Thrive (23 page)

{ 36 }

0 years : 10 months

June

LOREN HALE

Want to know the most deplorable, heartless thing
in my head?

I
am so fucking relieved that wasn’t Lily on the news. Extending empathy for my
best friend, Connor, or for Lily’s sister—I can’t do it. Deep down, I just
think:
finally
it’s not us,
finally
the world has shit on someone
else.

It’s
a thought that turns my blood cold, my forearms on my knees, sitting on the
couch and waiting for the guilt to come crush me. I wish that I was like my
brother. Ryke stares at Rose with so much concern that you’d think he was
dating her.

“I’m
on the phone with my attorneys and Cobalt’s,” Greg Calloway says through the
cell’s speaker in Connor’s hand. “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.”

Goodbye, Scott Van Wright.
I thought Scott would go further and
further until he reached an unbearable point with us, but leaking a sex tape
with Connor and Rose—it never crossed my mind.

Connor
has been unsurprisingly stoic during the whole ordeal. Sometimes I just want
him to scream like the rest of us. Most of the time, I don’t want to see it.
Because if someone like Connor ever breaks to that degree, then the whole world
is headed for hell.

He
places his hand on Rose’s shoulder, but she barely relaxes. “We’ll pack today
and leave,” he tells Greg over the phone.

“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.”

My
frown deepens, waiting for Greg to add,
I
need to have a serious talk with you, Connor.
He just watched Connor screw
his daughter on national television, albeit censored. And not only that—they’re
into bondage and kinky shit that I’d think would have Greg tapping into his
paternal side, ready for an hour-long conversation.

It
never comes though.

“Do
you know where Scott is?” Connor asks him.

My
ribs burn when I inhale.

“No
idea,” Greg says, “but Loren’s father is about to rip him a new asshole.”
Good.
“To be honest, I’d love to see it
happen.” He pauses. “Is Rose around?”

“She’s
on speaker.”

“Rose,
honey, how many lawyers looked over the contract before you signed it?”

I
presume he’s talking about the reality show contract—the one we trusted Rose
with before we all signed the bottom. What the fuck did she do?
I glare at her with everything inside
my soul.
What the fuck did she do?

She
cradles Sadie in her arms, Connor’s orange tabby cat that usually scratches
Rose. Instead, Sadie purrs. The world is backwards today.

“Just
me,” Rose suddenly announces.

“What…the
fuck?” Ryke says, stunned.

I
groan and lean back against the couch, my hands on my head. “Why did we trust
you?” I snap. I should have realized that she’d be too conceited to actually
hire a real lawyer.

“I’ve
taken multiple law classes at
Princeton
,”
she refutes. “I understood every line of that contract.”
Sure. That’s why you now have a sex tape released to the public, Rose.

I
shake my head repeatedly. So they could film in the bedrooms then? A weight
bowls straight into my chest, the pressure knocking the wind out of me. If they
filmed us—that means they have tapes of Lily and me.

Scott’s
just waiting around to release them then?

Lily
breathes choppy, sporadic breaths beside me. I reach out and hold her hand.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to her.
It’s okay.
She can read my uneasiness through my features, her eyes growing bigger and
bigger. “It’s okay, Lil.” Repeating it doesn’t help.
We’re going to be okay.

“I
thought you took my lawyer to the meeting,” Connor says, already off the phone
with Greg. “And I thought he read the contracts.”

“I
thought I told you I left him behind,” Rose retorts.

Connor
frowns, shaking his head. “You must have mentioned that to someone else,
darling.” He snatches her whiskey-filled wine glass and drinks the rest in one
swallow.

I
concentrate on him. It takes my mind off what seriously could be the end for
us. “What the hell was that?” I ask him. “Greg gives me a two hour speech about
sobriety after our scandal, and he doesn’t even acknowledge yours.”

“To
be fair,” Connor says, “you lied to Greg and Samantha about being addicts. That
news is a bit more jarring than a sex tape…”

I
don’t see how.

His
attention and voice drifts across the room. I follow his gaze with everyone
else, and all oxygen is suddenly caged in my lungs.

Scott
stands by the staircase with his hands in his khaki, tailored pockets, like he
didn’t just screw over a bunch of people over. Like he’s never done a wrong
thing in his life. Like he can’t feel remorse or regret or guilt.

I
envy him on that account. How goddamn easy life would be if I wasn’t saddled
with all of
that.

“Did
I miss something?” Scott asks with a sleazy grin.

