Page 32 of The Brat: Prequel

Victoria: HA! If you say so

Victoria: I take it you don’t like my dress?

FIFTEEN

WHO THE FUCK ARE THE VERONIANS?!

“Everything okay, Vicky?”

“Do I look okay, Aunty Star?” I only don’t shriek because we’re in the middle of an event and there are tons of hockey superstars in our surroundings—not that I can tell you their names. All I know is they’re big, they have massive thighs that fill out pants they must have gotten tailored, and when they sweat, they absolutely reek. I’ve been in the Stars’ locker room. I’ve suffered that stench. “I’m sweating buckets here.”

Thank God I don’t stink like these guys.

“Are you? You look pretty zen to me.” Star peers at me. “Nice pin. Didn’t think kids liked wearing shit that identified their actual age. Inessa warned me to watch out for you. Thought you might sneak off with a hockey player and pretend you’re twenty-one.”

I can feel my cheeks flush with warmth as she studies Maxim’s birthday gift—a platinum pin shaped like a key, studded with diamonds, but the loop on the key forms an eighteen. “Does she even know me? I swear she projects her own rebellion onto me.”

And yeah, some of these guys are cute, but Maxim hot? Nah.

A smirk creases my aunt’s lips. “You know what? That’s pretty spot on. Shame you’re not going for psychology. It’d suit you.”

“I’ll take a class or two to get into people’s minds, but nope. Not for me.”

“You figure out what you’re going to major in at Oakwood?”

“Nah. Think I’ll take it as it comes.” Translation: If I can find something to interest me, I’ll work on that.

“I thought you always had a plan.”

“I do. But there’s no point in forcing myself down a path I don’t have to take. Unlike Shay, I have no lofty ambitions.”

Star hoots. “You can tell the O’Donnelly brothers that, but not me, kid.”

When I glower at her, she simply leans against the bar counter and studies me.

We’re in a hotel called The Madison. It’s pretty swanky, and right now, we’re in their orangery. Everyone’s dressed up nicely—well, apart from the girlfriend of Uncle Conor’s cousin.

Still, her pantsuit’s formal in comparison to Star, who, of course, is wearing jeans and shitkickers. The only ‘formal’ part of her outfit is the fact that she topped off a white camisole with a sports coat.

From the size of it, she stole it from Uncle Conor’s side of the closet.

“You can tell me. I won’t share it with the crowd.”

“You’ll tell Camille. Or Inessa.” I’ve learned how things work in our family.

“I won’t.”

Right. “Yes, you will.”

“No. I won’t. Not if you want me to keep it quiet. Conor says this year interning for the team has gone a long way to them taking you seriously.”

“They should have taken me seriously from the start,” I growl.

I’ll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting like one.

Interning for the family’s hockey team might have been part of my plan to show Maxim that I wasn’t a kid anymore. All it’s done is prove that event management is so not my bag.

“Even Shay had to prove himself,” she points out.