Instead, he stops right in front of me. His eyes swim in mine, as if searching for my mental state. I’m fucking fine, I want to scream back. But I choose to take another large swig of the biting whiskey.
Raw concern encases his features. I want to explain how angry and not sad I am, but the words don’t form. And then he glances at my wine glass. He better not take this away from me like I’m a child. If he pours my drink down the sink—
And then he snatches the wine glass right out of my hand.
Before I have time to complain, he puts the rim to his lips. And I go quiet, watching him take a huge, brazen swig—washing away his own fury with the alcohol. I smile. Because we cope in the same way. Not usually with drinking, but with pulling our shoulders back and taking it like a fucking champ.
He hands the wine glass back to me and says, “Ce n’est pas la fin.” This isn’t the end.
I nod in agreement. He steals the remote from me and softens everyone’s ears by lowering the volume.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t even check to see who it is. I just sit on the armrest of the couch and watch the television.
“…Princesses of Philly has promoted Rose as a virgin. Many people are speaking out about the validity of the show…”
Connor changes the channel to cable.
“…either she lied or she lost her virginity during the time of the show. Go to our website for a poll—” He flips to another station.
I yell spitefully at the flat screen, “The world doesn’t have ANYTHING better to do than talk about my virginity?!” I motion to the TV with my drink.
“Or lack thereof,” Loren adds.
I ignore that comment and turn to Connor. “My vagina has trumped national news.” I let out a manic laugh. “What do you think our friends from Model UN would say about that?”
Connor’s eyes rake me like he’s diagnosing my hysteria.
I ignore that too.
After a quick moment, he sidles behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He presses his lips to my shoulder. I lean back against his chest. It feels familiar and warm, safe even, knowing that I have someone here—on my team.
Daisy clicks away on her laptop. “It looks like most people are voting in favor of you in polls. They say that you can’t be a liar or a hypocrite. Not when you’ve stated in the show that you would—and I quote—‘jam my five-inch heel in the eye or asshole of liars and cheaters.’”
That was a little dramatic, even for me. But the interviews riled me to a new degree, and I spouted every threat I could think of. Like roasting Scott’s penis by flinging it at the sun. I would love to execute that one if humanly possible.
Tink, tink, tink. Little bells clank together as Sadie pads over to our group. She looks as feral as I feel. And a wicked, crazy impulse drives through me. I disentangle from Connor’s safe embrace.
“Rose,” Connor says, half with worry and half with warning.
I don’t listen. Still holding my wine glass, I squat down in front of the tabby cat. She’s a hostile bitch （like me）。 She has scratched my arms. Hissed at me. And I swear she pissed on my Jimmy Choos, although I can’t confirm that.
But in this moment, I feel invincible from all offenses. The media. Scott. And this fucking cat. I reach out to her.
“Don’t do it!” Lily yells at me from beside the couch. “You’re going to lose an eye.”
Ignoring my sister, I slip my palm underneath Sadie’s furry belly and pick her right up with one hand, my other still clutching onto the stem of the wine glass. I stand and stare straight into her eyes that almost match the color of mine. I am channeling my hatred into one supreme death glare.
Sadie moves and Lily lets out an audible gasp.
But the cat doesn’t claw me. No.
She licks me. Her scratchy little tongue brushes against my chin like a puppy and not a feline.
“What the fuck?” Ryke says in shock.
I hold her close to my body and she purrs against my chest. “We’re friends now,” I state the obvious and take another sip from my wine glass.
“Or she thinks you’ve grown balls,” Loren refutes.
“I’ve always had them,” I say, offended. I turn to see Connor who stares with concern and a little bit of fear. The bottom of my stomach drops in effect. He can see right through the barriers I build to protect myself.
I’m okay, I try to convey the words through my eyes. But I’m not so sure I succeed.
Lily’s phone rings loudly on her lap. “Shit, it’s Dad.” She looks between Connor and me. “What do you want me to do?”
I don’t say anything. I just kiss Sadie’s head as she continues to nuzzle into my ribs. Her change of demeanor calms me and gives me a little more strength.
Connor mutes the television and takes the phone from Lily, putting it on speaker. “Greg, this is Connor.” His voice is relaxed, even if his tense posture and hard eyes don’t agree.
“Good, I’ve been trying to call you and Rose. I assume you’ve seen the news,” he says quickly, his anger underneath his urgency. “I’m on the phone with my attorneys and Cobalt’s. We’re looking through the contracts all of you signed. Until we can come to a clear picture of what’s going on, I need you to get my daughters out of that townhouse. No more cameras.”
Translation: Princesses of Philly is cancelled.
Hooray. I can hardly celebrate “no more Scott” when the result came at the expense of my name and image. And then it hits me like a freight train—Calloway Couture. Everything I’ve worked for can go to hell all over again. This sex tape could ruin my fashion career.
And I care. A lot.
My stomach roils like I need to puke. I think I may vomit. I hold my belly, and Connor puts a firm hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly to reassure me that he’s here, that everything is going to work itself out.
I try to believe it.
“We’ll pack today and leave,” Connor says to my father.
“Let me know when you make it safely back to Princeton. If there’s too much press around the house, you should all stay at our place in Villanova.”
“Sure,” Connor says. “Do you know where Scott is?”
“No idea, but Loren’s father is about to rip him a new asshole. To be honest, I’d love to see it happen.” My dad can be as soft as a flower petal whereas Jonathan Hale is the thorn. “Is Rose around?”
“She’s on speaker.”
“Rose,” my father says, his voice turning gentle. “Honey, how many lawyers looked over the contract before you signed it?”
Everyone stares at me, waiting for the answer. I already sense their judgment. I stroke Sadie who purrs again. She’s my only ally. “Just me,” I say.
“What…the fuck?” Ryke says, his mouth falling.
Loren groans, leaning back into the couch like a wave crashed into him. “Why did we trust you?”
Connor rubs his eyes and shakes his head.
Lily looks petrified.
Daisy’s face is frozen solid.
“I’ve taken multiple law classes at Princeton,” I refute. “I understood every line of that contract.” I’ve always shared Achilles’ fatal flaw. Hubris. Excessive pride. I couldn’t look weak in front of Scott, so I decided to do everything myself. I needed no one’s help.