by Leigh, Tara
Tripp’s parents were waiting in a long black limousine parked at the curb. Not a single word was exchanged during the blessedly short ride to the Waldorf Astoria, although each awkward minute felt like a year.
Outside the tinted windows, a misty drizzle hung on the cool night air, and I pulled my wrap tightly around my bare shoulders as the doors were opened by a uniformed liveryman. In my mind, tonight had been all about me, and the me I’d become with Tripp. One half of a confident, picture-perfect couple. But tonight’s argument had underscored a fact my teenaged mind was only just beginning to understand—that nothing was ever only about one thing.
A Debutante Ball that had little to do with the debutantes themselves.
Business partners who ruled Wall Street but battled each other behind closed doors.
A ‘coming out’ party for someone who’d only gone a few blocks.
Even so, I walked beside Tripp on the red carpet, smiling for the photographers arranged on the sidewalk, feeling like a celebrity on my way to accept an Oscar. Not because I was acting, but because this night already felt so surreal, going home with a golden statue didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility.
But what I already had was better than any award. I had Tripp Montgomery.
And by the end of the night, he would have me, too.
6
December 2007
Tripp
I wanted to punch the guy on the other side of Jolie. Sure, I’d known that debutantes had two escorts—one civilian and one military . . . in theory. But in reality, I was not a fan. The cadet from West Point hadn’t said a word to me, or to Jolie as far as I could tell, but it pissed me off that another dude was a part of this night at all. I’d never seen him before tonight, and I didn’t expect to see him after, but his military bearing and crew cut rubbed me the wrong way. Was Jolie looking at him? Was she into him?
Fucking bullshit, if you ask me. Not that anyone did, of course. Which was the reason for my silent fuming.
Was this what jealousy felt like? As if someone had wrapped my balls in saran wrap and then vacuum sealed them? I’d never been jealous of anyone or anything—until tonight. Until I walked into a room with the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen, the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed. Only to be bookended by some military school brown-noser.
Like I wasn’t enough.
When you’ve grown up as I have—a scion of Midas, as I’d been called in a recent article lamenting the old boy’s network that still ruled Wall Street—it’s damn hard to break out of the assumption that my worth rose and fell with the funds in my family’s coffers. Like I had neither the ambition nor drive to succeed on my own terms.
I could understand why some would think that. Hell, I only had to look around at my classmates and fraternity buddies to know it was usually the truth. The kids I’d grown up with in the insulated bubble of the Upper East Side, they didn’t work nearly as hard, and were usually only half as smart, as the scholarship kids I’d met. The ones who busted their asses to get where I’d landed because of my last name. My grades and scores and accomplishments would have been enough to get me into Columbia on my own, I knew that. But I never even had the chance to try. My father simply made a call to the Ivy League alma mater attended by generations of Montgomerys.
I was Remington Owen Montgomery, the fucking third.
All that meant to me was that my parents had been too lazy to come up with their own name.
I know, cry me a river. Starving people in Ethiopia. Unsafe drinking water in Africa. In New York, a city with more billionaires than anywhere else in the world, whole families living below the poverty line. My complaints were ridiculous in the scheme of things. No doubt, I’d won the genealogical lottery.
But would it ever be enough? Would I ever be enough?
Jolie and I spent a few hours mingling with the crowd, and I watched her curtsy so many times that I had to catch myself from mimicking the gesture. Then we were led up to the balcony, overlooking the dance floor, for dinner. Me on one side of Jolie, and G.I. Joe Jr. on her other. The guy was a fucking barnacle. Finally, after Jolie was officially ‘presented,’ we walked Jolie to her father and the guy peeled away.
Mr. Chapman shook my hand as the music changed from some sort of a march to a song you could actually dance to. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll bring her back safe and sound.” They joined all the other fathers and debs, the parquet floor a sea of white and black.
I waited impatiently at the perimeter for the song to end so I could finally put my arms around Jolie’s waist, dip my head into that tempting nook between her throat and shoulder, breathe in the elusive perfume that had been teasing me all night.
