ROSE CALLOWAY
“He’s cute,” Daisy says, appraising Scott from the kitchen. The main level of the townhouse is all one open space, so we have a direct view of the four guys in the living room, sitting on various pieces of leather furniture. The frizzy-haired psychic is on the ottoman, shuffling her Tarot cards.
Lily and I give our youngest sister a long stare. Mine contains a strong warning, but Lily looks more confused, like a puppy wandering the side of a road. I’d only stop to help a sad dog if they shared my genetics. Cruel, maybe. But survival of the fucking fittest. Blood is thicker than water.
Choke on all of those clichés. They’re true.
Daisy adds, “I mean, if you’re into the whole blond, scruffy alpha-male vibe.” She bites into a carrot with a crooked grin.
“You mean if you’re into the whole domineering, jackass vibe,” I refute. “Or that,” she says. “But no offense, Ryke is more of the jackass.” She
says it with an even larger smile. Yes, she’s friends with Loren’s brother, who happens to be twenty-three. It’d be stranger if she didn’t hang around high fashion models older than even him.
My two sisters and I have excused ourselves from the palm reading to replenish on pizza and drinks. But really, I wanted to leave the guys to grill the producer…or rather—my fake ex-boyfriend. I internally gag every time I think of Scott and boyfriend in the same sentence. He’s put this disgusting chili pepper and pickle taste in my mouth. And for anyone who finds that combination pleasant, I’ll give you Scott’s number. He’s all yours.
I watch Connor and Scott’s tense conversation as they share the same couch. They both sit tall, silently establishing their dominance, but a good amount of space separates them.
On a plush chair, Ryke observes our producer with a dark scowl but is smart to stay quiet.
However, Lo constantly interjects, sitting on the loveseat. And while the other guys keep their voices low, I can hear his heated retorts from the kitchen. He gesticulates with his hands, pointing at Scott more than once.
“I think they’re all assholes,” I say matter-of-factly. “Some just have more redeeming qualities than others.” Kind of like us. I’m not the most likable girl in the world.
Savannah, the redheaded camerawoman, stands beside the oven. She’s around our age and wears a skull and crossbones bandana over her braids.
She focuses the camera on Lily, which is not good. My twenty-one-year-old sister is the only person who has trouble not looking into the lens.
“I don’t like Scott,” Lily says, her eyes flickering to the camera with each word. She nears Daisy and cups her hand around her mouth to whisper. “He stared at your boobs for like a whole minute.”
Daisy shrugs and climbs on the counter, swinging her long legs. Her dyed blonde hair drapes to her waist. She’d cut it if her new modeling agency would let her. “There are photographs of me in my underwear,” she says (too casually). She pops a piece of broccoli in her mouth from a
vegetable tray. “When guys read the magazines, they could be doing more than staring at my boobs.”
Lily flushes red in embarrassment.
Daisy frowns in confusion and then she laughs lightly. “You used to jack off to mags? That’s fucking awesome, Lil.”
I suck in a sharp breath, worried by my little sister’s lack of filter in front of the cameras. But I don’t scold Daisy for her bluntness. I don’t want to make it seem like female masturbation is a bad thing. I wholeheartedly approve, but Lily is a recovering sex addict who has been known to compulsively delve into self-love and porn, abusing both. Those days are over for her. They have been for months.
“I don’t think girls can jack off,” Lily tells her, collecting her bearings.
She tries to act more confident, straightening up.
Daisy swings her legs, hitting the cabinets below with her high laced boots. I would care more about scratching the wood if this was my house. But it’s practically Scott’s. So scuff away, Daisy. “You’re totally right.” She nods. “I guess it would be like rubbing one out?”
“Girls can jill off,” Lily says.
“What?” Daisy and I say in unison.
“You know…” Lily turns bright red again, only her flush looks like an allergic reaction. Red splotches her arms and neck. Her eyes flit to the
camera and then back to us. “Jack and Jill went up the hill. Guys can jack off. Girls can jill off.”
Daisy cracks up laughing, hitting her leg with each full-bellied sound. “Holy shit…That’s awesome.”
I smile too. I love my sisters for so many different reasons.
I slide a piece of pizza out of the box with a napkin. “You’re sixteen,” I say to Daisy. “Men shouldn’t be thinking about screwing you while they look at your photos. They should know better.”
“I’ll be seventeen in a month,” she says. “And it probably happened to Brooke Shields, so…” She shrugs like that makes it okay. It doesn’t. No one likes that they’re calling Daisy a sex symbol in the media just because Lily
is a sex addict. Daisy was only a high fashion model before all the publicity,
in background shots, a few small campaigns. Nothing big. Now she’s a supermodel, posing more suggestively, wearing less and less clothes.
