One

"I've advised Betty against putting Kaylie in Bronson High years ago. Other than the obvious problem of that school being simply too expensive for them to afford, that uniform is not very flattering on Kaylie."

That was my Aunt Rita talking, of course. Despite the fact - or maybe because - I was standing a few feet away from where she was sitting on the sofa holding court in front of her party guests, she was once again rudely voicing her opinions of me and my family.

Her friends all turned to me, not even bothering to do it discretely, so they could look me over and nod in agreement. I hated my Aunt's friends almost as much as my Aunt herself. While she was an evil, judgmental bitch, her friends were all kiss-ass sycophants who did nothing but flatter my Aunt so there could keep getting invited to her lavish parties. Of which there were a lot.

Embarrassed and angry, I turned my eyes down and stared at my cake. If I didn't already feel like such a dork in my school uniform surrounded by all these well-dressed older women, I felt even more miserable now. I wasn't really fat, was I? No one but my Aunt Rita even implied that I was. And who the hell looked bad in this outfit? It was the standard uniform for most private schools - short plaid skirt, white collared shirt and blazer. It was, in fact, an outfit that showed up a lot in adult films.

Or so I heard.

Thankfully, my mom was too far away to hear. You'd think that being the older sister of eight years , my Mom would refuse to take shit from Rita. (I sure as hell wouldn't. I didn't take shit from anybody.) But no. My Mom was the kind of person who'd always see only the best in people even when they were being blatantly rude to her. And while my Aunt Rita was never a really nice person to begin with, she got even nastier when she married Uncle Oliver, who was this millionaire heir to a real estate empire in California. Suddenly, Rita started acting like she was better than everyone, including my Mom. Even though my Mom practically raised her when my grandparents passed away when Mom was 20. My parents even took out a second mortgage just so they could send my aunt to a decent college.

"I'm sure she means well," Mom said when I complained about how Rita was being mean to me. "She doesn't have children of her own, it's only natural she'd be concerned about you."

I rolled my eyes at that. If "being concerned" meant constantly telling me how fat I was and how I was never as smart as she or my Mom was, then I didn't need her concern, thank you very much.

Of course I couldn't say as much to Mom. She really loved that bitch of a sister of hers. She made me promise never to talk back to Rita or act rudely towards her, no matter what. I loved my Mom, and I knew it mattered a lot to her that I acted respectfully towards her sister.

So that was why I could only bite my tongue and smile in situations like this.

The cake was really good, though. It was some kind of fancy chocolate mousse, which I liked. If I had to suffer through Rita's parties, I could at least be assured the food would be fantastic. I took another forkful, closed my eyes, and sighed contentedly. My diet was ruined. But this was damn good cake. I could never be really skinny like the cheerleaders at school; I had so little self control. I suppose this is why Rita would always have something to say about my looks and my weight.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," someone beside me said.

I turned to see a tall, strikingly gorgeous, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties.

"Oh... Hi, Uncle Oliver," I said. I hesitated, not sure whether I should give him a hug.

He stood beside me, both of us now with our backs to the wall, facing the the roomful of party guests. Me holding my cake, he holding a glass of wine. I figured he wasn't really expecting a hug then.

My uncle wasn't a hugging kind of guy after all. He was nice, I guess, but he wasn't warm or affectionate like my parents. And he was kind of a snob, like most rich people I knew. He and Aunt Rita were kind of a good fit that way. Even if he didn't really deserve to be married to such a horrible person, Aunt Rita was less awful when he was around. I was actually glad she was such a two-faced bitch, because that meant that I got a reprieve so long as I was around her husband.

It wasn't too unpleasant being around Uncle Oliver either. I mean , he was pretty old (about 35), but he was nevertheless ... well, hot. He had the most amazing cheekbones and really gorgeous hazel eyes. Plus I've seen him by their swimming pool a bunch of times, and the guy was in really great shape. Like, ripped abs and everything.

We weren't close. I think he just barely tolerated me and my parents because we were his wife's family. Even now, I was struggling with something to say to him to end the silence between us that was getting increasingly awkward.

"So, Uncle Olie. What are you getting me for my birthday?"

"Birthday?"

"Yeah, you know. Birthday. The day you were born. Everyone gets one once a year. There's cake. Usually."

"Oh. Of course. It's your birthday soon?"

"Last Wednesday, actually." I grinned. "I was hoping you'd have a present for your favorite niece."

"You're my only niece."

"Exactly."

I was kidding, of course. I didn't really expect Oliver to give me a present. He'd never once given me a present my whole life.

"Well, I suppose I could set you up with something. What are you now - fifteen? Sixteen?"

I laughed. Of course he had no idea how old I was. "I'm eighteen, Uncle Olie."

He turned to look at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. "Oh. Of course. Well, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

He turned back to look at the crowd, and took a sip of his wine.

I took that opportunity to observe his profile. Damn, Uncle Olie was hot. I may have in fact had one or two fantasies about him since I turned fifteen. Except in my lust-filled imagination, Oliver wasn't terribly snooty. And he smiled a lot more. Also, he bought me a car. A Tesla.

Okay, so that may have also been a fantasy about owning a really nice car.

I turned back to watch the crowd as per my role of the official wallflower of my Aunt's party. However, I couldn't help but be aware of the man standing next to me. Not just in the sense that I knew he was there. I was conscious of his legs right next to mine. And his torso, with those amazing abs underneath that dark suit. His hand holding his wine glass, his mouth drinking from that glass.

What was Oliver even doing there? Was he as bored as I was?

Without moving my head, I turned my eyes to glance at him. And found him staring downwards. Looking at my legs.

I looked away quickly before he noticed.

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Thanks for reading! Please vote for this chapter if you liked it! - Iliada T.