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Derek has a confident hold on me while he leans over, mouth inches from mine.
“Steady.”
His deep voice is a whisper that steals my breath.
A thousand volts of energy surge from where his hand lingers at my waist.
“Whit! Er…Princess Elena, are you okay?” Ryan asks, rushing over to help right me. His reflexes are as slow as molasses. If it were up to him, I’d be nursing a concussion right now.
I swallow in lieu of answering. It was nothing. Not even a trip, just a stumble. And yet my heart is pounding like I fell. Hard.
“Let’s take five.”
Derek’s suggestion isn’t meant to be questioned, but I do anyway.
“Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly fine.”
Perfectly fine might be a slight exaggeration.
After all, Cal’s dinner party is tonight and I have no idea how I’m going to survive it. I’ve spent all week running from one activity to another, keeping myself busy—on purpose. The few moments I’ve been alone, I’ve immediately defaulted to thinking of Derek. Carrie keeps asking me how I feel now that he’s back, and there’s no simple answer for it. My emotions can’t seem to agree. Part of me is still angry with him for how he left things eight years ago. It wants retribution. Part of me is elated that he’s finally come home. I feared he never would. Another, smaller part—the part I wish I could ignore—is still embarrassed by how I behaved back then. Like an overeager puppy.
Proof of this is found in an email I pull up while I’m waiting for Carrie to arrive at my dorm that evening.From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: AssignmentsGood morning Derek!I hope this email doesn’t wake you up. It probably won’t considering you seem to never sleep. Haha. I set my alarm an hour early so I could read the article you sent over before I have to go to class. I know we don’t meet until next week and you said we could discuss it then, but I thought I’d go ahead and email you!I can’t read the rest. My true feelings must have leapt off the screen and slapped him across the face. I AM HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH YOU! CAN’T YOU SEE?
With a shudder, I close my laptop, grab my phone, and walk over to my closet. I balk at everything my hands touch. Jeans? Not. Good. Enough.
I have Ryan’s number, though I’ve never used it. While I rifle through dresses, I send him a text.
Whitney: Busy tonight?Then I text Carrie too.
Whitney: If you haven’t left your apartment yet, would you mind bringing me an outfit I can borrow for the dinner party? Something you’ve always wanted to put me in but I’ve never let you.I get two texts back right away.
Ryan: No. Want to hang?Carrie: YES. Be right there.Two hours later, I’m in the elevator heading up to Cal’s penthouse flanked by Carrie and Ryan.
My makeup has been painstakingly applied. My hair hangs in intentionally loose waves. I’m wearing a thin black V-neck sweater that hangs off my shoulders, paired with a black silk skirt that falls to midcalf. My heels give me an inch on Carrie.
It’s an outfit that should be adorning an A-list celebrity whose main goal is to look ridiculously hot without looking like they tried at all. I’m not so sure I’m capable of pulling it off. I want to reach up and adjust the sweater so it doesn’t reveal so much skin, but Carrie assures me it’s tasteful and fitted perfectly. According to her, it won’t slip down even though it feels like it will. As it is, there’s only a hint of cleavage below my bare décolletage.
Back in my dorm, I suggested a necklace, and Carrie laughed.
“Your accessories are your collarbones and the shadows just beneath, the slope of your neck and smooth shoulders. Believe me—you don’t need a thing. Women underestimate how sexy this area of their body is.”
I took her word for it. After all, she’s the costume designer.
To her credit, Ryan did do a double take when he first saw me. That has to count for something.
“Are you sure Charles won’t mind that you’re bringing me along?” Ryan asks, tugging on his tie. He’s dressed up in a black suit. The boxy fit and the way the pants hang a little past his ankles kind of make it look as if he’s on his way to prom. I half expect him to whip out a corsage. Still, I find it charming that he’s put in so much effort. I think he’s nervous to meet Cal, and I understand how he feels. I would be nervous too.
“It’ll be fine. I promise.”
And if not, well, it’s too late now.
Carrie and I exchange a quick glance before I reach for the lipstick in my purse. The color is “Pucker Up”, a coral red subtle enough to draw attention to my lips without screaming for it.