I don’t even want to think about what will happen when she turns eighteen.
When she can legally pose nude.
I wish she would care more, but she entered the modeling industry at such a young age that I’m not sure she’ll ever see her body as something other than an object to the male gaze.
“Girls!” Scott calls. “We only have the psychic for another half hour.
You need to come back.”
We shuffle out of the kitchen and into the living room, pizza and drinks in hand. I pass Connor the plate he requested and sit beside him, which
happens to also be next to Scott. I’d kick Scott somewhere else but I don’t want to put him next to Lily (a sex addict with a stable boyfriend) or Daisy (a sixteen-year-old high fashion model with impulse issues). Seriously, my little sister dove off a forty-foot cliff in Mexico.
I wish I was exaggerating.
Lily slumps beside Loren on the loveseat, and he pulls her a lot closer so her legs are over his lap, splayed across him. She leans into his chest as she picks the pepperoni off her pizza.
“Do me next,” Daisy says with a roguish grin, plopping on the floor.
She leans against the legs of Ryke’s chair and holds out her hand to
Madame Charmaine. The psychic’s peppered hair is so thick and frizzy, like she brushed her curls. Sun spots even mar her skin.
Ryke has kicked up his feet on my cedar coffee table that was transported from the Princeton house. At least there’s that ugly purple tablecloth on top.
But I can’t restrain myself from saying something. “Ryke, I can see the mud on your boots.”
His brows rise and he runs a hand through his brown hair. His features are harder and more brooding than Loren’s, but he has the same lean and muscular build. Not bulky but incredibly fit. He nods to his brother. “Please tell me this isn’t a regular fucking thing with her.”
“Oh yeah.” Loren steals the pepperoni off Lily’s plate and pops one in his mouth. “Don’t leave the toilet seat up unless you want a ten minute
lecture.”
“It’s called respect,” I retort.
Lily raises her hand. “I agree with Rose.”
Ha! Take that, Loren.
But he ignores me and playfully bites Lily’s neck. Her face lights up in a giddy smile.
My achievement is popped in an instant. I just feel…strange at being thwarted by Lily and Lo’s constant blinding love. Instead of being agitated by their in-the-face groping, I’m a little more aware of what I have. I turn to Connor, and for some reason, I can tell he’s been watching me, studying me, understanding everything. I trace his features: the smoothness of his unblemished skin, the waviness of his brown hair, and the curve of his
muscles in his arms and chest, beneath a sophisticated button-down and behind those all-knowing blue eyes.
He is power and perfection in so many ways that I will never admit aloud. His head would be humongous by the fact. But when I was younger, I often thought about what it would be like to be with him, physically.
I was sixteen when I first pictured Connor inside of me, and the most contact I had with him was verbally fighting at Model UN Conferences. Literally, we’d stand in the hallways of a fancy hotel and argue about
Epicurus and his philosophy on intangible things like love, happiness and God. Once Connor went off on a tangent in French, I tried to keep up. I vowed to be better than him. And so I studied harder. I opened more books. I made sure I was fluent enough to understand him and then more—to stump him. I never did, but I also never fell behind.
I am smart only because I spent hours reading. Connor is smart because he’s naturally gifted, but he does study harder than even the average person. I envy him—that he can carry all of these talents and never be weighed down by setbacks and hardships. He just keeps moving forward.
He makes me believe that anything is possible. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone quite like Connor Cobalt.
He places a hand on my neck and his thumb rubs a sensitive place that sends chills down my spine.
I’m glad to have him, even if I was fine with being alone and single beforehand. How we came to this place still feels like a cosmic alignment. Out of the blue, I learned he was Lily’s economics tutor at the University of Pennsylvania. It wasn’t a ruse to get closer to me. He had no idea she was my sister at first, and Lily chose him at random. At the time, Connor and I only saw each other once a year when Princeton and Penn competed in a
Quiz Bowl Tournament, and this was a chance for him to meet me more often. For us to reunite.
And Connor’s never been one to squander an opportunity.
So when he saw me at Lily’s old apartment, he asked me on a date. I said yes because he was challenging me to step out of my comfort zone, as he’s done all these years. I wonder if having sex will be the day where everything ends, where our journey of losing and finding each other will finally come to a close.
I turn back to Ryke who has not moved his boots. I make sure that he meets my glare.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Look, if we’re going to live together then we need to establish some fucking rules.”
