked up.
    Julia glanced at her watch. “Didn’t you have an interview this morning?”
    His smile was quick and bitter. She never failed him. “It was a marketing job, Mother. I don’t do marketing.”
    “You don’t do anything.” She was madly rubbing the ring with her thumb. “It’s embarrassing, Bret.”
    “For who? I’m not embarrassed.” He had actually held down jobs, modeling mostly. Nothing that met her standards.
    “No, obviously not,” she said.
    Her face had already turned into a mask of indifference. Apparently she didn’t even care enough to hold him in contempt. He wanted to laugh, but the pain in his chest had the fiery heat of a twisting knife.
    She stormed off, taking the letter with her, and he fished in the pocket of his trunks for his cigarettes.
    He lit one, took a deep drag and held the smoke in his lungs. If he went through enough cigs, got black lung and started coughing up blood, would she notice?
    He knew the answer to that. He could disembowel himself in the living room in front of her, and she wouldn’t flinch unless he dirtied the carpet. And he was probably as much to blame for that as she was. He’d been taunting her for so long she refused to take the bait anymore. He was the disease, and after years of exposure, she’d developed an immunity.
    He sank down, sitting on the tipsy edge of the hammock with his bare feet on the ground. He gave his head a good shake, thinking it might make his curly blond hair look messy rather than adorable. He tried hard to look scruffy and unkempt, but sadly, he was as perfect as she was. Their family was a Ralph Lauren ad, and only he seemed to know how ugly the reality could be.
    The hammock creaked under his weight. This really was absurd. He was a quarter of a century old. He needed to get some balls, pack his bags and get out of this place for good. He was rotting here. The flies were circling his head.
    “Fuck.” He let out a moan as helpless as it was savage, and flopped back into the netting, staring through the tree branches at the cloudless blue sky. Yes, he ought to leave, but how could he now that his sister was making an appearance? He was as deeply suspicious of her motives as he was his mother’s. He and his sister shared some things in common besides their looks. There was always something they wanted, always an agenda. And then there was her husband. Bret had only defended Andrew Villard to annoy his mother.
    He reached down for his iced latte glass and saw that it had tipped over. Either the grass would enjoy a growth spurt from all the caffeine, or it would be