She brings her hand up to her mouth, about to bite her fingernails. But she drops it before she gets that far.
“I can’t stand here, Lil, and not fight back. He’s making you nervous and he’s pissing me off. I can’t take that crap, not from anybody.”
A sliver of silence stretches where my lie resides. I take shit from my dad all the time, but Lily chooses not to announce this fact. Thankfully.
“I just don’t want you to come off as a villain when the show starts airing in February,” she explains, “because you’re not.”
I’ve tried so hard not to be that guy—the one that terrorizes other people. The one that no one else but Lily can possibly understand. It’s hard to walk away from this instinct. It’s self-preservation. If I don’t attack first, I’m going to be slaughtered by gut-wrenching pain.
I’m saving myself.
“Lo?” Lily says, her voice pitching in worry.
I turn to Lily and hold her delicate face between my hands. I notice Brett filming us from a distance. “We’re going to be ourselves for this show,” I say. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t like us. It doesn’t matter.”
She nods confidently and gives me an encouraging smile. I drop my hands. Her eyes flit around the museum. “Out of all the places production could pick, they chose something more up Rose’s alley.”
“Yeah, I know.” Paintings and sculptures sit against white walls. People wander around with headsets on, quiet like we’re in a library. “How boring is this going to be?”
“Maybe we can just go around and try to guess the names of the paintings. Ohhh.” She points to a portrait of a woman in an oversized Renaissance gown holding a cat. “Here’s one. I think it’s called Lady with a Cat.”
My lips rise. “Very creative.”
“It’s my best guess.”
I approach the painting nearest us and read the small plaque underneath the frame. Jesus. “You were close. Lady in the Blue Dress.”
“Really?” She beams.
I’m about to reply when I spot Scott Van Wright sauntering towards us. Why can’t he just stay the f**k away?
“I have to call my brother,” I tell her in a low voice. The moment I say it, the moment I know it’s the best plan I’ve had all day. That weight on my chest starts to lessen.
She whispers, “Are you okay?”
I don’t want her to worry about my addiction. “We need someone to distract Scott from us.” Or else I’m going to do something I regret.
Lily’s face contorts in a multitude of emotions. She knows I’m not doing well, and I’d rather have him here. But she hates perpetuating tabloid rumors about three-ways and cheating.
“What about Rose or Daisy?” she asks.
“Rose is working in New York, and Daisy is at school right now.” I omit Poppy since she wanted nothing to do with the reality show. “I’d call them before Ryke if I could.” I add that, just for her. If I’m being honest, I’d prefer my brother over her sisters.
Lily opens her mouth to reply, but Scott steps closer. In hearing distance. He acts like he’s appraising the Lady in the Blue Dress. “I’m thoroughly surprised you two haven’t jumped on each other yet,” he says, his gaze pinned to the painting. “It might be a new record.”
“You don’t know us,” Lily combats.
“You’re a sex addict,” he says. “You want the short definition?” He licks his lips. “You like to ride dick.”
I fume, my teeth aching from gritting them. Lily rests a hand on my chest. Her face is flushed, red patches dotting her neck and cheeks. I hate that he embarrassed her. I hate that he’s shaming her. More importantly, I hate that nothing I say does any f**king damage to him.
This is the point where I’d walk away and start f**king with his life.
I’d ruin him from the inside out.
His career. His money. I’d utilize the tools my father gave me to destroy a man. But I can’t.
I can’t do that this time.
We’re barely into the reality show. What’s the alternative though? Stand here and eat shit?
I can’t.
My muscles burn. Each inhale is like trying to breathe through black smoke.
“Look at me,” I sneer, so aggravated that Scott won’t tear his eyes off the painting. He’s pathetic.
Finally he turns his head, but I can see it’s becoming harder for him to keep up his self-satisfied smile when he’s facing me.
“Stay out of my goddamn face.” These are my only words before I drag Lily to another side of the museum where antique furniture and silver flatware are on display. Scott stays behind for now.
I unpocket my phone and start texting Ryke.
Stop climbing fake rocks and come meet us at the museum.
“If he’s this mean to us,” Lily mutters, “I wonder what he’s like to Rose and Connor.” Her eyebrows knot together in confusion. “Do you think he says dirty things about her?” Concern plagues her face. I’m not used to Lily being protective of Rose.
“She can take care of herself,” I remind her. “And if she can’t, she has Connor.”
“Yeah,” Lily says softly, “you’re right.”
My phone vibrates in my palm. I read the text quickly.
I’m not invited. – Ryke
Really? That hasn’t stopped him before.
Do I need to extend you a written invitation? Get your ass over here.
I hand Lily my phone and then say, “Want a ride around this place?”
She nods with a smile.
I bend down and then lift her onto my back, my arms underneath her legs. I can practically feel the heat of the camera on us. Paparazzi had to stay outdoors. But the Princesses of Philly cameras just go wherever we do.
I expected it, but it’s different when it actually becomes your reality.
I carry Lily in a piggy-back over towards a painting of a watering can.
“It’s criminal, you know,” she says, her voice faraway in thought. “We didn’t even have communal showers our freshman year of college.” She pauses. “Do you think this is cosmic payback?”
“They’re not bad.” I don’t want her to be afraid of them. I’ve called her sex therapist to talk about the issue, and she said that I need to find a way to motivate Lily.
I feel like I’ve tried everything. I repeat the same words over and over, and she’s still scared shitless that someone will film us and put it online. She said she has a “bad feeling” about them.
“That’s a nice watering can,” she says, dodging the issue.
“You’re not going to take a shower, are you?”
“That’s a strong phrase,” she breathes. “I’m going to forgo the shower for a bit and opt for an alternative choice.”
I gently set her on her feet.
Her shoulders curve towards her thin body. She’s disappointed.
But this is serious. “A bath?” I ask, hoping but disbelieving she’d choose that option.
She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, the strands already becoming greasy. “More like a washcloth bathing experience.”
I don’t blink. “Not for six months.” It’s not a question.
“People in the wilderness do it.”
“People in the wilderness jump into a river when they smell. Are you going to jump into a river?”