With
an unreadable expression, Connor walks towards Scott, the only person even
moving or breathing at this point. I’ve been waiting for him to do
something
more to the guy that’s just
hosed him during the show. If anything, these past six months have taught me
that Connor Cobalt and I fight different battles in different ways.

Connor
stops right in front of Scott and holds out his hand to shake the producer’s.
“Congratulations,” Connor says. “You outsmarted me. Not many people ever do.
And I admit…I never saw this coming.” His voice is humorless,
emotionless—frighteningly dead.

Scott
glances between Connor’s hand and his face. Then he clutches Connor’s palm.

What
a fucking weird way to end—

And
then Connor punches Scott in the jaw with his free fist. His body hits the wall
hard. My lips rise.

“Thank
you,” Ryke says with an exhale, near me. We’ve all been waiting for that to
happen.

“That’s
from me,” Connor sneers at Scott, brutal anger flashing in his eyes, something
that I’ve never seen before—something he has been keeping to himself.

Scott
tries to swing back, but Connor dodges the attack with ease. And then he knees
Scott in the dick, the contact audible. Scott groans, his hands instinctively
reaching for his crotch. I cringe at how painful that must’ve been. And Rose is
practically celebrating like a fan in a football stadium. I’m shocked she
hasn’t raised her fists in the air and twirled in a circle.

“That’s
from Rose,” Connor says lowly, venom in his voice.

Scott
crouches, almost close to a fetal position. His eyes water, and it takes him a
moment to slowly stand back up, bracing the wall so he doesn’t tip over.

Connor
never backs up, confident and pissed. This isn’t a guy I’d want to fight, I
realize. Not like this.

Scott
coughs into his fist and then he says, “…I’d love to see your face when you
realize what you’ve signed.”

Something
bursts in my chest, and I open my mouth to scream at him. But Ryke covers my
lips with his hand, blocking all noise and future regrets from escaping.

“You’re
seeing it now,” Connor tells him calmly. How can he not be more upset? Even the
thought of Lily being swept up into the rabid media, with sex tapes of our own,
is killing me inside. I can’t see any light among that darkness for us. It’s
one brick too many, one push too hard—it feels catastrophic.

“I’m
positive you have full rights to anything we ever film,” Connor continues,
“which gave you permission to sell the sex tape to a porn site without our
signed consent. I don’t have the contract in front of me, but I’m sure there’s
something misleading about the part where you weren’t allowed to film us in the
bedrooms.”

“I
read
that line correctly. I know it,”
Rose says, pointing at the ground.

Scott
is still partially doubled-over from Connor’s two hits. “It said that we
couldn’t
air
anything from the
bedrooms on
television.
We never did.
The contract said nothing about filming. And any of the footage from the
bedrooms and the bathroom can be used for movies and web content. Just not
network TV.”

The bathroom.
I glance at Lily while she stares at
her knees, pale and cold to the touch. I rub her back and rest my chin on her
head, holding her closer to my chest. She wore a bathing suit in the shower for
six months. She was that uncomfortable. One silver lining.

Scott
adds, “Lily was almost always in her room.” He pauses. “We weren’t able to
install any cameras to catch anything.”

I
shut my eyes, both of our shoulders dropping with the release of this
immeasurable weight.
Thank God.
I
suck down the sadness that wells with a rough inhale and kiss Lily outside her
lips. She holds my face quickly and kisses me for real, a deep one that grips
me.

“It’s
illegal to film minors in pornographic situations,” Connor says.

Both
Lily and I break apart at that. Connor is talking about Daisy. Did she…did she
really screw someone in her bedroom? A series of emotions pulls my face in a
grimace. The most lasting one is shock.

Daisy
blanches, and she actually meets my eyes, over everyone else. Maybe too
mortified to look at Ryke. I nod at her like
it’s okay.

She
shakes her head like it’s not.

Lily
crawls over my lap to sit beside her sister again, and she wraps her thin arms
around Daisy’s neck.

“We
didn’t,” Scott replies. “All that footage was destroyed.”

There was actual footage of Daisy…in
her bedroom with another guy?
She must have been doing things with Julian, but not
it.
I can’t even say the word in context
with her. I rub the back of my neck.

“You’re
disgusting!” Rose shouts with another scream attached.

I
glance over my shoulder to see Ryke on his feet, restraining Rose from the
other two guys by grabbing her shoulders.

My
head just rattles as Scott keeps talking. As he spills all the things he
planted with production.

“Lily
and Lo in the bathroom with the slurping audio?” Connor asks.

