It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t shake the feeling that maybe she’ll come looking for it.
Commotion downstairs draws my attention, and I toss the dress into the closet along with the black heels the girl had on and shut the door.
Definitely don’t want to get caught with those.
Walking over to the opposite side of the room, I fish out a new carton of cigarettes from the bottom drawer of my cherrywood dresser and leave with one between my lips.
Determined to put the thought of her as far from my mind as possible.
“Cancel it. Cancel fucking all of it.”
My father’s voice grates across my skin, shredding the little pieces of contentment swimming through my veins, forged by nicotine. His face is beet red when he steps out onto the balcony where Callie, Liam, my bodyguard Jason and I are sitting, going over the logistics of last night’s show.
Callie lets out a sigh, placing her pen in the spine of her binder. “El Diablo. What the hell are you doing here?”
He doesn’t even spare her a glance, zeroing in on me with blazing eyes. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Uh…” My eyebrows draw in, and I rack my brain for something, coming up short. “Gonna have to give some context, if you want me confessing to shit.”
“Are you shitting me? Not one of you has checked the news, or any social media outlets this morning?” His eyes bounce from each of us, and his face darkens with each passing second.
They pause on Liam, who’s been plopping red grapes into his mouth; when he notices that he’s got my father’s full attention, though, he pauses, setting the vine back on the patio table in front of him.
“Well, great, let me be the first to welcome you all to our living hell.”
Unbuttoning his black Armani suit jacket, he yanks out his phone, turning it around. A grainy photograph fills the screen, and I lean in, squinting hard to make out the picture.
When I do, my chest floods with anxiety, like a ship taking on too much water. There’s nothing to plug the leak with, no way to keep from capsizing.
All I can do is hang on.
“Look familiar?” my father demands, shaking the phone in my face.
I rear back, shoving him away. As if I haven’t burned the image of the girl from last night looking out over the East River permanently into my brain.
Except, it’s not just her in the photo; I’m there, too, sitting on a bench at the park, watching her like she’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. Her beauty surpasses all of Manhattan and Queens beyond, lighting up the nighttime in a way the buildings and stars envy.
That must be why her rejection stung so deeply.
It’s not often you get to witness a true masterpiece, and I’m not used to being denied beautiful things.
“Is this why you left the gala last night?” Callie frowns, folding her hands in her lap. “For some girl?”
Her tone scrapes against the invisible sores on my chest. “It was just a bit of harmless fun. She happened to be on the ticket last night, so I bid on her, and we left.”
“Harmless fun,” my father repeats, voice completely devoid of emotion.
“Sir, I signed off on the paperwork with the charity myself,” Liam cuts in, smoothing a hand over his blond hair. “In fact, I’ve got the receipts and everything, if you need to see them for tax purposes…”
Trailing off, Liam sits back in his seat, throat working over a swallow. My father just stares, not blinking for the longest time, before he looks at his phone and swipes out of the photo.
“I don’t give a single flying fuck about taxes right now.”
Callie sighs, clearly growing impatient. She waves for Jason to give us some space, and I watch as the burly bald man heads back inside, leaving just the four of us.
“Sonny, why are you being so dramatic—”
“Dramatic? Are you fucking seeing this, Calliope?” His use of her full name makes my stomach cramp, and we all lean forward at the same time to inspect the screen.
Now, the boat isn’t simply flooding; it’s been completely submerged by a tsunami-like wave, and there’s no chance of recovery. It sinks to the bottom of the ocean, settling on the floor where it’ll rot away like the Titanic, full of broken dreams and lost futures.
#AidenJamesIsOverParty
“Whatever girl you slinked off with last night is claiming you sexually assaulted her,” my father says, snatching the phone back. “It’s trending all over the fucking Internet right now. I’ve been dodging phone calls from a dozen different studio execs for the better part of the half hour, who are already wanting to drop your affiliation and void contracts.”
The silence that follows his words falls over me like a vacuum, playing the first sentence over and over on a distant loop. I’m suspended in time, floating out in space where the words “claiming you sexually assaulted her” don’t have the same gravity.
And then, I laugh.
It’s an incredulous sound, desperate as it rips out of me, but a laugh nonetheless. Callie’s hand comes up to her mouth, eyes watering as she swings her gaze from me, and Liam drags a hand down over his face.
My father is the only one who doesn’t move. I’m not sure if he’s even breathing.
Frankly, I’m not sure I am either.
“Please, tell me what’s funny about this.” My father crosses his arms, cocking an eyebrow while jutting a hip out.
It’s a power move I’ve seen him use to put the fear of God into clients but now all it does is make me angrier.
“Obviously, I didn’t do it.” When I swallow, it’s like a handful of hot coals sliding down my throat. “She’s lying.”
Why, I have no fucking idea, but the notion incinerates any good feelings I had about our time together, or our connection, replacing them with fiery resentment.
Maybe she wasn’t as honest as you thought.
Nausea curdles in my gut like spoiled milk, and I hunch over, resisting the urge to vomit.
“Well, the truth hardly matters in cases like this, as we all know. Our next steps are going to be about damage control and finding out a way to spin the claims as the bumbling narratives of a deranged fan until the investigation finishes. Luckily, this is the only photographic evidence anyone has come forth with yet, placing you two together.”
Shaking my head, I try to clear the fog clouding around my brain. “Why don’t we just find her and make her confess? You’ve done it before.”
Jaw set, my father exhales, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Because, son, she forged her charity papers. The name she used, the address—all of it’s fake, and no one can seem to track her down.”
“What are you saying?” Callie asks, fingers trembling.
She doesn’t look at me, and the lack of acknowledgment stings. Like she’s already writing me off in her mind, convinced I’m capable of something so disgusting.
“I’m saying, this girl may as well be a ghost.”
13
Everyone’s staring when our plane touches down in King’s Trace, and even though I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of scrutiny within this seedy small town, there’s something extra about the way it unfolds today.