- Boston -

I'd expect nothing less of the Vanderwood's new home in South Miami.

The estate is worth 4.5 million dollars—a value I would make if I were reincarnated into a piggy bank for the next five lives. With this kind of money, I might be able to offload all my problems to someone else who can manage to handle them.

"When did he get that?" I posed, parking my car behind a flashy candy apple-red Ferrari.

Alexa unbuckled her seat belt and pierced the Florida license plate. Even behind her Prada shades, I can spy on her lack of enthusiasm about being here. I guess we're in the same boat.

"Beats me," she answered.

We step out of the car and I convene irresistibly towards the supercar. There are five other luxury vehicles alone and we have yet to tour the remainder of the property.

I inspect the tires and splendor at the finest performance details of the red and black paint. There's a shortlist of I'd snag in a heartbeat if my wallet wasn't playing hard to get.

"This thing is sick," I pipe.

Alexa pulls up, sliding her sunglasses past the bridge of her nasal bone.

"It's hideous. What a waste of money," she fired.

"A waste of money?" My jaw is practically on the floor. "Are you for real? I'd say this beauty is worth every single penny."

"You don't get it. My dad is a slut for McLarens. He never shuts up about getting the latest model. So what's he doing splashing cash on a Ferrari?"

I give a casual shrug, playing it cool.

"Maybe he had a change of heart?" I was listing plenty of options as to why someone would switch to the Italian car brand.

Approaching the front entrance, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure through the glass—Rita Vanderwood. Alexa's stepmother. And let me tell you, the low groan that tumbled from Alexa's mouth at one glimpse of Rita was nothing short of hilarious.

The door flung open in a matter of seconds. Rita lets out an ear-piercing squeal.

"Oh my God! Look who's actually on time!" Her southern accent was thicker than molasses.

Rita is a real-life Barbie doll.

A character, to say the least.

She was easy on the eyes—Mr. Vanderwood had good taste when it came to women. Out of all the hot tamales in Florida, Rita wasn't a bad pick. Anyhow, this Kansas-born twenty-nine-year-old body came across as rubber and glossy like those mannequins outside of H&M.

In addition, the accent, the hair, and her attitude (according to Alexa) felt faker than the injections in her lips as nicely as I can put it.

Rita reaches out to hug both of us, squeezing us as if we were long-lost relatives. Alexa stiffens and keeps her arms glued to her side. My fianceé loves physical affection—it's just who she is. Though, if dodging Rita is a part of the plan, she'd sure as hell be doing wonders.

Eventually, we finally break free from Rita's bear hug. Alexa shoots an eye roll and I'm doing my part to shield my laughter. The clash between their personalities never fails to entertain me.

"Y'all come on now," Rita bubbles, ushering us inside with her infectious energy. "Let me give you the grand tour."

Alexa parrots Rita's and latches onto my right arm as if it's her rightful purpose. If she squeezed me any tighter I could eventually lose the blood circulation in my arm.

I was starting to feel the numbness now.

"Why does she have to be here?" she whines.

Leaning in close, I offer her a sympathetic smile. "Well, sweetheart, she does happen to live here," I quip, trying to inject a bit of logic into the situation.

"I still hate her."

"I'm well aware," I mutter through clenched teeth, struggling to maintain my composure as Rita launches into a detailed monologue about the intricate decor choices. It's like she has a never-ending supply of words at her disposal.

Rita stops in her tracks and turns around. "So, how do y'all like it so far? Isn't it nice?"

"It's beautiful," I respond diplomatically. I'm trying to maintain a pleasant atmosphere.

Alexa looks everywhere but at her stepmother. You'd assume Medusa shapeshifted into Rita and paid a visit.

Please, don't do this, Alexa, I think.

"Oh, Alexandria," Rita begins. She extends her arm to stroke Alexa's hair, but she quickly inches a step back.

"Don't call me that," Alexa seethes, her tone sharp and icy.

Rita clears her throat awkwardly and inches back.

I gently nudge Alexa's shoulder. "Be nice," I beg. Though, I can't argue over this one.

Evelyn Vanderwood, Alexa's mother, was a celebrated chef in South Florida. Her cooking was so filling that Alexa joked it could make anyone gain ten pounds. Easy.

Unfortunately, I never met Evelyn; she died in a boating accident three years ago, and Alexa still feels the pain, getting queasy at the sight of docks. Rita could try to mother Alexa all she wanted, but she would never replace Evelyn.

Initially, Alexa tried to give Rita the benefit of the doubt and grow to like her.

The relationship between Rita and Alexa's father is disgustingly lovey-dovey. Very fresh and barely a year old. Rita also had a past of dating men who aged like a bottle of fine wine. However, deep down, Alexa believes that Rita is not entirely in it for love. That she's a gold digger seeking to raid the family vault.

Do I believe it? Well, to some extent, it's hard to tell.

Rita's marriage to Mr. Vanderwood seems genuine, but at the same time, it's difficult to ignore the nagging suspicion that he might be serving as her sugar daddy.