“Edited,”
Scott says. “We did it in advance and uploaded it on the camera for you to
find.” At least everyone will believe us now.

“The
alcohol in Lo’s closet?”

“Planted.
Savannah and Ben put it there when Lily was taking a nap. They were supposed to
install a camera too, but they ran out of time.”

How
many bullets did we actually dodge this time around?

I
can’t get off the couch to help them or to shout another expletive. Ryke has said
them all anyway. I’ve known what everyone is just finding out. In fact, I’ve
known for a while that production was behind all of this shit. I guess they
couldn’t one-hundred percent believe in that truth because they had other
options to consider. Like us. Lily and I—we could have lied to them.

“I’m
going to let Ryke go if you don’t get out of this house,” I hear Connor tell
Scott. “And his fists are going to hurt a hell of a lot more than mine. So take
what’s on your back and
leave.
”

Not
long after, the door slams shut.

I
can only hope that’s the last cancer in our lives, but my dad would tell me
that I’m being a little fucking fool. For believing in that impossibility. When
you have money like we do, there will always be people ready to bury you for a
payout.

It’s
how the world turns.

{ 37 }

0 years : 10 months

June

LILY CALLOWAY

Connor never once hesitated, not even for a moment
did he second guess his plan, which is on a grand, massive scale. Even with the
sex tape and a lawsuit being flung in Scott’s face, Connor said, “There is no
better time than today.”

Both Lo and I strongly disagreed. Rose was going to claw his
face the minute we did the wedding switcheroo.

I think my doubt vanished about the same time I stepped into
the “Château de Fontainebleau”—a French palace fit for a queen.

Every single detail resembles my older sister. The simple
pale pink bridesmaids gowns, like ballet dresses. The hundreds of attendees,
showering her with compliments. The lavish antiquity of it all. Diamonds,
roses, red velvet cake and classical music.

It’s a dream wedding that she never dreamed of until now.

I couldn’t be happier for her, especially since she said
yes.

I stand beside Lo in a grand ballroom that resembles a royal
castle in a history book. Paintings engulf every wall with gold ornate frames.
The ceiling is just as fancy, and a row of chandeliers twinkles overhead. Giant
red rose bouquets line the room, classy and elegant like my sister.

Ryke comes up beside his brother while clusters of people
enter the ballroom after dinner, a stage setup with violinists, cellists and a
pianist.

“When you two get married, should I be prepared for
something like this?” Ryke asks us. He downs a champagne flute filled with
water in two seconds and a server collects it before he even turns around.

“No way,” Lo says. “There will be a finite
number of people.”

“And no press,” I add. Connor let the media squeeze through
the doors so they could blog about the event. He said something about needing
“good” publicity for Fizzle and Cobalt Inc.

“Exactly.” Lo gives his brother a half-smile before putting
his arm around my shoulder. I lean closer to his body, waiting for Rose and
Connor to take to the empty floor space for their first dance as husband and
wife.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” Ryke says, “but are you
going to set a date for it?”

Lo and I haven’t really talked about it. We got engaged
because our parents ordered us to, and they also said we had to be married
today.
And then when all of that
changed, the timeline kind of dematerialized with it.

“No,” Lo answers. “We’re going to wait until the media dies
down.”

Ryke’s jaw hardens and he nods a couple times. “And if that
doesn’t fucking happen? What then?” I don’t like his tone one bit. Like he
believes it won’t
ever
come true. I
just hate thinking that this could be our new normal. The frenzied cameras, the
invasiveness, the never-ending questions and rumors. The reality show is over
so everything should return to the way it was, right?

Lo’s cheekbones jut out a little more than usual, irritated.
He licks his lips and shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you should worry about your
own future wife. Oh wait, she doesn’t exist.”

Ryke raises his hands in defense. “Hint fucking taken. I’ll
stay out of it.”

Lo lets out a short laugh. “When have you stayed out of
anyone’s business?”

He nods. “Good point.”

“Shhh,” I whisper, swatting Lo’s arm. The violins have
shushed, and Connor saunters into the open space. When he stops in the center,
his deep blue eyes lock straight on Rose.

I am full-blown smiling. The way he’s staring at her—it’s
beyond magical.

“I just want everyone to know,” I whisper again, “that I
predicted this would happen the moment I saw them together.”

Both Lo and Ryke clap for me at the same time, mostly in
sarcasm. Yeah, yeah, they can team up against me,
but
I was right. It doesn’t happen often, so I pocket that small
glory.