Madame Charmaine cuts into our discussion. “You’re single now but you will find someone very soon,” she tells Daisy.
“Well that’s not right,” Daisy says, the cameras rotating to her. “I already have a boyfriend.”
Ryke’s boots finally fall to the floor. “Since when?” “Since last week.”
Madame Charmaine holds up a finger. “Aha!” she exclaims. “Soon.
Very soon.”
“So soon that the events have already happened,” Connor says. “Are we changing the definition of precognition today? Shall I call Merriam-
Webster?”
Lo breaks into a grin. “You’re nasty today, Connor.” “I have a limit on bullshit. Magic tips the scale.”
“It’s not magic,” Madame Charmaine rebuts with ease. “I have the
sight.”
Connor pauses. “…like I was saying.”
“Why haven’t any of us met your boyfriend?” I ask Daisy, trying to steer this to a better direction, one that doesn’t make Connor look like a bigger prick than he really is. But I have a feeling Scott will edit him in the worst light no matter what.
Before she answers, Ryke whispers in her ear, and they both suddenly stand at the same time. We’re all on edge until Ryke sits on the floor, taking her spot, and she settles in his chair, her legs crossed underneath her.
Ryke has his nice moments. I’ll admit that.
“Daisy,” I say. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah…um.” She swats her hair out of her face. “He’s not really the meet-and-greet kind of boyfriend.”
“So basically you’re just fucking him,” Ryke blurts out. Oh look, his nice moment just passed.
At least, I can forecast that he won’t make a move on Daisy because of her age. I think he’s more likely to run into traffic than hook up with her.
“Not in front of the cameras,” Connor advises.
Ryke shoots him the middle finger with an added glare.
I can feel Connor’s chest rising in irritation. “I don’t know why I care,” Connor says. “It’s not like anyone will understand you anyway. You curse every other word. They’re going to literally bleep you out of the show.”
“And that’d make you so fucking happy.”
“I’d be happier if I could tie you up to the front porch and leave you there. I’d even be kind enough to toss you a steak bone to gnaw on.”
Lo can’t stop laughing.
Ryke’s eyes darken at his brother. “Where’s the fucking loyalty?”
His laughter dies down and his lips fall. “Did you hear what you said to Daisy? Honestly, how about never bringing up her sex life. And then maybe I’ll consider siding with you.”
“You guys.” Daisy waves her hand to regain focus. “I’m not screwing my boyfriend. I just don’t want any of you to meet him. He’s kind of
dumb.”
Ryke’s jaw hardens. “He’s dumb? Then why the fuck are you with him?”
Daisy shrugs and avoids his dark eyes. “He’s nice.”
Scott suddenly scoots closer to me, his hip pressing against mine. I want to edge towards Connor, but I don’t want to look frightened of Scott. So I
stand my ground and feel his warm breath on my ear. “You should go next. See what your future holds.”
I bristle at the thought of being told something like “someone you love will die soon” or “you’ll marry a stupid man.” Connor may not take stock in psychics, but a part of me will always be a little superstitious.
“Madame,” Scott calls before I can stop him. “Rose would like to go next.”
“And then you?” Connor asks. “We’d all love to know when you’ll die.” The muscles in Scott’s jaw twitch.
Madame Charmaine sidles over to our couch and kneels in front of me.
She snatches my hand and scans the lines on my palm wildly. “Mmm.”
I don’t like mms. They sound like unintelligible baby muttering, which is the equivalent of sticking a sharp needle in my ear.
“I think…that I will have a better reading with cards.” She pulls the shuffled deck from her pocket. “Split this in half. Do not flip them over.”
I do as she says, randomly picking from the pile, purple crescent moons printed on the back of each card.
She returns to her ottoman beside the coffee table and starts flipping the cards right side up. I can’t see any of the designs, but I think I spot a white unicorn on one, which has Connor rolling his eyes.
Even so, he intertwines his fingers in mine and kisses my knuckles, as though I need extra reassurance before she exposes my future.
She overturns the last card. “I see,” she says and nods. “You’re very fertile. I sense two strong male spirits in your life, possibly twin boys in the future.” She has to be joking.
A crying baby—that’s a personal circle of hell for me. When my eldest sister, Poppy, had her child, I didn’t acknowledge my niece until she could form intelligible sentences. I have nothing in common with kids. And no
one needs to tell me I would make a horrible mother. I know it’s true. Which is why I plan to never have children.
“Take it back,” I snap.
“I can’t return a reading.”
“It’s not a purse, Rose,” Connor chimes in, his lips rising. “It’s your future.” His amusement is palpable.
