A knock on the door pulls me from my screen, and I sit up, pushing the laptop onto the mattress as Mellie pokes her head in.
Her platinum-blonde hair is streaked with royal blue, and she tucks a piece of it behind her ear as she quickly glances around the room.
“Mr. Kelly’s gone?” she asks, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes at the formality. Like I don’t know every girl I go to school with masturbates to the thought of my brother.
I could hear Aurora getting off to him in her imagination last night while she showered, the sounds of her pleasure obvious in the shared living space. He heard it too, and promptly called his girlfriend and went to the lobby to talk to her.
“Left a little while before you guys got back,” I say, voice flat, picking up my phone from the bedside table. I unlock it, scrolling aimlessly through social media apps, trying to pretend as though her presence doesn’t unnerve me.
“Awesome.” Pushing the door open all the way, Mellie bursts into the room, dragging a long dry-cleaning bag behind her. Unzipping it, she pulls out a scrap of dark-green silk fabric and tosses it my way. “Quick, put this on.”
I catch the garment, furrowing my brows as I clutch the soft material. “What is it?”
“It’s a dress, you troll.” Aurora strolls inside, her deeply bronzed skin glowing against the sparkly, hot pink number she’s wearing. The sequined hem hits her mid-thigh, showing off her toned calf muscles, and she’s in the middle of pinning her black, curly hair up.
“Ror,” Mellie scolds, offering me an apologetic smile.
Aurora rolls her brown eyes, shrugging as she turns to look in the mirror. “Oh, come on. Riley knows I’m joking. But what kind of question is that?”
Heat sears my cheeks, and the scar on one pulses to life. I finger the green fabric, noting the plunging neckline as I spread it over my lap.
“This is really fancy,” I say slowly, confusion worming through my brain. “We went to the opera last night, and Le Bernardin the night before… what do we need to get dressed up for tonight?”
“It’s a charity event.” Aurora arches a brow. “You’re familiar with charity, right?”
My eye twitches.
“Because your brother’s girlfriend’s family hosts a lot of fundraisers,” she continues, a little grin tugging at the side of her mouth. I want to smack it off her.
It’s true, at least—the Ivers family is a staple of generosity back home, and Boyd’s girlfriend, Fiona, is the figurehead for fundraising ever since her mom passed.
But still, I don’t believe that’s what Aurora meant.
“Yeah, I guess you could say I’m used to dealing with the less fortunate.” I hold her gaze when I speak, a little flare of fire sparking through me. Determination to not let her bitchy ass ruin my night.
“Great.” Her tone is overly sweet and flaky, like spun cotton candy. “We have tickets to the gala of the year, and we need to look our best.”
My stomach rolls as I grip the dress tighter. “Why?”
Mellie beams at me, coming over with a tiny leather pouch. She drops it on the bed beside me, then starts pulling out various tubes of makeup, holding them up to my face as she decides which to keep out.
“Word is Aiden James is gonna be there,” she gushes, uncapping a bottle of liquid foundation. “And he’s looking to place a bid at the live auction.”
I lean back, my insides knotting together at the thought of being in the same building as the rock god I spent my formative years drooling over. At one time, I would’ve already known he was in the city.
I’d probably have planned to arrive at the gala myself.
But a lot’s changed over the last two years. My obsession lessened—or at least, I thought it had.
The sweat beading along my hairline suggests otherwise.
“So, what? You guys are gonna try to talk to him?”
“Why not?” Mellie says, shrugging. “Might as well try to get him to see what we have to offer.”
“We aren’t a charity, though. We don’t have anything for him to bid on.”
Mellie and Aurora exchange a snicker, and then Aurora’s walking over and bending in front of me, cupping my knee. She squeezes slightly, the gesture condescending as she offers false pity.
Or maybe she really does pity me—I can’t tell what’s worse.
“Oh, sweetie,” she says, her lips stretching back over pearly white teeth. “A live auction means they bid on you.”
2
“You’re late.”
My fingernails drum on the polished surface of the dining table. The dull, rhythmic thud follows the patter of my heart as it beats woodenly, a hum I try to ground myself in as I stare down my father.
With the New York City skyline looming through the ceiling-to-floor windows behind him, Sonny James almost looks like the king he fancies himself.
Tall, though not as tall as me. A lean, athletic build that resembles mine, although it bears the evidence of his age.
Dark-brown hair that he keeps combed back over his head to hide the dime-sized bald spot at the crown, and a face chiseled by the gods themselves, crossed with wrinkles and heavy with the unmistakable weight of failure.
For a moment, I see what the rest of the world once did as he steps out of the shadows. A flash of charisma and ease, chin held high as if he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
“My flight got delayed.” He pulls out the velvet-backed chair at the opposite end of the table, sinking down with a sigh. “Your mother was supposed to tell you.”
Pausing the tapping of my nails, I press the edges of each tip into the wood, my jaw clenching of its own accord. The silver rings adorning my inked fingers glint in the dim lighting, cast by the muted crystal chandelier above.