Victoria Aspen's life just turned inside out.
She has been forced to move into the house she used to spend every summer in. It's been so long since she was welcomed back into the family and this time... they didn't really have a choice.
But thi...
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It's been twenty seven minutes and I refuse to make eye contact with him. I can't and won't. I have not, will not, cannot say a word to him.
As per usual, while he actually works on 'renovative' projects, I pretend to be helping by making my bed, dusting away sawdust and staying as far away from Mason Donovan as these four walls will allow me.
He hasn't tried to speak to me, either. The moment he walked in he pretended I wasn't in the room and began drilling a much needed curtain rod into the wall. The tension is thick. I know that he knows it, too.
He definitely is an expert at the cold shoulder. I mean, I thought I was prepared to completely ignore him and send him death glares but my, he hasn't even let the opportunity arise. I guess seeing me kiss Dylan really wound him up.
But I didn't kiss Dylan. That's the thing. And I don't think he knows that one little important detail.
Why does it matter?
It doesn't, I confirm with a nod toward my inner self.
I think we're just past thirty minutes when a voice crumbles the silence. "Tori," I spin around from attempting to arrange the light shade. It is a very intricate piece of work. I stare at him as he bites down on his cheek, forming a dimple on the right side. There's a pause that tells me he's decided against voicing whatever is on his mind, and I'm disappointed to say the least.
I can't stop staring at his t-shirt, because it's not a sweater and for some reason it unsettles me. I liked the sweaters. It was like seeing an innocent, fashion deaf child over the top of a huge ego.
He inhales sharply, "Why does your hallway smell like vomit?"
"What?" It takes a moment to process his question and my eyes widen impossibly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I forgot to clean out the vase and clearly Alex didn't bother to. It's a wonder why Ashley hasn't beaten me to death with the thing yet. It's been almost a week; my vomit is probably fermenting like crazy by now. She loves that vase to death and I'm pretty sure it was an heirloom from someone. She told me a few summers back.
"Oh, crap." I push my closed fists against my forehead and curse. I suppose I have to do that before she gets home. Mason stares at me as if I've told him that I enjoy sporadically juggling fireballs in my spare time. "I'll be back." I grumble and sigh as I make my way toward the door.
I cannot possibly imagine something worse than vomit mixed with mould.
"Also, why did you kiss Dylan? I thought you didn't even like him."
Oh, look! I've become much more imaginative.
I swallow and freeze in my place, not moving a muscle, hoping to disappear into thin air. A minute passes and I almost believe that I've discovered a brand new superpower when he ruins it. Again.
