A trickle of hope slithered its way to my gut. If Vaughn didn’t know, that meant my relationship with Knight was salvageable, right? Knight hadn’t said anything that’d make Vaughn see me in a negative light.

He still protected me.

I didn’t even know what my goal was. Up until three days ago, I’d been keen to give this thing with Knight a chance. Then for twenty-four hours or so, I’d been planning a future with Josh—whose messages I’d been dodging the past three days, too hysterical to pay him attention. And all of a sudden my only wish was…what? To get Knight back? He was never mine to begin with. To beg for his forgiveness? He was the one who’d pointed out we were free to mess around with anyone we wanted. Yet I was expected to explain myself. I’d even felt guilty. But now, as I stood here, waiting for my verdict, I wasn’t exactly sure why I had ever agreed to go to trial.

Knight slept with girls. All the time. He flirted and dated and locked them in Vaughn’s media room and did unthinkable things to them behind the dark, wooden doors. He crawled into my bed with their sweet, flowery, needy scents all over him.

Why was I being so apologetic and remorseful? Why would I mess this thing up with Josh to try to soothe Knight’s wounded ego? Why had I let him hinder the entire progress I’d made these past four months, just because he wasn’t comfortable with my new life?

The only thing I was at fault for was slapping him, and that was months ago. But I shouldn’t have done that, and he deserved an apology. But that was the extent of it.

Getting kicked out of gyms, nearly falling off window ledges—why was I indulging his vindictiveness?

Suddenly, my blood simmered with heat. All this time, I’d been trying to apologize for something Knight shoved in my face on a daily basis when we’d lived close to each other.

I excused myself from the adults’ company, waltzing into the Spencers’ kitchen and helping myself to a glass of spicy red port specially prepared by their Portuguese vintner, because of course, when you were a Spencer, having your own vintner was a thing.

I caught Daria—blonde, tall, and too Gigi Hadid to look real—and Penn, who basically looked like Leonardo DiCaprio circa 1996, making out against the kitchen counter and pretended not to notice their picture-ready existence. The doorbell chimed behind us, and they disconnected on a grunt, panting hard and smiling at each other.

I wanted to throw up into my port. Not because I didn’t like them—I did, I loved them, they were a part of my family—but because I knew what, and who, was coming through that door.

“It’s Knight! I’ve been dying to catch up with him.” Daria clapped excitedly, leaving Penn and me in the kitchen together without even sparing me a hello.

We nodded at each other. He leaned against the kitchen counter, jerking his chin my way.

“How’s college?”

I smiled, pointing at him.

He shrugged. “I’m happy wherever she is.” His eyes drifted to the space Daria had occupied a second ago.

That sounded like something Josh would say. Suddenly, I missed Josh. Josh, whose only sin was to be the cause of my rift with Knight.

I unlocked my phone and sent him a quick message, in answer to the ones he’d been bombarding me with.

Luna: Everything is great. Sorry I’ve been silent—a lot has been going on, but it’s okay now. We’re just starting dinner. I miss you, too, and I really can’t wait to get back to Boon. x

When I looked up, the kitchen was suddenly full of people, including Knight, his mother (Rosie), his dad (Dean), and his little brother (Lev). Lev and Racer sneaked together to the great room with Bailey on their heels.

Rosie squeezed me into her wheezing chest and kissed the crown of my head. Dean narrowed his eyes at me playfully, ruffling the hair I’d tried to straighten for the past couple hours.

“Having fun at Boon, Lu?”

I circled my index and thumb in an OK.

“Good, good.”

When it was Knight’s turn to acknowledge me, and all eyes were on us, he tilted his chin up in hello. He didn’t take a second look at my dress, or my made-up face, or my dolled-up hair. Just gave me a nonchalant wink and moved to the port, helping himself to a generous glass. The blush on his cheeks indicated he’d already slipped a shot or four before they’d arrived. He wore a white V-neck shirt, a navy blue blazer, and camel-hued skinny jeans, his hair a delicious, unkempt mess. He was thumbing his phone, not really paying attention to anyone, uncharacteristically distant.

Vaughn, who now stood next to me, looked between us and cleared his throat, silently asking what the hell was going on. Knight scratched his eyebrow, tossing his phone in the air and catching it with precise speed and accuracy.

“Anything to share?” Vaughn grumbled.

Knight threw his entire drink down his throat when our parents weren’t looking, clucking his tongue with a devilish smirk. “Sorry, not into sharing. You never know where shit’s been, you know?”

Vaughn whistled low, looking between us. “And so, the little innocent creature has fangs. The plot thickens.”

I swallowed.

Knight grinned. “Someone’s thick here, all right, but it’s got nothing to do with the plot.”

“You’re butthurt,” Vaughn mused.

“Nah. The only butts in danger of hurting are the ones I’ll be plowing into when we go to Arabella’s party after this boring dinner.” Knight spat out the word boring like I was the one who made it so.

I could feel my anger climbing up my toes, making every cell in my body burn. Arabella? What about Poppy? I wanted to yell my lungs out, but settled for flashing the boys a dazzling, I-don’t-give-a-damn smile, not wanting to cause a scene.

My fury reached another peak when we’d sat at the long dinner table, with brown, hand-decorated china, personal pumpkins painted by Lev and Bailey, yellow candles and handmade napkins sewn with real threads of gold. Everybody was chatting, laughing, and drinking warm cider and wine, enjoying their butter-roasted turkey. Knight sat next to me, probably because he knew he’d be bombarded with concerned questions if he didn’t, and continued texting under the table, taking no part in the conversation.

“Put the phone down, son,” Dean said at one point, and Knight didn’t even look up from the screen.

Dean put his glass of water on the table—he never drank alcohol—and looked directly at Knight with the familiar intensity of a man who could set the sky ablaze.

“Honey,” Rosie tried, dabbing a napkin at the sides of her mouth.

This time, Knight did look up, tucking his phone in his front pocket. It was one of the things I loved about Knight the most. He was respectful and loving to his mother.

“Sorry, Ma.”

“Sorry sounds right,” Dean muttered into his forkful of white asparagus.

“I agree. Sounds are awesome. I love sounds.” Knight threw his arms in the air, digging into his food all of a sudden like he’d been starving for days. I shrank into my seat next to him, staring at my meal like it was going to help me if I begged it hard enough with my eyes. I had a lot to say to Knight, but I couldn’t do it at the table.

“Do you have anything to say?” Edie, with her no-bullshit approach, speared Knight with a look, her utensils clattering to her plate.