Page 102 of Cruel Lies

"You will. Last time, you slept in my bed and kicked me all night."

"That wasn't because of sharks. That was because of thegiant squid."

Isabella takes off the heels and lines both of them up neat by the closet, exactly the way Ronan lined up mine the morning after the gala. I don't know where she picked that up. She just does it with all her powers of attention, then pats them once like they're good dogs.

"Go on," I say. "Git. Scram. Skedaddle. Both of you."

They go, Hayden thundering down the stairs, Isabella following at a slower, more dignified pace like the little princess she is.

I do my makeup with my phone propped against the toothbrush holder. I've gotten good at it. The eyeliner only takes two tries now instead of ten. In show business, we call that "progress."

I'm halfway into the red dress, holding my hair up off my neck and trying to work out how I'll reach the zipper by myself, when I hear it.

A small, wet, unmistakable sound from downstairs.

Then Isabella's voice, high and horrified. "MOM! Hayden threw up on the couch."

I immediately scramble downstairs in a panic, flopping out of my dress, hair akimbo.

By the time I get down there, Hayden is sitting on the bottom stair with his head between his knees, gray as a dead fish, and there's a mess on the living room rug and a smaller mess on the couch cushion, and Isabella is standing a careful ten feet away with her hand clamped over her nose like she's at a crime scene.

"Oh, buddy." I crouch down in front of him, wrinkles or vomit backsplash on the red dress be damned. I put my hand on his forehead. He's warm. Not burning, but definitely heating up. "How long have you felt bad?"

"A while," he mumbles.

"Since when?"

"I dunno. My tummy felt weird. But I didn't want to tell you 'cause you have your date."

My heart just about breaks in half. "Hey. Look at me." I tip his chin up the way Ronan tips mine. "You never,everkeep it a secret from me when you feel sick. Not for a date. Not for anything. Okay? Your job is to tell me. I'm your mom, and taking care of you is the most important thing in the world, okay?"

"Okay," he says miserably.

"I mean it. There's no date in the world more important than you."

He nods, and his lip does a little wobble. Then he burps and I get him to the downstairs bathroom just in time for another round of purging.

I comb back his sweat-plastered hair, which he lets me do without protest. That's how I know he feels really bad. I rub his back and I tell him he's okay, he's doing great, get it all out. Isabella hovers in the doorway offering commentary.

"Doctor Fuzz threw up once," she informs us. "It was very small."

"Doctor Fuzz is a caterpillar," Hayden groans.

"Yes, and he wasvery brave about it."

When it's over, I get him settled on the good end of the couch, away from the mess, with a trash can, a glass of water, and a cool washcloth on his forehead. He's clammy and pathetic, winding the clock back until he's a helpless little bread loaf in my arms again, just like when he was a baby.

Just like that, I let the date evaporate without a second thought.

When I'm sure he's asleep and okay for now, I pry a hand free from the cuddle puddle, find my phone, and fire off a text to Juliet first.

So sorry—Hayden's got a stomach bug, need to cancel tonight. Will still pay you for your time of course.

Then I sit there dawdling with my thumb over Ronan's name. I don't know how to phrase a text, so I call him instead.

He picks up right away, as always. "Ms. Meadows. I hope you're not calling to tell me you can't decide what to wear, because the answer is that I don't care, you'll look?—"

"Hayden's sick."