I point a finger at him. “Shut. Up.”
Connor grabs my hand and says, “I won’t believe in it if you won’t.”
He doesn’t seem that upset by my declaration (technically I’ve voiced my baby-disdain before so it shouldn’t come as a surprise) but I strangely ache for a true answer. For his honesty. I know he’s not going to share it now, not when the cameras are rolling and with Scott sitting right beside me.
“Deal,” I say.
The psychic clicks her tongue. “I think I’m picking up someone else’s energy. It’s very black, very dark, not good at all.”
“Definitely Connor,” Loren says with a wink.
Connor actually cracks a smile, and as far as I can tell, it’s genuine.
“No,” Madame Charmaine says. “It’s from her.” She stares right at Lily.
No, no, no.
“You’re going to be married soon, are you not?”
Lily slides lower on the loveseat, uncomfortable with the attention, especially as Brett and Ben direct both of their lenses at her. “Yes,” she says in a small, feeble voice. Lo sets their paper plates on the coffee table.
“All right,” Connor says, standing and nearing the psychic. “I think that’s enough magic for one night.” He puts a hand on Madame Charmaine’s elbow, and she rises with the pressure. “It was really nice to
meet someone who’s dabbled in the dramatic arts, but I think it’s time for you to go.”
Loren mouths, thank you, to Connor, and then he rubs Lily’s back. But Scott has to ruin it as he stands. “I’m in charge of production,
Connor. I say when these events end.” He looks to the clock. “And we have ten more minutes.”
On cue, Madame Charmaine directs her next question to Lily. “This wedding, you don’t want to go through with it, do you?”
“What?” Lily’s eyes grow wide. “No…” She looks to Loren. “I mean, yes. Yes, I do want it. Why wouldn’t I?” She glances at the camera in alarm. “I…I love Lo so much. He’s my best friend…”
“Hey,” Lo says, tugging her to his chest, now settled on his lap. “You don’t have to tell that old hag anything.”
Ryke shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Did he just fucking call her an old hag?”
“Yep,” Daisy says. “Fucking fantastic.”
Lily doesn’t look well. Her shoulders curve forward like she’s a shivering puppy caught in the rain. I stand next to Connor. “Okay,
Madame…” I can’t even say her name without rolling my eyes too. “… either you leave early…” I give Scott a glower before he can refute. “Or stop badgering my sister.”
But her lips fly open again. “Why would you get married if you’re full of apprehension?” she asks Lily.
I am going to kill Scott! If he planted these questions at all…I actually let out a little growl, and Connor puts a hand on my shoulder. I want to pluck out Scott’s eyeballs with my nails. And then stomp on them with the sharp point of my heel.
I spin towards him, my eyes growing hot. “Did you tell her to ask these questions?”
Scott feigns confusion. “Now why would I do that?” Lily stammers. “I-I’m not apprehensive.” But she is.
After her sex addiction became public, Fizzle’s publicists suggested the best options for damage control. At the top of the list—a marriage. It would show that Lily’s in a committed relationship. That she’s not as deviant as
the world believes.
So our mother and father have cut Lily off financially until she legally marries Loren. And our parents wanted them to wait a full year, so it wouldn’t seem like a shotgun wedding. Not very many people know that
this is a scheme. But even so, the marriage will be real. In six more months, she’ll no longer be a Calloway.
This is not a wedding out of love (even though they’d most likely marry in five, six years regardless). Our parents decided this for them, and so the wedding is just one based on money and appearance. Nothing more.
Lily and Loren both have reservations and doubts. I’ve talked to Lily about it, and she’s told me point-blank that she hates the idea of looking back at her wedding pictures and just seeing something fake and cold. I want their marriage to start out on good terms too, but I can’t see a way out of this.
And I do agree with my mother on some level. I do think this will help Fizzle because it will repair Lily’s image in the media. Do I believe it’s worth it? That’s only Lily’s call. I know she’s complying with the wedding more out of guilt for hurting Fizzle, our father’s company, than regaining her inheritance.
Madame Charmaine holds up her hands. “There are so many emotions.” She presses her fingers to her forehead.
Connor’s composed, unreadable face is slowly breaking in annoyance. “It’s not me!” Lily shouts all of a sudden. She springs from the couch. “I
love Loren. Look.” She kisses Lo on the cheek and then the lips.
He recoils, the exact wrong thing to do to her right now. But he’s trying to understand her mental state, which is gradually going sideways. My sister is like a ball of twine that can unravel slowly or quickly, depending on the person tugging at the other end.
