Jessica Sorensen - The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

A huge thanks to my agent, Erica Silverman, and my editor, Amy Pierpont. Im forever grateful for all your help and input.

To my family, thank you supporting me and my dream. You guys are wonderful.

And to everyone who reads this book, an endless amount of thank-yous.

Lila

Beauty. Vanity. Perfection. Three words my mother adores. They mean more to her than her husband, her daughters, and life. Without these attributes, she thinks shed be better off dead. Without me having these attributes, she would disown me. Be flawless. Shine bright. Never, ever do anything less than excel. These are her rules and the vanity that makes up my life. And my father isnt any better. In fact, I think he might be worse, because even with beauty, perfection, and flawlessness, Im still never good enough.

The constant need to be perfect continuously overwhelms me and makes me feel like Im going to be crushed from the pressure. Sometimes I swear my house can shrink and expand, that the walls can close in and then retreat. When Im alone in my house, the space feels overly immense with too many rooms, too many walls. But when Im in it with my parents it seems like I cant get enough space, almost as if I cant breathe, even if were on opposite sides of the house.

Maybe its because Im always doing something wrong and theyre always reminding me of my unforgiveable mistakes. Either Im not doing enough to appease them or Im not doing things well enough. There are always rules to follow. Sit up straight. Dont slouch. Dont talk unless youre spoken too. Dont screw up. Be perfect. Look pretty. We have expectations and standards to live up to. We must be perfect on the outside, despite whats on the inside. I get so exhausted by the rules. Im fourteen years old and all I want to do is have fun for once in my life and not wear sweater sets, slacks, and designer dresses, not worry about my hair being shimmering and sleek, my skin flawless. If I could, I would cut off my hair and dye it some wild color, like fiery red or streak it with black. I would wear heavy eyeliner and dark red lipstick. I would do anything as long is it was really me. At the moment, Im not sure who that is, though. I only know the me my mother created.

Im getting tired of it. I dont want to worry about what everyone thinks of my family. I dont want to have to sit at a dinner table that is big enough to seat twenty when there are only three of us. I dont want to be forced to eat food that looks like it still needs to be cooked. I dont want to endure one more dinner where Im told every single thing Ive done wrong. I want them to just let me be myself and maybe, perhaps tell me that they love me. I dont want to feel like Im always screwing up. I want to feel loved. I really do.

Lila Summers, my mom says, her tone clipped as she snaps her finger at me. Dont slouch at the table. Youll get bad posture and it will mess up your height, or worse, youll get a hump on your back. Imagine how hideous youd look then.

Blowing out a breath, I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chest up, and continue to push the food around on my plate with my silverware. Yes, mother.

She shoots me a dirty look, displeased with my disrespectful tone. She just had her regular Botox treatment and her face looks frozen in place; nothing moves, wrinkles, or reveals any kind of emotion whatsoever. Then again, thats how my mother is with or without Botox treatments. To show feeling is to show weakness, something my father and mother despise, along with failure, underachievement, and embarrassment to the family name, something I frequently cause.

But doesnt it seem just a little bit silly, I say, knowing Im treading on thin ice. My father hates when we question the rules, but sometimes I cant keep my mouth shut, because I keep it shut too often. To not be able to slouch just a little since were the only ones here.

Maybe we should start having her eat at her own table, my father says, taking a bite of his asparagus. You know how I feel about distractions while Im eating. Hes always in a pissy mood, but hes extra pissy today. He had to join my mother at a mandatory meeting at my school with the principal because I got caught ditching yesterday. It wasnt really a big deal. I just missed gym, but they got called in and that in and of itself caused an embarrassment to my father, which he repeatedly reminded me of in the car ride home.

She never does anything right, hed said to my mother as we drove home. Im so sick and tired of the drama. Either she needs to straighten up or she needs to go.

Hed said it like I was a dog or something equally as easy to discard.

My mother continues to glare at me from across the table, warning me to keep my mouth shut, that my father is not in mood for any arguinglike he ever is. She has blue eyes and blonde hair identical to mine, but her hair has started to gray so she dyes it once every couple of weeks so her roots wont show. She gets manicures, wont wear anything else besides name-brand designers, and has a shoe closet thats as big as a lot of peoples houses. She likes her expensive wine and of course her medication. I hope to God I dont grow up to be her, but if my mom has her way, Ill be married off to some well-known familys son, despite the fact that we wont be in love. Love is stupid. Love wont get you happiness, she always says. Its how my mother and father met, which is probably why they sit on opposite ends of the dining table and never make eye contact. Sometimes I wonder how I was ever created, since Ive never even seen them kiss.

My fathers phone chimes from inside his shirt pocket and he slips it out, checking the screen. He hesitates, and then silences it before returning it to his pocket.

Who was that? my mother asks, even though she already knows. We all do. Even the maids.

Business, he mutters and stuffs his mouth with asparagus.

Business is his twenty-four-year-old mistress, who my mother knows about but wont ever say anything to my father about. I overheard her talking to her mother about it and theyd both agreed that it was a sacrifice of her luxurious life. My mother acted like it was no big deal, but I could hear the hurt in her tone then like I can spot agitation in her eyes now. I think it makes her feel like shes losing her beauty and youth, since shes getting older, grayer, and the wrinkles are starting to show.

Well, will you please tell business not to call at the dinner table? She stabs her fork into her chicken. And Lila, I will not warn you again. Sit up straight or you will go to your room without dinner. Youre going to end up with a hump on your back and then no one will ever want you.

I really think we should reconsider sending her to that boarding school in New York that you sent Abby to, my father says without looking at me. He straightens his tie and takes a bite of food. Actually, I think we should. I dont want to have to worry about raising her anymore. Its too much drama and I dont have the patience for it.

Now Douglas, I dont think we need to send her that far away, my mother says, letting the mistress call go like its as easy as popping one of the pills she takes every morning.

Its almost the same conversation they have every single night. My dad says, Hey, lets send her away to which my mother replies, Now, Douglas.

Shes been getting into too much trouble. My father grimaces, cutting his chicken. Skipping school to go shopping and hanging out with people who arent up to our standards. She has average grades at best and zero accomplishments besides looking pretty. I ran into Fort Allman the other day and his son just got accepted to Yale. He stuffs a bite full of chicken into his mouth and chews it completely before speaking. What do we have to show for ourselves, Julie? Two daughters, one whos been to rehab two times and the other whos probably going to end up pregnant before the end of her freshman year of high school. She needs some sort of direction.