Page 69 of Juliet's Echo

Sucking my teeth, I adjusted my posture, toyed with my hair, and blinked my eyes seductively.

Contrary to popular belief, I was nothing like my mother.

While she was comfortable placing her well-being in the hands of others, my goal was to make my own money through an upstanding career. I wanted to be a chef. Cooking was everything to me. It made me happy, and there was never a day I didn’t want to be standing over a hot stove testing and creating recipes.

Culinary was my major at the university, and my line was always full whenever we showcased dishes we'd created on the campus. When my parents spent vacations on yacht tours and jet skis, I spent the time learning from chefs and collecting cookbooks from around the world.

That’s why, when I was assigned to the bookstore to work off my stipend for the semester, there was no fuss from me. Having nearly one hundred cookbooks at my disposal every day, completely free, was a good time as far as I was concerned.

Of course, my mother didn’t support my career choice. If it didn’t consist of me being well-kept, snotty, and the center of attention, it wasn’t worth pursuing in her eyes.

The behaviors she bestowed upon me left me without any friends. Girls considered me intolerable because of my vanity, lack of compassion, and the hoe of a mother who, in their minds, taught me how to sleep with other people's men.

And who was I kidding? Most of it was true.

However, I had no one to show me a different way. No close cousins. No favorite aunt. Not even a sibling to pawn my mother off on so I could watch someone else suffer for a change.

I didn’t stand a chance fighting the inevitable, that is my mother and so, I went with the flow.

I was undeniably beautiful, good in bed, and put together perfectly enough to fool most people into thinking I had my life figured out. If those were the cards life dealt me, I might as well play the game.

For the last three months, every Saturday had been spent at the Havenbrook Country Club, throwing pussy at wealthy members like pennies into a water fountain and hoping one of them made a wish.

This Saturday was no different.

My trance was instantly broken as my mother excitedly tapped my shoulder over and over again, as if she'd just won a car on a game show.

“Ma!” I snapped, jerking my shoulder out of her reach.

“Ava, fix your face. You don’t want lines,” she said, standing and adjusting her dress.

“My horoscope told me today was my day and look.”

Slowly, she turned her head, pretending to adjust her hair behind her ear.

The shark had smelled blood.

Tiredly, I followed her stare and, low and behold, Axel and Echo Everette.

If you took perfection, chocolate, wealth, power, bourbon, and talent, mixed it all together and baked it, you'd get yourself an Everette man. All three Everette sons and they daddy were delicious. Echo was simply the most attainable because he was within arm’s reach. His younger brothers—one in the NFL and the other in the NBA—were constantly on the road and rarely visited Havenbrook.

Desired perfection aside, the women of the Everette household were equally adored. Olivia and Juliet—whom I couldn't stand walking around with her sign language and perfect grades—were considered two of Havenbrook’s gems. If word ever got out that my mother and I caused them any disturbance, we'd be ran out of town.

Sure, I had social pull among people my age but, the Everettes had legacy. Everyone in that household was a living legend and I am sure Juliet was well on her way.

“This is absolutely perfect, Princess. God sent one for each of us,” my mother whispered.

I immediately grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into her chair.

“Absolutely not,” I said quietly, forcing a smile as people walked by.

“Why not?” she questioned

“Echo is too old for me.”

“Age is a number, not a limitation.”

Not a single feature shifted on Faith’s face when I displayed my discomfort at approaching a man in Echo’s age group. There was no concern, no consideration, no change of heart. She just sat there looking like Lynn Whitfield inA Thin Line Between Love and Hate.