Pretty Little Secrets

“Me too,” Spencer confessed, her heart going out to him. “I feel like I’m living in that Sesame Street game ‘One of these things is not like the other.’ No matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough for my parents.”

Colin reached forward and squeezed her hand. “Me either. My dad is so hard on me, especially when it comes to tennis. I guess it’s why I practice so much.”

“But you’re such an amazing player,” Spencer protested. “What more can he want?”

Colin shook his head. “When I was younger, my dad would make me stay behind on the courts every time I lost a match. I had to do a hundred serves before I was allowed to go home for dinner.”

“That’s horrible!” Spencer cried.

Suddenly Colin looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve actually never told anyone that, it’s just that . . .” He hesitated for a moment. “I just feel so comfortable with you.”

Spencer smiled. “I feel really comfortable with you, too.”

Actually, Colin was the first guy she’d connected with in a long time. Maybe it could even turn into something serious. She pictured herself boarding a commuter jet every Friday afternoon to visit Colin for a long weekend. And maybe Colin would get a wild-card draw in the US Open or another big tennis tournament. She imagined sitting in the stands, big sunglasses on her face, a classy wide-brimmed hat on her head. When the cameras panned to her, the commentators would whisper about how poised and pretty she was. She looks so intelligent, too, they would add. So driven. Like a girl who is really going somewhere. They seem like the perfect couple.

A pair of Vespas flashed their headlights across the knoll, casting Colin’s face into a spotlight for a second—just long enough for Spencer to see just how dazzlingly blue his eyes were.

Suddenly, Colin’s gaze shifted to the left, like he was looking past Spencer and back into the tennis courts. He jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the remains of her AminoSpa water bottle. She yelped and followed his gaze. The lights on the courts were still on, and a black-haired girl was visible, wearing a little black dress that hugged every curve, shading her eyes. “Hey, Colin!” she said, bounding up the hill toward them.

Spencer gritted her teeth—another groupie? This girl had sleek, catlike eyes, and the most angular, model-thin body Spencer had ever seen.

Colin started toward the girl. Spencer figured he was going to shoo her away, but when he reached her, he greeted her with a long kiss on the lips.

Spencer blinked hard, her stomach dropping to her feet. What the—

The girl pulled away. “I came to tell you I was able to get reservations at Culpeper’s tonight. I know the chef from New York, and he’s saved us the best table in the house. You need to go get cleaned up!”

Spencer rose and swung her tennis bag over her shoulder, trying to retain as much dignity as possible. “Um, Colin?”

Colin glanced over his shoulder, as if only then remembering Spencer was there. “Spencer, this is Ramona. My girlfriend.”

Chapter 4

Smells Like Team Spirit

An hour later, Spencer sat in the kitchen, blinking back tears as the shame and humiliation of her evening washed over her once more. After Colin had introduced Spencer to his girlfriend—his girlfriend!—Ramona had given Spencer a very obvious once-over and said, “Colin said you challenged him to a match. That’s so cute!”

Spencer had looked down at her clunky sneakers and childish-looking tennis skirt, suddenly feeling sweaty and young and all wrong.

“That’s right,” Colin said with an easy smile. “Spencer’s a great player. We’ve just been sitting here chatting, cooling down.” He’d spoken in the same upbeat, condescending tone Spencer’s father used when talking to the five-year-old twins who lived down the street, as if Spencer had been nothing more than some annoying child begging him for tennis tips.

She dropped her head in her hands. She had been so sure he’d been flirting with her, so sure that they’d had a true connection. How had she so completely misinterpreted Colin’s behavior?

Spencer’s mother appeared, perching herself in the seat next to Spencer. She checked the Cartier watch on her wrist and let out a frustrated sigh.

“What time are our reservations again?” Spencer asked. The family had made arrangements to go to Culpeper’s, the very same steak house Colin and Ramona were eating at tonight. Spencer could only hope they would be seated far away from each other.

“Eight-thirty,” her mother said testily. “We really should get a move on if we don’t want to lose our reservation. I’m going to kill your father.” She stabbed his number into her cell phone again, but when she hung up a few seconds later, Spencer knew the call had gone to voicemail. “He hasn’t picked up all day.”

“Maybe he’s on the golf course.”

“He wasn’t playing today. I called the clubhouse.” She pulled a wineglass from the cupboard and poured herself a pinot grigio. She had that look on her face that said she was in a mood and should just be left alone.

Spencer beat a hasty retreat to let her mother sulk in peace. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and noticed that Nana’s door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. When Spencer was little, she’d loved snooping in Nana’s bedroom—she kept her amazing jewelry collection in a crystal-encrusted box on her bureau. And the navy slip dress Spencer was wearing could use a little extra something.

