Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

She bites down on a smile as she taps on her phone screen. But she’s not texting Gayle and Howard. She’s opened up Instagram and, with quick fingers, she has my profile open. “You haven’t even launched yet and you have that many followers?” She holds up her phone, her eyes wide.

“That’s thanks to Zaheera and the team’s PR work, which is all stuff you should work into this project of yours.” Their influencer campaign has brought a steady drumbeat of new followers each day. Margo’s efforts seem to have paid off too. Dozens of the celebrity attendees at that party we made samples for have posted online, tagging us.

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna do okay, Abbi.” She snorts, as if my nervousness is silly.

“We’ll see.” I lift the wooden block of bars and carry it over to the packaging area.

Violet trails after me and watches as I wrap one in the simple brown paper packaging, binding it with twine. The round embossed label finishes it off.

“That’s simple.”

“It is. Henry helped me wrap bars once, after—” I cut myself off. No need to bring Scott into the day. “When I was running out of time. Here, try one.” I set a bar in front of her.

She watches me wrap another before slowly mimicking me.

“Perfect.”

She sets it aside. “You know, this feels suspiciously like free labor.”

“Or fair trade for my sage advice. Plus, I’m buying you a toothbrush and underwear. I can throw in dinner?”

Her lips twitch. “Weird. But it’s a deal.”

“After you call your grandparents and ask if it’s okay, right?”

“Right.” She digs out her phone again and wanders over to a corner, her voice quiet as she speaks to either Howard or Gayle. In moments, she’s back. “They’re cool with it.”

Unexpected giddiness bubbles inside me but I force it down and pretend this is no big deal. “Good.” I move on to the next soap bar. “So, what’s your business plan going to be for?”

She heaves a sigh, and the stress in that single sound is palpable. “Everyone’s doing trendy things like food trucks and coffee shops and tattoo parlors. The only thing I can think of is this.” She hesitates and then points to the beanie on her head.

I wide smile stretches across my face. “I think that is a fantastic business idea, and I’ll tell you why.”





I round the corner to find Violet staring up at the string of egg white dangling from the ceiling. Saturday morning’s sunlight streams in through the panoramic windows, highlighting the pancake powder spilled all over the kitchen.

“How did you manage that?”

“It takes talent, right?” She flashes a sheepish grin. “This is why my mom never left me alone in the kitchen for long.”

“Wait until I tell Raj. He’s gonna get a kick out of this.” I grab a wet cloth and, climbing up onto the counter, I wipe away the egg. “There, you can’t even tell.”

“I can tell,” she says with mock seriousness.

I giggle as I climb down. My time with Violet has been nothing short of enjoyable. We finished wrapping yesterday’s batch of soaps just before five and hit up a few stores in the area to buy overnight supplies before having dinner at Lux.

The rest of the evening, we spent lounging on the couch in pajamas, a movie playing in the background while she worked on her assignment. Every so often, though, she’d slide in a question about Henry. Some of them were small and innocuous: Does he play sports?

What does he like to eat?

And yet her inquiries tested my knowledge of the man I’m about to marry: Yes, golf, and as I’ve just learned, he was very good at basketball.

(Besides me?) Sandwiches from Marcello’s and cheesecake.

Other questions had me fumbling over my answers:

Did Henry like his brother?

Why does he hate his mother so much?

For those, I settled on a sanitized version of the truth:

Money and power do strange things to people.

She isn’t a good person.

Henry will have to be the one to delve into those answers, decide how much truth he wants to share about his messed-up family.

I check my phone. “Henry should be home any minute.” He texted an hour ago to say he’d landed. I was trying to figure out the best way to tell him Violet’s here and decided it should be a surprise.

“How often is he gone for work?”

“Some months are busier than others, but quite a bit. More than I’d like,” I admit. “But he has a lot of responsibility, especially now that he’s running it alone.”

“Do you ever go with him?”

“A few times, but I was stuck in Greenbank for a while, helping take care of my dad after a tractor accident. Honestly, we haven’t been together long enough for me to take advantage of travel opportunities. But I did meet him in France, and that was a great trip.” Though it ended on a sour note, with us flying home to plan William’s funeral, it also brought us so much closer. “I never traveled before this past summer when I went to Alaska. I didn’t even have a passport.”

“Did you know only forty percent of Americans have passports?”

“I knew it wasn’t a lot.” Henry said something similar to Aunt May when we asked for her help with Daddy—and dealing with Mama—for my trip to Europe. “What about you?”

Violet splashes a drop of water on the frying pan, testing its heat. “My mom and I went to California, right after she was diagnosed. Did the whole Disneyland thing, and the beach. It was so much fun, she promised we’d do it again.”

From the sounds of it, though, that never happened.

As much of a royal pain in the ass Mama has been, it makes me want to pick up the phone and call her.

I watch Violet’s back for a moment, wondering what she thinks of me, and of all this. It must be surreal for her. I’d like to think we’ve been getting along, but is it all an act? Will she talk about her father’s irritating wife one day in a tell-all book? She’s wearing the blue and red plaid pajamas I bought for her last night. They’re so soft, I bought the same pair for myself. She laughed when I came down wearing them but didn’t say anything.

Violet hums a tune as she ladles batter into the frying pan.

“That’s a pretty song. What is it?” I ask as I check the sheet of bacon cooking in the oven.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m taking drama and we’re doing a play. We’ve been rehearsing a lot lately.”

So Violet enjoys acting. Another tidbit into her life. “What’s the play?”

“Alice in Wonderland.”

“And who are you?”

“The Queen of Hearts.”

My hand freezes on the bowl of fresh berries that Raj washed and prepared. “Violet! That’s like the main character!”

She spares a glance over her shoulder to roll her eyes at me. “No, Alice is the main character. Becca Taylor got Alice.” She sneers at the girl’s name.

“Do we not like Becca Taylor?”

“She told people that the only reason I got the role was because my mom was dying.”

“So we hate Becca Taylor.” That might not be the mature thing to say, but I’m not trying to parent Violet, and besides, I kind of do hate whoever this snotty, jealous girl is. “Whatever, so you’re the next main character.”