Tempted. Megan Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ down her croissant with a mouthful of juice. “I went to bed, all right.”

      Mary laughed. Patricia made a face. I did neither. I studied my youngest sister, spotting a telltale suck mark on her throat. She didn’t have a boyfriend, or at least not one she’d ever bothered to bring around to meet the family. Considering our family, I wasn’t necessarily surprised.

      “Can we just get started? I’ve got stuff to do,” Patricia said.

      “Fine with me,” Claire replied nonchalantly. “Let’s go.”

      She couldn’t have irritated Patricia more with her blasé response. The disregard for her anger made Patricia even more snappish. Though she and Claire had butted heads in the past, this seemed excessive. I set out to defuse the inevitable blowup by pulling out my notebook and pen.

      “Okay. First thing we need to decide is where to have it.” I tapped the pen to the paper. My parents’ anniversary was in August. Thirty years. Patricia had come up with the idea for a party. “At their house? At my house, or Patricia’s? Maybe at a restaurant.”

      “How ‘bout the VFW?” Claire smirked. “Or the bowling alley?”

      “Very funny.” Patricia tore apart her croissant but ate none of it.

      “Your house, Anne. We could have a pit beef barbecue, or something, on the beach.” Mary’s phone beeped again, but she ignored it.

      “Yeah … we could.” I didn’t hide my lack of enthusiasm for that idea.

      “Well, we can’t have it at my house.” Patricia sounded firm. “I don’t have the space.”

      “And I do?” My house was nice, and by the water, true, but it was far from spacious.

      Claire scoffed, waving at the waiter, who came over at once. “How many people do you really think are going to come? Hey, hon, bring me a mimosa, will you?”

      “Jesus, Claire,” said Patricia. “Do you have to?”

      For a second Claire’s insouciance slipped. “Yeah, Pats. I do.”

      “We could have it at Caesar’s Crystal Palace,” I suggested quickly to fend off an argument. “They have lots of receptions and stuff there.”

      “Oh, c’mon,” Mary said. “The food there’s super pricey, and honestly, you guys, I just don’t have the cash to put toward this party like some of you do.”

      She gave me a significant look, then one to Patricia. Claire laughed. Mary looked at her, too, with a wiggle of brows.

      “Yeah, me and Mary are poor.” Claire looked up at the waiter who brought her drink. “Thanks, sugar.”

      He actually blushed when she winked. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Claire had no shame.

      “I think keeping the cost down is a good idea, too.” Patricia said this stiffly, looking at her plate and its desiccated croissant. “Let’s have it at Anne’s. We can buy the paper goods at the wholesale club and make a bunch of desserts. The pit beef barbecue would be the most expensive thing, but they include the corn on the cob and rolls and stuff.”

      “Don’t forget the booze,” Claire said.

      Silence ringed the table. Mary’s phone beeped and she flipped it open, her face blank. Patricia said nothing. I didn’t, either. Claire looked around at each of us.

      “You can’t seriously be thinking of not having booze,” Claire said. “At the very least, you have to have beer.”

      “That’s up to Anne,” Patricia said after a moment. “It’s her house.”

      I looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I looked at Mary, also ignoring me. Claire, however, met my gaze head-on.

      “We can have whatever we want,” I said, finally.

      “It’s an anniversary party for Mom and Dad,” Claire said. “Now, you tell me you’re going to throw them a party and not have booze.”

      We were saved from an uncomfortable silence by the arrival of our food. It took a few minutes to distribute and get started on consuming, but that brief time was enough. Mary sighed, stabbing a fried potato.

      “We could have beer.” She shrugged. “Get a keg.”

      “A couple bottles of wine,” said Patricia grudgingly. “And we’d have to have champagne, I guess. To toast. It’s been thirty years. I guess they deserve a toast. Don’t they?”

      They were all looking at me to decide. My fork hovered over the omelet my stomach was deciding it no longer wanted. They wanted me to say yes or no, to make the choice for them. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want that responsibility.

      “Anne,” said Claire at last. “We’ll all be there. It’ll be okay.”

      I nodded once firmly, the sharp action hurting my neck. “Fine. Sure. Of course. Beer, wine, champagne. James can set up a bar outside and make mixed drinks. He likes that.”

      We all said nothing for another long moment. I imagined I felt relief from my sisters at not having to be the ones to make the choice, but perhaps it was only my imagination.

      “Now. What about the guest list?” I said, my voice firm as I took charge.

      Keeping the surface polished.

      I wanted James to refuse to have the party at our house, but, of course, he thought it was a great idea. He was at the grill with a beer in one hand and the tongs in the other when I broached the subject. His apron had a picture of a decapitated, bikini-clad woman imprinted on the front. Her breasts bulged every time he lifted his arms.

      “Sounds great. We could rent a tent in case the weather’s bad. It’ll give some shade, too.”

      The scent of sizzling steaks should have made my mouth water, but my stomach was too twisted for me to appreciate it. “It will be a lot of work.”

      “We’ll hire help. Don’t worry about it.” James flipped the steaks expertly and lifted the lid on the bubbling pot of corn.

      Watching him, the master in front of his superfab-andgroovy grill, I let a small smile tug my mouth. James needed step-by-step instructions to make microwave oatmeal, but he fancied himself the Iron Chef of outdoor cooking.

      “It will still be a lot of work.”

      He looked at me then, finally getting it. “Anne, if you don’t want to have it here, why didn’t you say so?”

      “My sisters outvoted me. They all want a pit beef barbecue, and this is the only place to have it. Besides,” I conceded, “even if we rent a tent and hire people to serve and clean up, it will still be cheaper than having it at a catering hall. And … we do have a nice place.”

      I looked around. Our house and property were more than nice. A lakefront home with its own stretch of beach, privacy and seclusion, surrounded by pine trees. One of the first homes built along the shore road, the house itself had belonged to СКАЧАТЬ