A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  “Fine,” she says, her jaw clenching. But when I roll my palm across her other breast, she arches her back into my touch. “Then we’ll stop.”

  “We should probably screw as much as possible today,” I whisper. “If we’re going to stop.”

  “Yes,” she says. “We should.” She presses her hips toward mine, and I reach down, gripping her thigh.

  “I’d hate for you be walking down the aisle tomorrow any way other than bow-legged,” I say.

  “You’re such a prick,” she says, as my cock stiffens. But she’s smiling.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Katherine

  Today’s the day.

  D-day.

  My father’s wedding to Ella.

  Caulter was true to his word. He left me walking like a cowboy dismounted a horse after days of riding. The stylist doing my hair this morning asked if I was okay, and my face turned the shade of eggplant.

  This wedding is the social event in this part of New Hampshire. It's a huge deal. Thank God our lake house wasn't big enough for it to be held in the backyard; my father's engagement party in the yard of my mother's favorite place was tacky as hell already.

  I’d say that my mother would have turned over in her grave, but the truth is, she would honestly want my father to be happy. It’s just the kind of person she was.

  Caulter and I are supposed to be on the way to the wedding, with the rest of the wedding party. It's being held at this bed and breakfast, this huge place that used to be a hotel in the 1800's. We're not with the rest of the wedding party, though -- I lied to Ella and told her that I needed Caulter’s help with a surprise for my father.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, when the limo comes to a stop.

  “I’ll just be a minute. Thank you for coming here with me.”

  He nods. “I can go out with you, if you want.”

  “No,” I tell him. “I won’t be long.” I take the flowers and walk across the grass, my heels sinking into the dirt. Ella is going to freak when she sees the way my stilettos are going to leave little clumps of dirt behind as I walk down the aisle, but I don't care. The hem of my dress drags in the grass, but I can’t quite bring myself to give that much of a shit about that either.

  I set the flowers on my mother's grave, replacing the ones from a few days ago that are only just starting to wilt, and put the other ones on the stone a few feet away. It’s a kid’s grave, and no one brings flowers, which always makes me sad.

  It seems weird, slightly inappropriate, to be doing this in a bridesmaid dress right before my father marries someone else. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to participate in this day without talking to her first. I swallow hard.

  “I miss you,” I say. “I think you wouldn’t think Ella’s so bad, though. Caulter hates her, I think. Or, maybe not hates, exactly. I think he feels the same way about her that I do about dad. You wouldn’t like that, actually, the way I feel about dad.” I always come out here and talk to her, but I haven’t quite been able to bring myself to talk to her about Caulter.

  “So the wedding is today. I’m on my way, with Caulter,” I say. “I hope you would be okay with it.” It sounds like I’m talking about the wedding, but it’s Caulter I really mean. This wedding has to be the end of what's been brewing between us; it would be terrible for my father's campaign, a media shitstorm if it came out. That's the last thing my father needs. "I love you, mom."

  I feel somber on the walk back to the car, a weird sadness is settling over me. It’s like I’m letting go -- not letting go of my mother, but of Caulter.

  There's a small nagging part of me that thinks that my father's political aspirations shouldn't dictate my whole life. The part of me that keeps the admission letter from UCLA in my desk. The part of me that emailed the director of the art department there last week to see if I could set up a visit while my father and Ella were away on their honeymoon. The part of me that thinks I should tell my father to go fuck himself, because I’m going to do what I want.

  It's just too bad that part isn't stronger.

  Back in the car, Caulter looks at me with concern. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Caulter

  This whole fucking day sucks. I mean, the wedding itself is enough to make me want to vomit. I figured Ella would have been over the Senator by now, but I guess the prospect of eventually being First Lady is good enough for her. Sell-out. Of course, I can’t blame her too much for that part, considering with the fact that I agreed to play along with all of this to make sure nothing happens with my trust fund.

  The minister is talking, and I’m looking at Kate the entire time. Earlier, she told me she had to stop by her mother’s grave before the ceremony, and that she wanted me to go with her. I thought I couldn't possibly feel more protective of her than that night at the party, but it took everything I had not to go out there and hold her hand as she stood at the grave.

  But I didn't want to intrude if she needed to do it alone. When she got back in the limo, there was a heaviness that seemed to weigh on her, and she was silent during the ride here, looking out the window the entire time.

  It's impossible to take my eyes off her, where she stands across from me, sandwiched between the other bridesmaids. The other women are Ella’s vapid Hollywood friends; those girls have nothing on her. Kate makes them look like hags.

  Even with the smile plastered on her face that does nothing to hide the sadness behind her eyes, she’s fucking gorgeous. Her hair is pulled up, these little pieces falling down around her face, and the strapless dress she wears exposes her collarbone and makes her look regal. Bridesmaid dresses are supposed to be ugly, aren’t they? Not on Kate.

  The minister drones on and on, and my mind is stuck on what Kate said yesterday about how the two of us have to stop doing what we've been doing. It was hard to take her seriously when she followed that statement up by screwing my brains out in every position imaginable the rest of the day, but still.

  The fact that she said it is bugging me. I’ve never been so hung up on a chick that I wanted to keep sleeping with her. And now, I can’t imagine not having Kate around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Katherine

  “Are people looking at us?” I lean over and whisper to Caulter, who sits beside me at the wedding party table. “I feel like people are looking at us.”

  “Of course they are,” he says. “We’re at the wedding table in front of everyone. Everyone is fucking staring at us, or our parents.”

  “I’m not being crazy,” I insist. I feel like people can see right through us. Like they know.

  On the other side of me, one of the groomsmen leans over to talk to me. “So, Harvard in the fall, eh?”

  I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to tell Caulter to fuck off, too. I am so incredibly on edge and irritable, but I swear that this is not in my head. People are looking at their cell phones a little too much. Laughing a little too much. “I’m not sure,” I say absently.

  “Not sure?” he asks. “You're unsure about Harvard? Your father says you’re going pre-law.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course I am.” I shake my head, completely fixated on the woman at a table toward the front who is checking her phone and showing the girl next to her. They both look over their shoulders in our direction and giggle, covering their mouths with their hands. Okay, I am not crazy here. I reach down to my bag on the floor beside the chair and open the clasp, pulling out my phone onto my lap.

  Caulter glances over at me. “So rude,” he scolds.

  “I’m not delusional here,” I hiss. “People are staring at us.” And it’s not just a few people, either. It’s multiple people, looking at their phones in the middle of the reception dinner. It’s like some kind of disease spreading through the crowd.

  “They're probably just staring at your tits,” he whispers.

  “That's funny, asshole.” I check a few of the news websites, glancing u