Connor holds out his hand, and Rose approaches with a
narrowed, passionate gaze. She takes his hand in hers. She’s still in her white
wedding dress with sheer material around her collarbones. A high slit runs up
her leg, but the tulle netting flows around her limbs so much that you can
hardly tell until she walks. Sexy
and
classy.

She designed that dress, sewed it together for me, but it’s
her style and something she loved with each last thread. Daisy stole the gown
to have the bust altered to match the measurements of Rose’s bridesmaid’s
dress. It fit her perfectly.

They wait for the music to start, questions flickering in
Rose’s gaze about Connor’s song choice. The moment the instruments create a
sweet, silky noise
,
Rose’s hand flies to her mouth. And her eyes begin to glass.

Connor pulls her closer to his chest, his grin so bright.
Her hands tremble. Both have now risen to her lips that part with unrestrained
surprise. She shakes her head, and I start crying as soon as rare
happy
tears stream down her cheeks.
French lyrics leave the singer’s mouth like honey.

The music is gorgeous, even if I can’t understand a single
word.

“What song is this?” I murmur, wiping my eyes quickly.

“No clue,” Lo says, the corners of his mouth lifting the
longer he watches Connor and Rose in the center of the room. There aren’t many
dry eyes around here.

Connor kisses Rose’s forehead and I read his lips:
I love you.
 

I bite my gums to stop the waterworks from beginning all
over again. Every moment of Rose’s wedding has been a surprise, and with each
one, I think that we’ve all realized how well Connor knows her and how much he
truly, truly loves her.

“La Vie En Rose,” Ryke suddenly says with a French lilt.

“What?” My brows pinch together.

“The song,” he says, “it’s called
La Vie En Rose
.”

“How do you know that…?” I ask, my voice trailing off,
distracted for a second by my sister. Rose calms after the initial overwhelming
shock of the song choice. And they begin to slow dance together.

“It’s a popular song,” he says before walking backwards.
“I’m going to get another drink. You two want anything?”

“Bourbon, no ice,” Lo quips dryly.

“Hilarious,” Ryke says with zero humor. He nods to me. “What
about you?”

I can’t get over how he said
La Vie En Rose
, like he understood exactly how to pronounce each
syllable in the foreign language
.
If
I said the song title, it’d sound like an American butchering the words. “Do
you know these lyrics?” I ask.

“They’re in French,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at
the growing line to the bar. “Last chance, Lily.”

“Fizz Life,” I place my order, letting my suspicions go with
it. He weaves between the guests, and I focus my attention elsewhere. “Do you
think they’ll be okay?” I ask Lo as we watch Connor spin Rose with poise and
masculinity. They haven’t confronted the serious repercussions of having a sex
tape floating on the internet.

Once they start Googling themselves and the hatred and
criticism pours through—they’ll feel the real sting. It’s not fun.

“Yeah,” Lo says. “They’re Connor and Rose.” He says their
names like they’re a fortress of steel. While I agree on some accounts, he
hasn’t calculated the fact that negative cannon-blasts from tabloids can easily
knock down their defenses.

“Yeah but they’ll need us,” I say with a nod. “We’ve been
through this before.” We’ll pay it forward, be a friendly shoulder to cry on
like Rose was to me. Not that she sheds more than a few tears a year.

He stays quiet on the matter, his eyes darting to alcoholic
beverages in almost everyone’s hands. It’s an open bar. He wears that mildly
annoyed look that he used to get in college, when happy people flaunted their
enthusiasm in front of him.

Just as the first song ends, guests begin to join Rose and
Connor on the dance floor. Instead of rushing to the middle, a hoard of people
edge closer to us. They unfortunately linger, as though to eavesdrop. We
haven’t had a single reporter bombard us with questions because Connor ordered
them not to, but they’re studying our movements from afar…well, now they’re
doing it from five feet.

I press up against Lo’s hard, lean body. The spot between my
legs pulses, and my arm latches around his waist. If I shift just a
little
close I can feel his bulge—

“Lily,” he says softly, staring down at me. He fixes a piece
of my flyaway hair. “If you rub up against me anymore, I’m going to get hard.”

Ohmygod. I let out a shallow breath. “That’s the point…” Or
is it not the point? We’re not allowed to have sex at my sister’s wedding, are
we? That’s old, bad Lily.

This is Lily 2.0. Scratch that—this is Lily
3.0
. Brand
spanking
new.

