Sara Shepard - Twisted

But then she realized. Klaudia wasn’t wearing anything at all. She was totally and completely naked.

“Holy shit,” Christopher blurted emphatically and appreciatively.

“Whoa.” Eric groaned softly.

Noel gawked at her, too. Klaudia just stood there like a freaky Finnish exhibitionist, her boobs swinging for the whole world to see. Not a single one of the Kahns told her to cover up. Why would they?

It was just too much. Letting out a pent-up scream, Aria pushed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and ran for the door, barely feeling the frigid air on her skin or the icy concrete beneath her feet. Once inside, she wrapped the towel around her, staggered toward the elevators, and pressed the call button repeatedly. Of course this would be the one time the elevator decided to stop on every floor.

“Ahem.”

Aria jumped and turned. Noel stood in the doorway, steam misting off his half-naked body. There was a trail of wet footprints from where he’d come in. “Where are you going?”

Aria pressed the call button again. “To my room.”

“Shouldn’t you apologize first?”

She whipped around. “To who ?”

“Klaudia didn’t do anything wrong, Aria.”

She gawked at him. “Are you kidding me?”

Noel just shrugged.

It felt like a billion blood vessels just burst in Aria’s brain. “Okay. Okay. Whatever. If you want to have your little foursome with Klaudia, that’s fine. But not in front of me, okay? I didn’t think I actually had to watch .”

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Aria marched inside, but Noel pulled her back out. His green eyes were full of hurt. “Aria, Klaudia’s crying out there. She didn’t realize she was supposed to wear a bathing suit in the hot tub. In Finland, nobody does! Guys go naked in hot tubs. Girls go naked in hot tubs. They’re not as prudish about it as we are. You shouldn’t have screamed at her—I would think that you of all people would understand the meaning of cultural sensitivity.”

Aria wrenched her arm from his. “Cultural sensitivity? Noel, Klaudia showing up naked at the hot tub isn’t a cultural thing—it’s a slutty thing!”

Noel’s mouth dropped open. He closed his eyes and shook his head like he didn’t believe her. Like he thought she was just being a jealous bitch.

The elevator doors started to slide closed again, but Aria thrust her foot between them and caught them. “Klaudia wants you, Noel,” she said icily. “And if you weren’t so smitten with her, you’d notice she’s being really obvious about it, too.”

She stepped inside the elevator doors and pressed down hard on the CLOSE button. Part of her hoped Noel would step inside and ride up with her, but he just stood in the vestibule, blinking at her, his face full of disappointment. With a whoosh , the doors closed, and in moments the car swept Aria up to her floor. Where Noel went after that, she didn’t know.

And she tried to fool herself into believing she didn’t care.

At 8 P.M. sharp, Spencer, Zach, and Amelia passed under the green-and-white awning of Smith and Wollensky, the upscale steakhouse on Third Avenue, and swished through the brass-handled double doors.

The bar area was six people deep, and everyone was shouting. Businessmen sat at giant oak tables eating rib eyes and juicy burgers the size of their heads. Trophy wives sipped martinis and winked flirtatiously at the white-coated Irish guys pouring goblet-sized glasses of wine behind the bar. The air smelled like testosterone and meat.

“Leave it to my dad to pick somewhere über-masculine,” Zach mused in Spencer’s ear as a hostess guided them around the crowded dining room to where their parents were waiting. “Do you really think your mom finds this place romantic?”

Spencer doubted it, but she pinched his arm. “Now, now. We need to be on our best behavior, remember?”

Zach raised a brow. “Actually, I propose we be on our worst behavior.”

“Oh? What are you thinking?”

“Drinking game.” Zach’s eyes sparkled. He reached into his bag and showed Spencer the very tip of a stainless steel flask. “It’s filled with Absolut Kurant.”

“Naughty boy!” Spencer whispered. “I’m in. Here’s my rule: Every time my mom fusses over your dad, we take a drink.”

“Deal. And every time my dad acts like a big shot, we drink.”

Spencer snorted. “We’ll be loaded before the food arrives.”

Zach raised his eyebrow. “Isn’t that the idea?”

Tingles shot up Spencer’s back. After their provocative moment in the dressing room, Zach had been even more touchy-feely than ever, brushing his hand up against Spencer’s waist and giving her unprompted hand-squeezes whenever Amelia emerged in a particularly fabulous outfit. When they’d passed Cartier on the walk down to Saks, he’d even grabbed Spencer’s hand and asked if she wanted to go inside—he’d buy her something. “Only if it’s a platinum love ring,” she teased. That had made Amelia give them both a sickened look and walk several paces ahead of them for the rest of the afternoon.

Mrs. Hastings waved at the three of them as they approached the table. Mr. Pennythistle sat on her right. Both were dressed in opera regalia, Mr. Pennythistle in a tuxedo, and Spencer’s mother in a beaded gown that clung snugly to her thin frame. An opened bottle of red wine already sat on the table, along with a platter of fried calamari. As they sat down, Mrs. Hastings made up a plate for Mr. Pennythistle. “I know you hate the ones with the tentacles,” she said in a motherly voice as she placed it in front of him.

“Thank you, dear,” Mr. Pennythistle said, picking up his knife and fork.

Spencer and Zach exchanged a glance, nearly bursting out laughing over the word tentacles . Zach covertly reached for his flask and poured some into his and Spencer’s glasses of sparkling water. They both took a big sip.

“So what did you kids do today?” Mrs. Hastings dipped a piece of calamari into the bowl of marinara sauce.

“Oh, we did the New York tourist thing,” Spencer said. “Saks, Bendel’s, Barneys. Amelia got a lot of great clothes.”

“Oh, those stores are lovely,” Mrs. Hastings sighed wistfully.

Mr. Pennythistle’s forehead wrinkled. “You didn’t go to any museums? You didn’t visit the stock exchange?”

Amelia clamped her mouth shut. Zach wilted in his seat. Mr. Pennythistle shoved a calamari into his mouth with gusto. “What about the tour of Carnegie Hall I arranged for you, Amelia? I had to pull major strings to get that.”

“I’ll go tomorrow, Daddy,” Amelia piped up quickly. Suck-up.

“Good.” Mr. Pennythistle nodded, then glanced at Zach. “And are you telling me you didn’t meet with Douglas?”

Spencer glanced at Zach—she’d forgotten about his meeting with the Harvard admissions guy. Zach shrugged. “I didn’t feel like it.”

Mr. Pennythistle blinked hard. “But he was waiting for your call.” He pulled out his BlackBerry. “I’ll see if he can meet with you tomorrow morning . . .”

It looked like Zach was going to explode. “You know, not all of us want to go to Harvard, Dad.”

Mr. Pennythistle’s mouth dropped open slightly. “But . . . you’ll love it at Harvard, Zachary. Some of my best memories are from my time there.”

“It is a lovely school,” Mrs. Hastings chimed in. Mr. Pennythistle squeezed her hand gratefully.

But Zach folded his hands on top of the table, unblinking. “I’m not you , Dad. Maybe I want other things.”

Mr. Pennythistle looked like he was going to say something else, but Mrs. Hastings quickly interrupted. “Now, now, let’s not fight!” She pushed the plate of calamari over to Zach like it was consolation. “We’re all having such a nice time in New York. Let’s just keep it that way.”