There’s not much I can do without makeup or a hairbrush. My reflection looks as reckless as I feel. My hair is a tousled wildfire, flames swirling uncontrollably around my shoulders. My lips are still swollen with blood from the brutality of his kisses. I ditch the robe and see the imprints from where his fingers dug into my hips. It takes some finessing, but I manage to make my dress look presentable by ditching the torn sash and using a safety pin I find with the complimentary sewing kit provided by the hotel. It’s not exactly dinner at a five-star hotel apparel, but it will have to do. There’s nothing to help my unruly hair, but I find I actually like it like this. I want Sterling to look at me and remember what it felt like to pin me against the wall — to control me. I want him desperate to get me back into bed. I’m going to distract him, so that he lets his guard down. Because tonight — no matter what happens — I’m winning this round. I’ll either get my answers or give him marching orders. Sterling won’t know what hit him.
10
Adair
The Past
The perk of not starting classes again until next term is that no one seems to notice I’ve gone into hiding. At least, not at first. Following my disastrous birthday party, I found myself more than happy to avoid the Valmont campus, along with my friends. My dad’s been in and out of town on business or busy with the latest personal trainer that assures him he’ll walk again someday. Malcolm is busy with his campaign and wedding plans. The only person to show any interest in me is Felix, but now he has stopped making cookies every time I show up. Apparently, this is one heartbreak chocolate chips can’t cure.
Maybe because—despite everything—I won’t let myself fall to pieces. After the way Sterling treated me, I just couldn’t let myself fall apart again. I thought he was different, and the fact he was a grade-A asshole and I failed to notice it falls squarely on my shoulders. Even if he misunderstood what he overheard—and he did—I’m not about to let him treat me like that, drunk or not. In fact, in my experience, a person shows you who they truly are when they’ve been drinking. I have a lifetime of memories to back that up.
I’m on my second binge of The Vampire Diaries when Poppy bursts into my room with Kai. My first sign that she’s up to something is her sly smile and the tight black jumpsuit she’s wearing. Normally, I wouldn’t put the words sexy and jumpsuit together, but this one dips low in the front, showcasing the swell of her cleavage, and hugs her rear so tightly she almost looks like she has an ass. Her shiny, dark hair bounces around her shoulders, setting off her ruby lips. Kai looks more casual but equally cool in a pair of black jeans and a slim-fitted button down, sleeves rolled up. His hair is combed strongly to one side, a swatch of jet black.
I pause the television. “Why do I feel like I’m on a reality TV fashion intervention?”
“Because you are,” Kai says with a grin.
At least I’m not hallucinating.
“You cannot stay in bed forever.” Poppy wastes no time. She marches to the window and pushes open the drapes I’ve refused to open all week.
Twilight streams into the room, and I wince, grabbing a pillow to block it.
“I think she might be a vampire now,” Kai says. “It’s practically dark out and she can’t handle any sun.”
I reach for another pillow and toss it at him, missing entirely. Despite my objections, it feels good to see them. Trust Poppy to know exactly when to force me to come out from my shell.
“We’re going to a party tonight,” Poppy says, throwing open my closet doors and walking inside it.
I scoot out of bed. I can’t trust her in there alone. Who knows what she’ll come up with. Kai follows me inside and whistles.
“This isn’t a closet. It’s Versailles,” he says.
“The MacLaines don’t do anything half-way,” I say flatly. Whoever built my walk-in had a flair for the dramatic. I suspect my mother had something to do with the way it turned out.
She’d been so excited to have a little girl that she went a little overboard with decorating, the closet being no exception. The ten-foot ceilings and two hundred square feet would have been over-the-top by any standards, but—whether due to hormones or excitement—she hadn’t stopped there. Carved moldings decorate the in-set shelves, covered lightly with gold leaf. The shelves themselves are a warm ivory. The far wall boasts a floor-to-ceiling antique, Rococo mirror, flanked by carefully buttressed shelves for shoes. In the center of the massive space was a large, marble-topped island with a fresh bouquet of magnolias in a towering crystal vase, delivered daily by one of the maids. The island itself houses drawers and drawers of jewelry, some of it family heirlooms, the rest cheap stuff I picked up at the mall. For as long as I can remember, mom had kept the whole closet stocked with clothing, adding to it each season and sending away old pieces. Standing here now, I realize that she’ll never sneak in a new dress from her latest shopping trip. I’ll never open a drawer to discover a new pair of earrings with a note from her that she couldn’t help herself. I never cared much about dressing up, mostly because she made it so easy. Now, everything in here is a reminder of her—of what I’ve lost.
“Can’t I just wear jeans?” I ask in a flat tone.
“When you have all of this?” Kai holds up a sequined mini-dress that shimmers like champagne in the light. “Does it suit me?”
“It’s yours.”
“Jeans?” Poppy repeats theatrically, like she has never heard the word before.
“Lots of people wear jeans to parties,” I tell her.
The look on her face says that might be true, but not in this zip code. She bites her lip as if considering how far to push me on it. Finally, she shoves the hangers she’s rifling through back together. Trudging across the closet, she pulls out a pair of dark denim jeans so skinny I’ll have to wear them inside my skin.
“Here.” She tugs them off the hanger and tosses them to me. Then she moves to another rack, flipping through the hangers until she finds a boxy, white blazer. “And this.”
Kai moves next to me and we watch her work her magic.
“She’s really in her element,” he says. “It’s like watching one of those wildlife shows on the Discovery channel.”
“The female predator moves in for the kill,” I narrate as she digs into a drawer.
“Aha!” she says triumphantly, ignoring us entirely. “The final piece.”
“And pounces,” Kai adds to my narration.
“What are you two on about?” she asks, spinning to hold up a delicate black bralette.
“What are you on about?” I stare at it, trying to figure out how all of the pieces go together.
She lays the blazer on the marble counter, tucking the bralette under it. “Sexy but comfortable.”
“I was thinking t-shirt,” I mumble. She shoots me a look that tells me I better not push my luck.
Rolling my eyes, I strip off my satin pajama shorts and wriggle into the jeans. I forgot how tight they are. They come up high on my waist, covering my belly button, which is a blessing given that I’m not allowed an actual shirt. Poppy tosses me the bralette, and I put it on, thankful to discover it’s not sheer enough to show my nipples. Finally, I slip into the white blazer.