I quickly shake my head, not wanting to make any assumptions about Rita or her intentions. After all, I come from a background where age differences in relationships were quite common.

My parents had a thirteen-year age gap, so judging a relationship solely based on age was not my place.

"That's your name, isn't it?" Rita tests.

No one but Alexa's mom called her by her birth name. And I'm not so sure if Rita was known to this.

I flinched at Alexa's silence.

Oh no, this is not going to end well.

Alexa clenched her fists, launching vertically, ready to confront Rita. Luckily, I step in fast enough, holding her back and blocking her view of Rita.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize, desperately trying to diffuse the situation. "She's had a long day."

I turn to Alexa, trying to calm her down. "Hey, hey, calm down, alright? She's not entirely wrong on her defense." I offered.

Fixing her astray hair pieces, Alexa huffs.

"That bitch is trying to test me."

Thankfully, before things escalate any further, a sudden commotion from behind interrupts the tense atmosphere. The sound of loud footsteps grows closer, and we all instinctively try to act casually. And there he is, Clark Vanderwood, in the flesh, wearing his familiar brown Oxfords.

Just like Rita is to Alexa, I am to Clark. He despises me, yet oddly enough, there's a level of trust between us. Our relationship is peculiar, but at least we can coexist without involving ourselves in constant fistfights like Alexa.

"There's my beautiful daughter!" Clark said with warmth.

Alexa pushes past me, eager to meet her father, and I step aside, allowing them to have their moment.

Rita and I stand back, observing as father and daughter embrace each other tightly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they had seen each other less than twenty-four hours ago.

So dramatic.

"How are you liking the new car out front?" Clark asks, his hands resting on his waist with pride.

"I've seen better," Alexa remarks.

Clark chuckles deeply, seemingly unfazed by her response. "Bought it for Rita as an early birthday gift."

Clark and Rita wrap their arms around each other, creating a united front. Alexa stands in front of them like a small child. Either Alexa was going to sprint out or have a hissy fit.

Everyone braced for impact at the sound.

A hissy fit it is.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Clark raises a brow, clearly taken aback by Alexa's outburst.

I've always heard stories that Alexa was the perfect child. So this kind of behavior is probably something he has never experienced from her before.

Alexa gathers herself and takes a deep breath. I think she's employing one of those calming techniques she might have picked up from one of those highly subscribed yoga channels on YouTube.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just so excited for her. That's all," she lies

I decide to cut in. "I think it's a total badass," I chime in, offering a genuine compliment to Rita's new car.

Clark smirks.

"Hey there, Boston. I almost forgot you were standing there," he says, chuckling.

In a flash, Clark's slightly wrinkled yet toned arm hoops itself around my neck. I can feel my breath hitching.

How much was this guy lifting in the gym?

He pats my chest. Harshly. "I'm just kidding, bud."

"I know," I say.

"How've you been feeling?" Clark starts. "You sure gave us quite a scare last week."

How could I forget?

Our visit to the Rocky Mountains proved to be quite a challenge for me that day. The high altitude, long trails, dehydration, and an empty stomach combined to create a difficult situation. I should have known what I was getting into, considering I had experienced worse in the past, but this particular day took a toll on my body. Feeling weak from low blood pressure was not part of the plan, but thankfully, Alexa had the foresight to pack snacks in her backpack for emergencies like this.

"I'm feeling better now," I announce, receiving a nod of understanding from Clark.

"He can be so careless sometimes," Alexa adds.

I wave off her comment. "It's only because I didn't eat enough that morning," I explain.

Alexa hums.

"If I recall correctly, I made an entire breakfast from scratch that morning before we set out."

Clark and I exchanged looks, sharing the same thoughts. We couldn't bring ourselves to finish our plates. Those dreadful pieces of burnt waffles met their unfortunate fate in the trash can, which easily devoured every last bite.

"Speaking of," Clark changes the topic, his tone serious. "I need to talk to you."

I point at myself. "Me?"

He nodded.

This can't be good.

"Yes, you," he snaps. He then turns to address Rita and Alexa who are now observing our conversation.

"I'm going to go show off my new man cave to Boston, ladies. Why don't you two stay here and enjoy some of those cocktails Isabella whipped up?" Clark suggests.

Alexa's reaction is fast as she yanks out her phone. Her stare is captured by the lock screen.

"Oh, uh," she stutters. "I need to take this call. It's from Blair." Alexa hurries towards the back door that leads to the pool area. And she makes her exit.

Was she telling the truth or simply using the call as an excuse for a blatant lie to avoid the situation? Knowing Alexa, she'd fake a call from the President of the United States if it meant avoiding being trapped in a room with Rita.

Rita, keenly recognizing the charged atmosphere, motions towards the kitchen.

"I think it's time to sample one of those delicious cocktails." Then, she too subtracts herself from the room.

Clark, still tense, slowly gestured to his left before trekking a few steps forward.

"Walk with me."

• • •