He chucks a pillow at her face, and she catches it with a playful smile.
Loren turns to Lily. “You’re really going to take a shower?” His voice is full of disbelief. I’ve heard them arguing about the bathroom situation since we moved in. Lily has yet to bathe, mostly out of fear of Scott walking in. I would coax those fears if I didn’t have the same ones, hence why I shower at five in the morning.
She goes quiet, and Loren drops his voice. “You smell like sex,” he whispers, but I’m still close enough to hear. “You’ve got to take one soon.”
She stares at her hands. “Can we take them together? I won’t do anything, I promise. I’ll feel…safer.”
There’s a long pause before he says, “Only if we wear bathing suits. I just don’t want to tempt you for six months, Lil.”
Her face brightens and she throws her arms around his neck.
I rub my sore wrists, unsure of everything for a moment. Connor suddenly grabs my hand and effortlessly lifts me to my feet.
He stares down at me, and I realize what could have happened today. I could have awkwardly fumbled around him. I could have embarrassed myself on national television. Instead, he made me feel desired and hot instead of mortified and cold.
My eyes blanket in gratitude, the thank you on the tip of my tongue.
But his thumb brushes against my cheek and he says, very softly, “You’re welcome, darling.”
I exhale, glad that I don’t have to struggle to produce the words anymore. The kitchen cupboards clatter loudly as Scott lumbers around.
“You fucked with his plans,” I whisper.
“He’ll wipe his tears and get over it later.”
I’m not as optimistic. “Or he’s going to find something that you can’t screw up.”
CHAPTER 11
ROSE CALLOWAY
It’s still dark outside when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I rub my drowsy eyes and check the clock. 4:30 a.m. I reach perilously for my phone in the dark and knock off a bottle of aspirin. It clatters to the floor, and I look over my shoulder to make sure Connor hasn’t woken up.
He remains unmoving on his side of the bed.
We didn’t have sex. We’ve been amicably sleeping together without doing more than I want—which isn’t quite right. I’m not exactly sure what I want when it comes to sex anymore. But I hesitate to give him that part of me—the part that he may take in triumph and then disappear with.
Carefully, I turn on the phone and cup my hand around the screen, blocking the glow.
5 months and 12 days until the wedding – Mom
Thanks, Mom. I text back, knowing she won’t catch the thick sarcasm.
Yesterday, when she sent me the 5 months and 13 days update, Lily opened the text on my phone. She almost needed a paper bag to hyperventilate into. She wants to be married about as much as a dog wants to be hit by a car. Planning the wedding is like shoving her into traffic, which is why I offered my services.
Planning. Organizing. Preparing. These are things I excel in. I even mediate between my mother’s requests and Lily’s wishes. As far as our parents go, Lily has tried to have little contact with them. The guilt of hurting Fizzle is a wound she doesn’t like to reopen often. So I have become Lily Calloway’s middleman—always reassuring our parents that she’s not bingeing on cock.
Although if I said such a thing to my mother, she’d have a coronary.
But every time I ask my sister about invitations or music, she turns pale and mumbles something like you choose. So I’m no closer to planning the wedding than Lily is to wanting to get married. Which infuriates our mother. I’m sure I’ll receive a phone call and lecture about time management later this afternoon.
“Everything okay, hun?”
My heart jumps at Connor’s voice. I roll over to see him wide awake, head propped up by his hand.
“It’s just my mother,” I say in a whisper. “Sorry I woke you.” I’m about to roll back to the far end of the mattress when my phone buzzes again.
Send me the Calloway Couture sales reports from last week. I’d like to have a financial advisor look over them. – Mom
I let out an aggravated growl. “She knows I don’t want her involved in my company anymore,” I say more to myself than Connor. “Why can’t she just back off?”
I don’t reply to her in text again. From experience, I know it’s best not to start an argument over the phone. Especially one at four-thirty in the morning.
“So you do want to talk,” Connor says with the raise of his eyebrows.
“No.” I blink and shake my head. “Sorry. It’s too early…” I go to turn and Connor catches my arm.
“I have time for you,” he says. I watch him sit up, fluff his pillow and lean against the headboard. He waves me on. “Let’s hear it.”
I rise a little, my legs tucked in front of me, and I tug the hem of my royal-blue silk nightgown. “When I told her I wanted to do a reality show to help Fizzle and Calloway Couture, the first thing she said was, it’d better work, and if it doesn’t, then I have two daughters that have ruined the Calloway name.” I stare at the sheets and shake my head. “Who says that to their own daughter?”
Connor is quiet as he patiently lets me vent. Usually, I wait until therapy to unleash my aggravation. But at the end of those sessions, I’m always prescribed anti-anxieties, whereas Connor usually ends our conversations by calming most of my worries.
I continue as I think about her texts. “And even though I’ve reminded her a hundred times that I have Lily’s wedding under control, she insists on butting in. You can’t have red velvet cake, Rose. Make the color scheme gold, like Fizzle, Rose. That venue is too small, Rose. Oh, but that one is too large.” I throw up my hands after imitating her. “I can’t do anything right.”
“Have you tried ignoring her?” Connor asks.
He knows I haven’t. I crumble at my mother’s persistence. And even if she becomes overbearing and a little too much to handle, there is a part of me that loves that she cares. That she’d rather spend her time thinking about her daughters than worrying about mindless matters.
“I love her even if I hate her,” I say, not entirely responding to his question.
“A paradox,” Connor muses. “I like those. They make life interesting.”