He groans a little. “Lil…” He pries my fingers off his toned
ass. Oh Jeez. I redden. “Spanking” is a very dangerous word. The intensity in
his amber eyes magnifies when they bore into me. His chest falls heavier than
before.

Lo doesn’t distance himself from me. Not once. Instead he
closes the gap, kissing me with an urgency that I’ve missed dearly.

My limbs shake as his palm cups the back of my head, his
fingers gripping my hair, his tongue skillfully sliding against mine. We part
for one single breath.

“Lo…”
We’re in a room
full of people.
It’s a thought that disintegrates in the back of my brain.

“Lil…” He rests his forehead on mine. Then he kisses my
cheek, and quickly clasps my hand, leading me in a new direction, swerving
between people. I realize we’re aimed for a hallway or a bathroom. He glances
back at me once, his lips rising in a gorgeous, devious smile. We’re going to
have sex!

Yes. Yes. Yes.

My body thrums with victory and applause. It’s not wrong.
It’s
so
right. I hold onto his one
hand with both of mine, afraid that we’ll break apart and I’ll lose him.

And then a sloshed guy with black Ray-Ban sunglasses
on—indoors—haphazardly cuts through us, tearing my hand right from Lo’s.
Another guy in a white button-down rushes through the same space. “Wait up,
Luke!” he shouts after him.

His momentum forward pushes me backwards. I nearly stumble
into an old lady with oversized jewelry.

Three, four…
five
other
people follow the two guys like a wolf pack.

Luke essentially created a pathway right between Lo and me.

What’s worse: I can’t see Lo anymore. It’s like he’s
vanished from the building, lost in the sea of bodies. I spin around, my heart
pumping, the
need
thrumming for him.
Where’d he go? I rotate one more time and catch eyes with a woman in a maroon
dress. My attention narrows straight to her honey-colored curly hair that’s
strangely tamed despite the large volume.

She stops mid-sentence in a conversation with another woman,
white wine in both their hands. Her face just lights up when she sees me. For a
brief moment, I wonder if I personally know this woman. She takes a few
tentative steps forward, like she’s a vampire I haven’t invited in my house
yet.

“Hi, Lily, I’ve been wanting to meet you for so long. I’m
glad I caught you here.” She holds out her hand for me to shake.

I hesitantly do, a foreboding feeling in my gut. I
scrutinize her deep red lipstick, darker skin and perfectly matched high heels,
jewelry and dress. Very fashionable. “You must be Rose’s friend,” I say. “From
Princeton?” Though she seems a little old to be a college graduate with Rose,
probably in her early thirties.

She lets out a small, weak laugh like
are you serious? You don’t know who I am?
Oh God. Is she famous? A
celebrity?

Shit.

I suck. I really wish Lo was—

“I’m Wendy Collins, a staff writer at
Celebrity Crush
.”

My face plummets. Wendy Collins. The one who posted my
letter that I sent
to her
,
online for the whole world to see. The
one perpetuating any and all rumors that I’m sleeping with Loren
and
his brother…at the same time.

Wendy Collins.
I have
nothing to say to you.
Any harsh, horrible insults that stick to the back
of my throat must stay there. I don’t have one of my family’s publicists to
help redirect the conversation. If I spout anything wrong, she’ll just twist my
words for a better headline.

I know that now.

Maybe she can read the horror on my face because she adds
quickly, “You have to realize that I’m just doing my job. If I didn’t write
those stories, somebody else would have, and I wouldn’t be paid nearly enough
to afford rent in New York City. We don’t all come from money.”

Right. I don’t know if it’s my civic duty to let people
berate me on the internet so they can afford their apartment. Maybe it is.
Maybe this is the cost of growing up in luxury.

“I have to go,” I say, about to turn around. “I have to find
my best friend.”
Wrong term, Lily.
I
redden.
“My boyfriend,” I amend and
then wince.
Still not right
. “My
fiancé. And
yes,
they are all the
same person.” So there.

“We were just talking about your sister,” she says, freezing
me in place.

I turn back, taking the bait too easily. Wendy motions to
another woman by her side, older with a short blonde haircut and a pointed chin
like a wicked witch. “This is Andrea DelaCorte an Executive Editor at
Celebrity Crush
.”

“Pleasure,” Andrea says, sipping her wine. Her needled brown
eyes cast judgment from my toes to my face, probably speculating how many
bodies touched mine.

Wendy doesn’t seem so evil compared to Andrea.

“What about my sister?” I ask, a little defensively,
considering her name will most likely crop up on their front pages soon. And
not only because of the wedding switch.