She pushed into the room. The enormous king-sized canopy bed was piled with tons of fussy froufrou pillows. There was a silk-upholstered chaise in the corner, and Nana’s vanity, which contained more creams, lotions, powders, shadows, and lipsticks than a Sephora store, stood by the dramatically draped windows. To Spencer’s disappointment, the jewelry box, which was usually positioned in the center of the bureau, was gone. She padded into the en suite bathroom to see if Nana had moved it.

Nana’s bedroom rivaled a spa’s. The bathroom counters were covered in long slabs of marble, a built-in sauna was tucked into the corner, and all the floors were heated. The soaking tub was deep, oval-shaped, and didn’t have a grab bar, plastic seat, or any of those other old-person accoutrements to prevent slips or falls—Nana was much too proud and vain for that kind of thing. Nana stocked the fluffiest, plushiest towels money could buy, and she even had her own massage table set up—she got rubdowns every two weeks.

Spencer inspected her appearance in the enormous, gilded-frame mirror. Her blue eyes were wide. Her skin was clear. Her blond hair, which she’d washed during her post-match bubble bath, gleamed, and she looked sophisticated in the sleek Tibi dress she was wearing to dinner. But she didn’t look nearly as glamorous as Ramona.

Tears welled in Spencer’s eyes. The bedroom door creaked, and Spencer spun around. Melissa peeked into the bathroom. “What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing,” Spencer said quickly, wiping her eyes. “Just looking around.”

Melissa leaned on the counter, noticing Spencer’s red cheeks and nose. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Spencer pretended to be fascinated with Nana’s perfumes. They were mostly classic scents society ladies wore: Joy, Fracas, Chanel No. 19, and a handmade blend from a parfumier in Paris. But then she noticed Britney Spears’s Fantasy at the very end of the line. She couldn’t imagine Nana going to a drugstore and actually buying it.

“What’s with all these toothbrushes?” Melissa asked behind her, gesturing to an open drawer. There were fifteen or so toothbrushes inside, each of them clearly used. Initials were written on the handle in black Sharpie—JL, AW, PO, and so on. Spencer didn’t see the same initials twice.

“Oh my God,” Melissa blurted, pulling out something else. It was a small bottle full of blue pills. The prescription was for Edith Hastings, and the label said VIAGRA.

“Put that back!” Spencer hissed, grabbing the bottle and dropping it back in the drawer, as though Nana might walk in any second and catch them. She slammed the drawer shut quickly and shuddered. “Do you think Nana takes that, or do you think it’s for Lawrence?”

“Who knows?” One corner of Melissa’s mouth rose. “I guess Nana’s wilder than we thought.”

It was certainly in line with the flirty Nana Hastings Colin had described earlier. Spencer pictured the toothbrushes again. Was it possible they belonged to different guys who’d slept over? Ew.

Melissa hoisted herself up on the counter. “So does your bad mood have something to do with that guy I saw you with earlier?”

Spencer’s head shot up. “How do you know about that?” She hadn’t told Melissa about Colin during their spa day. They actually seemed to be getting along, and ever since Spencer had stolen Wren, boys had been a sore subject for the sisters.

“I left my sweater at the club. When I went back to get it, I saw you playing with the tennis guy we watched earlier,” Melissa said. “I hear he’s a real hotshot.” She picked up a silver-handled hairbrush and ran her fingers over the bristles.

Spencer hung her head in embarrassment. “It’s no big deal. I don’t really even know him. And he has a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend?” Melissa echoed skeptically. “Well, it can’t be serious if he asked you out on a date,” she pointed out.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Oh yeah?” Melissa gave Spencer a little shove on the shoulder. “From what I saw, it was pretty obvious he was flirting with you, Spence. Why would a guy do that if he was fully committed to his girlfriend?”

Because he’s a player? Spencer wanted to say. But despite her protests, Melissa had planted a seed of hope in her mind. She thought back to the day’s events. “It was kind of strange that he didn’t tell me about her until she showed up.”

“Exactly. He wants you.” Melissa cleared her throat.

“Actually, he and the girlfriend are going to Culpeper’s tonight,” Spencer said.

Melissa’s eyes lit up. “Perfect. We’ll get to see how they are in action.”

Warning bells went off in Spencer’s head. “Melissa, why are you being so nice to me?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “I’m not. I’m just pointing out a fact. He likes you. You like him. Life is short. You’ve got to take what you can while you can. You never know when the love of your life will, for example, get hauled off to jail.”

Spencer opened her mouth to apologize once more for turning Ian in. She hadn’t done it to hurt her sister—she’d done it to get justice for her friend.

“But . . . ,” she began.

Melissa waved her hand. “No buts. Just go with me here.”

Spencer stared at her sister in disbelief, waiting for her to laugh nastily and tell Spencer it was all a big joke—that Spencer could never get a guy like Colin, and that Melissa still hated her, just like usual. But Melissa just continued to peer at her excitedly. She pushed Spencer’s hair behind her ears, ran her fingers over each eyebrow, and then spritzed her with a squirt of Joy perfume.