“So things are not easy with your family.”
“No. I talked to Eva about this when Leo was sick, and she said I would have to choose between them and Leo. After everything that’s happened, I’m worried we’ll never have any peace. I’m worried she might be right.”
“She won’t be.” Daphne sounds confident about this, at least. “Not if Leo has anything to say about it. He always gets his way.” She knows it’s not true. I know it’s not true. But it’s a step onto lighter ground, which is where we’re supposed to be for a birthday makeover. “My collector has been texting me.”
“You can open your eyes,” says the stylist, and when I do, I find a completely neutral, friendly expression. I would bet anything that she’s deliberately not paying attention to our conversation. It’s probably part of her contract.
“Have you texted back?”
“No.” Daphne bites her lip. “I don’t know what to say. Leo would be pissed if I told him where I am, so I haven’t said anything.” She groans as her stylist applies a rosy shimmer to her cheeks. “He’s not a bad guy. Leo should settle down.”
“I don’t think that’s in his DNA. How long are you going to hide him, though? Do you have a secret name for him in your phone?”
“Collector,” says Daphne. “Obviously.”
I laugh harder. The stylist quirks her lips and waits for me to stop. “My sister had a boyfriend when she was in high school. She didn’t want my dad to know who it was, so she saved him in her phone as a smiley face emoji. It was funny because her face made that same expression every time he texted her.”
Daphne grins, her dark eyes lit up. “Did they run away together? Get married?”
“No, they didn’t make it past senior year. She married someone that was Constantine approved. An investment banker.” Jeremy Rand seems nice enough, in a severe kind of way. He manages the finances for most of the Constantines. Except for my father, of course, who doesn’t have enough money to manage. He has strict ideas about what Petra should wear and say and do. “I miss her, but I feel like I don’t know her very well anymore.”
“Yeah,” says Daphne. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know anyone at all.”
“You know me. What you see is pretty much what you get.”
Her smile crinkles her eyes. “No way. You look like a Constantine—you are a Constantine—but you’re kind. And you look quiet and soft, but when you’re with Leo, he listens to you.”
Something about her voice makes me reassure her. “He listens to you, too.”
She makes a face. “No, he doesn’t. He just tells me what to do. You have a stalker, Daphne. Move in with us, Daphne. Don’t get murdered, Daphne.”
“Well, the last one seems like good advice,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh.
“I’m a grown woman, but he treats me like I’m a child.”
“He cares about you. That’s why he’s so protective.”
“Overprotective,” Daphne says. “I mean, the whole idea is offensive. Someone likes my paintings, so they must be a crazy stalker?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not because I think Leo is wrong about this collector. More because I can see the hurt in Daphne’s eyes. It’s painful not to be taken seriously by your family.
“Whatever,” she says. “Enough about Leo.”
“Enough about him,” I agree. “He’s not interesting in the least. Besides, I want to hear more about this collector. There’s something in your voice when you talk about him.”
“He likes my paintings. That’s all.”
“Maybe,” I say, my tone noncommittal. “Maybe he only cares about your paintings, but what about you? Do you only care about him as a customer?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know. How are you supposed to know?”
The jumble of feelings I have for Leo rises—the love and the hate, the frustration and the fear. He’s everything good and hopeful in a dark world, but he would hate to hear me say that. “I think if you don’t know how you feel about him, he’s already more than a customer.”
Chapter Eighteen
Haley
Daphne leaves me alone to get dressed. The stylist stays to help me. It’s a good thing, because it’s a fancy gown and I need her help to get it over my head without smudging my makeup. She does the zipper, fluffs the fabric, and turns me to face the mirror.
“Wow.” I can’t stop looking at myself. “You did a good job.”
“You were an easy client,” she says with a smile. “Beautiful from the start.”
I look like spun gold. He’s chosen a gold gown with layers of gossamer fabric that float and shimmer in the light. My hair is in soft curls, perfect and shining. My makeup is darker than the dress. More dramatic. I have to blink with purpose to keep from crying. I’ve always told myself it wasn’t important to have expensive clothes and nice makeup. And it isn’t. Not really. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it. My cousins always looked so gorgeous at Constantine parties. They looked like something out of a dream. More than anything, I wanted the dream. I know now that it couldn’t have been real. People’s lives aren’t the way they look at parties.
One night would have been more than enough. And now Leo’s going to give it to me.
The stylist helps me into my shoes and sends me out.
Leo waits for me at the top of the stairs. He’s looking down as I approach, his head bowed almost as if he’s praying. He stands in a dark suit, black on black like always, except tonight he has a gold pocket square. I can tell, even from several feet away, that it’s made from a piece of my dress. Black and gold. His eyes brought to life. Everything about him is sharp and beautiful, like a breath of winter deep in the night. The sight of him wakes me up. Trips all my nerves. Pulls them to him. He has my heart tucked in his pocket with that flash of gold. So much beauty to hide so much pain.
My dress makes a soft sound, and he looks up. Sees me. His lips part, and his entire face—
It reminds me of when his painkillers kicked in in the hospital. A change came over him. Only this time he’s not slipping into unconsciousness, he’s throwing the door to himself open wide. Astonishment flares in his eyes, followed by want, and he shakes his head a little. Disbelief that I’m here. That I’m real.
I feel like a dream.
He stands tall as I come to him and takes my face gently in his hands. “Look at you,” he breathes. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
It takes my breath away, and my voice, and all I can do is smile at him until he leans down and kisses me. He tastes like starlight and fire. I never want to stop, but eventually he laughs. “I won’t let you miss your own birthday party. Come on.”
There are no nerves like the frantic butterflies I get descending the staircase on his arm. For once in my life, I feel exactly right. Dreamlike. But Leo hasn’t said a word about the guest list, if there is a guest list. Having other people at the party besides Daphne is too much to hope for. I don’t let myself hope.