And I realize that I won’t ever know if I’m strong enough if I don’t try. The one thought propels me to my feet and cuts the thick, silent tension in one move. Everyone looks to me, but I focus only on Loren Hale.
His chest rises in a strong inhale as I near. Without hesitation, I crawl onto his lap, and his hands instinctively pull me higher and closer, meshing our bodies together. Our limbs entangle until I can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.
I release a staggered breath and rest my head on his chest, his heart beating so fast. His fingers tightly intertwine with mine, and the rhythm of his pulse slows when I close my eyes.
Any craving for sex is drowned out by my conscience, not nearly as bad as I thought it’d be.
He kisses me on my head, and I pray for a temperate sleep, tears creasing my eyes whenever I start thinking about what happened.
People make mistakes every day, some small and some big, but I just wonder when I’ll stop making them. Or is this a lifelong thing? Do we all just wander through life, f**king up and trying to put ourselves back together only to continue on again?
Are we the accumulation of our mistakes?
A part of me regrettably thinks so.
My failures have defined me more than my triumphs.
But I don’t want to live in that hopeless reality. Not anymore. I want to be the accumulation of my failures, my successes, of all the people I’ve ever met, of the man I love, and the life I want. I want to be defined by so many factors that it’s too complicated for any mathematician to piece apart.
That would be the perfect life.
Not good or bad.
Just complex.
19
0 years : 06 months
February
LILY CALLOWAY
The premiere of Princesses of Philly couldn’t just be a quiet event at the townhouse. I counted over ten cameras swarming the ballroom of a five-star hotel. Servers meander with champagne and snacks, adding to the masses of bodies and general hoopla.
My mom is here.
With my dad.
And all of their socialite friends.
In a few minutes, the big screen televisions along the walls will air all of our antics. And we don’t have any idea what will be shown. “So this is live television from here on out?” I ask Lo, his arm around my shoulder.
We stand close to a potted plant, which shields half of our bodies from the narrowed lenses.
“Not exactly,” Lo says. “Connor tried to explain it to me. I think we’re just going to be filmed every day, and they’ll play footage from the previous week.” Oh. There’ll be a small delay then, almost live. Most shows are filmed months in advance, and the shooting wraps before the first episode ever airs.
But we’re still filming while the show plays on television.
I think it’s just going to make everything crazier.
“Hiding out?” Ryke asks, nearing us from the bar with a can of Fizz Life and a plate of Swedish meatballs.
“Maybe,” I say. My stomach grumbles at the sight of the meatballs. I’ve been so nervous all day about the viewing party that I forgot to eat.
“Come to join us?” Lo asks with a half-smile.
“Yeah,” Ryke says, giving Lo the Fizz Life can and then he hands me the meatballs. For me? I smile so much. Before I can thank him, he adds, “If I have to listen to Sam Stokes talk about Fizzle’s product placement for another minute, I’m going to f**king shoot myself.”
Lo’s lips rise, and he laughs. “Maybe you should take notes.”
In the center of the room, Poppy’s husband converses with my dad, a handsome smile on Sam’s face, his hands gesticulating as he speaks. My oldest sister stayed home with Maria, just to shelter her from the cameras.
“What do you mean?” Ryke asks, running a hand through his hair. He wears an expensive suit jacket with a regular shirt underneath like Lo, tailored perfectly for their bodies.
I kind of want to take the shirt off Lo though and slide my hands across his abs. Maybe later, I think as I chew my meatball.
“I know I don’t fit into this.” Lo motions towards the ballroom and the fancy decorations: gold-leafed lilies, daisies and roses as high-table centerpieces. “But you stick out even worse than me.”
“It’s true,” I nod.
Ryke extends his arms. “I’ve been to events like this one before. I’ve told you both that.” Plus he attended Fizzle’s soda unveiling with me about a year ago. It was just as glamorous.
“You look kind of angry,” I add and scrunch my nose to illustrate.
Ryke frowns. “Are you constipated?”
“No.” I relax my face.
“Then what the f**k are you doing?”
He’s so mean. “Exactly,” I say, not making much sense. But he demonstrated how rough around the edges he really is.
I don’t think anyone has approached him this whole time.
“People don’t have to like me,” Ryke tells us. “I am who I f**king am.”
Lo takes a swig of his drink and pats Ryke’s back with more affection than dry humor. “I guess we’ll find out how well people like you after the show airs.” Then he turns and snatches one of my meatballs by the toothpick.
“How was that thievery for you?” I ask him.
He washes the food down with his soda. “Illicit,” he says with the wag of his brows. I punch his arm and he actually winces. For real this time. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’ve been lifting weights, remember?” I flex to show him my bicep muscle (still tiny, but a bigger tiny than before). The cameras go wild behind me, flashing crazily, and I immediately drop my arm and roast.
“You mean that dinky weight that Ryke bought you?” Lo asks.
Ryke no longer pays attention to us. He focuses on Daisy across the room, who’s being chatted to death by our mom. I should go rescue her…but a run-in with my mom—who acts like I’m a daughter, twice removed—is not high on my list of things I want to do.
Lo waves his hand in both of our faces and we sufficiently face him instead of the gathering crowds. “Maybe we should just bail?” Lo tugs at his collar. He has a point. We’re standing in the loser’s corner with slightly sullen faces, despite a good laugh here or there. And I’ve only thought about bathroom sex once.
Definitely a success on that count.
“Fine with me,” Ryke says.
“No,” I end up declaring, surprising even myself.
Both Ryke and Lo stare down at me like I’ve grown a unicorn horn.
“Rose needs us,” I explain. Across the ballroom, my sister stands next to Connor while he schmoozes some business people. This show is for her, mostly. A little for Fizzle’s reputation. But we’re all here and participating so Calloway Couture will survive the blowback of my sex scandal.
Lo hugs me to his chest like I said some magic words. My dirty plate almost smashes between our bodies, but Ryke swiftly steals it from my hands.
He has quick reflexes.
And then the countdown appears on all the television screens. The boisterous talk dies to soft murmurs.
“I can’t look,” I whisper, my hands flying to my face. Lo keeps his arm around my shoulders. Five seconds.
“No matter what happens,” Lo says, his lips brushing my ear, “I’ll always be here, Lil.”
I’ll always be here.
I inhale.
I think I’m ready to watch myself. Even if I turn out to be one insatiable fool.
20