Lily flinches back, not expecting Lo to stop kissing her. She bumps into the table and knocks over a lit candle. Oh my God.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Tears flood her eyes, thinking she’s ruined everything. She tries to lift the candle back up, but Loren catches her around the waist, pulling her to his chest before she burns herself.
The flame ignites a paper napkin and a paper plate. Daisy picks up the napkin like it’s a dirty diaper, not a ball of fire. “Whoa, guys, this is pretty warm.”
“Really?” Ryke says, grabbing her wrist and trying to relinquish the burning napkin from her.
“Yeah, really, really. Want to feel?” She smiles playfully, waving the thing towards him. He doesn’t even jerk back.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I thought I was just smoking hot.”
I’d like to say that I am the normal one out of my sisters, but I am frantically trying to grab the pitcher of water that sits on the edge of the coffee table. So much so, that I knock over another candle.
Just lovely.
The cameras are swinging behind us, as wild as the flames.
Daisy has to toss the napkin back down on the table before it burns her hand. And the psychic yells something about her cards, gathering them in a
messy stack.
And then a pair of hands peels me away from the growing flames that has eaten our napkins and started for the purple tablecloth. “The water,” I start, but Connor places me by the wall and then brings out a fire extinguisher.
In seconds, my boyfriend has snuffed out the fire. And the psychic has bolted from my house with her purple bag in tow.
The quiet lingers, and all we hear is muffled, “ImsorryImsorryImsorry.”
My heart constricts, and I find Lily mumbling the string of apologies into Loren’s shirt. He has his hand on the back of her head, his features sharpened. When he looks up at me, he says, “Thank God for Connor,
right?” He tries to play off the pain that contorts his face.
“God always has a way of stealing my credit,” Connor says. Loren’s lips curve in a small smile.
I think, in this moment, I love Connor more for lightening the mood than for saving my cedar coffee table. But I am glad this table isn’t burned.
It’s an antique.
Loren lifts Lily in a front piggy-back so she doesn’t have to meet the camera’s concentrated gaze.
Scott turns to me. “Looks like we’ll be seeing that lap dance after all.” “Excuse me?” I sneer.
The room blankets in tense silence. Scott grins. “You made a bet a few days ago. I saw the footage. If someone cried during the psychic segment, you’d have to give your boyfriend a lap dance.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit…
“Lily didn’t really cry,” I say instantly.
Loren shifts her a little, and I see his T-shirt, wet with her tears. She
wipes her cheeks quickly, trying to hide her sadness, but it’s there. I forget
that Loren’s not on my side for the bet. Hell, he’s the one who proposed the wager.
I snap at Lo, “You should feel awful for profiting off of her emotions.” “She was there when you made the bet,” he reminds me. “Lap dance
rain check? Lily and I want a front row seat.”
Lily mutters something that sounds like only if she wants to.
“Fine,” I say as Connor’s hand skims my waist. I step out of his touch, anxiety heating my neck more than the small fire ever did. I am going to have to gyrate on him. In public. With millions of people watching later on television. Oh. Shit…
The only upside: the first episode is airing in February, a month from now. So I have some time before people witness my inability to grind.
“I think we missed something,” Daisy says to Ryke.
He stares down at her. “Apparently I’ve been missing a lot of fucking things lately.”
She looks away from him, and when she notices I’m watching her, she just smiles at me. I think Ryke is worried about her. We all are. There’s a small fear she’s going to end up like Lily—sex crazed and compulsive. All this media attention is affecting her at school in ways that no one knows.
Daisy won’t talk to us about it. And she could very well blow off steam in a bad manner.
Loren carries Lily out of the living room and up the stairs, her legs wrapped around him. Wiry Ben follows close behind.
I turn slightly, and my arm hits a camera. Pudgy Brett has a big smug grin on his face, as if he won the bet too. Well I guess everyone fucking won but me. “Put that smile away, Brett, before I make it a permanent
frown.” My threat does sound serious (it’s really not), but I’m edgy enough that I feel like I could truly cause astronomical damage.
I glance around at the coffee table. White foam. Charred napkins. Burnt food. Dirtied plates. An overturned ottoman. Is that a stain on the rug?
Oh…
“I’ll clean it up,” Connor tells me. “I’ll help,” Scott adds.
Connor gives him a look.
“What?” Scott smiles. “I live here now. Might as well lend a helping hand.”
I have a feeling that a “helping hand” is more than I’ll get from Scott.
Six months. Six months.
If I repeat it, maybe it won’t feel so long.
