Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
I won’t fail the team.
He nods but says, “I can’t stay.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I remind him. “Your dad did.”
Rocky eases a fraction. With a hand on the doorknob, he glances back at the bikinis on the bed. “The pink one.”
“What?”
“It’s my vote.”
I eye the halter top and high-rise bottoms. It’s probably the best route. “It’s the safe choice,” I say out loud.
“It’s pink.” He’s out of my room too quickly for me to ask what he means.
Then it dawns on me.
He knows my favorite color is pink. In a world of deception and aliases, Rocky is one of the few people who truly knows the real me.
ONE
Phoebe
Now
I’m so far from normal, I should probably give up on figuring out the true meaning of the word. But what’s happening right now in the dining room of a snobby country club with hundred-grand membership dues—it’s not even my normal. The normal of a so-called “daughter” of a con artist—raised to rip off egocentric assholes and board fancy yachts and live lavishly until the money runs dry. Then do it all over again.
No, this right here is not my normal at all.
It’s bizarre.
Terrifying, even.
My mom is in Victoria, Connecticut, with her best friend, Addison. And they’re pretending to be fucking matchmakers. Probably to matchmake me and Rocky for a payout. They’re here without warning. Without a text or a smoke signal.
And to pile it on, my mom might not be my mom.
It’s been a literal day since I learned that we might not be related. She might’ve kidnapped me and my brothers.
Addison most definitely isn’t biologically Trevor’s mother. So where the hell did he come from?
There is a foundational rule to what we do. We deceive other people. We never deceive each other. Yet, our parents lied to all six of us.
They conned us.
I didn’t realize how mad I was, not until this moment. Seeing them here. Facing them. An inferno builds in my lungs and combines with extreme levels of unease. I’m crawling out of my skin, but no one can see the alarms going off in my entire body, telling me to evacuate from this fucked-up situation. To find Rocky. Find Hailey. Find my brothers.
While I stare right at Elizabeth Graves and Addison Tinrock, the country club doesn’t fall hushed. No spotlight is shining down on little ole me—the blue-haired, drama-filled server at Victoria Country Club.
The midafternoon lunch crowd has packed the dining room, and everyone is absorbed in their own social sphere. Pickleball-clad ladies chitter-chatter as they stab forks into shrimp Louie salads. Full-bellied laughter bellows from rich men over their tuna tartare. Clinks of silverware on plates sound obnoxiously loud, and flames roar in a fireplace behind my mom.
I’m the only one who knows two con artists have just slithered their way into this town’s cracked foundation, and they’re going to sink their poisonous fangs into someone.
Not me.
They won’t trick me?
My pulse won’t slow. Because that’s never been a question before. Now all I have are furious questions for them. The most pressing one: Why the hell are you here?
“It’s so nice to meet you, Phoebe,” my mom says with a charismatic smile. She brushes her blonde hair off her shoulder and extends a hand to me. “I’m Isla Rivers.” Aka Elizabeth Graves. Do I even call her Mom?
Do I want to?
Not really. She doesn’t deserve that, does she? Even if I’m biologically her daughter. Even if I am a triplet with Nova and Oliver. Even if this is all true—she’s an accomplice to something nefarious with Trevor. That makes her just as guilty for duping us.
What else could she be hiding? Would she ever admit to the truth? Can I trust anything she ever says?
My head spins, and I wish I were holding a serving tray right now—something that’d give me an out from shaking hands with a…devil? I don’t know what she is.
I always figured if my mom were a devil, then so was I. The Graves and Tinrocks—we were all just a merry little gang of heathens in hell together.
I loved it that way.
Everything is off-kilter now. My world is tipping at the axis.
I shake her hand and try to throttle myself out of this hot stupor. “Sorry, I missed what Stella said about you being…professionals?”
In my peripheral, I catch Stella bristling in her Chanel getup. “It’s Mrs. Fitzpatrick, sweets.” Her tight, acidic smile deserves one in return, and I could force one back—but I like this job.
I want to keep this job. And I’m clearly not on a first-name basis with Mrs. My Shit Doesn’t Stink. I am still just the lowly server who happens to be “dating” town aristocracy, and Stella is the rich best friend of Claudia Waterford.
And Claudia—she’s the mother of my fake boyfriend, Jake Waterford. Oh, and they all despise the idea of a Phoebe and Jake union. Which should be fine. Just fine. Because today, I was supposed to be ending this fake dating scheme so I can truthfully (and finally) date the guy I actually love.