Feeling someone come up beside me, I bristled at the idea that Mr. Military was back with his shiny brass buttons, thinking he was going to get a dance with my girl. Turning my head, I was surprised to discover it was my father. His face was ashen, and he was clenching and unclenching his jaw, eyes not on me but the jumble of bodies attempting the waltz. “Dad,” I prodded, reaching out to grasp his arm. “Are you okay? Want to go sit down?”
Only a slight twitch in his profile gave any indication that he’d heard me. “I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him.
For what? I wanted to ask. But I never had the chance. He turned away and disappeared into the crowd just as the song ended. Thoughts of my father fell away the moment Jolie was standing in front of me, a huge smile on her stunning face.
Something inside me loosened, and I grinned right back. “You’re all mine now?”
“That depends,” she said, her voice light and teasing.
“On what?” We headed back onto the dance floor and I wasted no time wrapping my arms around her lithe frame.
“On whether you’re planning to take good care of me.” Barely contained by the thick black fringe of Jolie’s lashes, a sapphire sea stared back at me, the color so intense I could dive in and never reach the bottom.
I dipped my head, nipping at her earlobe as I whispered, “Oh, I have a plan all right.” Pulling back, I decided to take her lifted eyebrows as a sign of encouragement. “But it’s all up to you, Jolie. You know that, right?”
Falling into step, we merged with the other couples on the floor. Jolie was light on her feet and felt so right within my arms. Like she belonged there. “Tell me about your plan.”
“Well, we are in a hotel. And both of our parents are expecting us to bounce around the after-parties until dawn, at least.”
She gave a slight nod of her head, lips curving upward in a mysterious half-smile. I paused, struck by a moment of doubt. Was I being too presumptuous, too forward? Jolie wasn’t even eighteen yet, and still in high school. I was nearly twenty, halfway through my second year of college. The last thing I wanted to do was push her into something she wasn’t ready for. What we had was special. She was special. I didn’t want to ruin that, not for just one night. Not for anything. “You know what,” I backpedaled, “never mind. Let’s go to the after-parties instead.”
She shook her head, that half-smile turning into a full-fledged grin, eyes twinkling brightly. “Oh no, you’re not getting off the hook that easily. I want to hear about this plan of yours. You never know, I might just like it.”
The band launched seamlessly into another song and I slowed my steps. “Well, in my pocket, there’s a keycard.”
“To a room? Here?” She didn’t look nervous, or angry.
“Yes, but we don’t have to stay. Or we could invite a few of your friends upstairs, get room-service—”
Jolie swiveled her head at the other girls in white dresses swirling around us. “Who? The other debs? According to Nina, they’re supposed to be part of my network,” she said the word like it had been dipped in salt. “They’re not my friends.”
“Oh. Okay, well then—”
“After this is over, can we go upstairs together—just me and you?”
Swallowing the heavy lump of anticipation in my
throat, I concentrated on not jumping up and down, pumping my fist in the air. “Sure. We can do that.” My pants were suddenly too tight for comfort, making it a challenge to keep moving my feet through a rigid set of steps and navigating around the crowded dance floor without stepping on Jolie’s pretty little toes or plowing into another couple.
Even so, we spent the rest of the night there, mostly because I couldn’t bear to let Jolie out of my arms. Eventually I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to face Mr. Chapman. There were only a few couples left on the dance floor, but we stepped to the side anyway. Jolie’s father looked as tense as mine had been, and Nina didn’t look much better. “We have to go someplace, I’m not sure when we’ll be home.” He glanced at me. “You’ll take care of my little girl tonight, make sure she gets home safe?”
“Of course.” I nodded, feeling like a complete heel for the way I was planning to spend the night—wrapped up in Jolie’s mile-long legs. Not what her father intended, I was sure.
“Daddy, it’s nearly midnight. Where are you—”
“It will be fine sweetheart. Just some business I need to take care of.”
Jolie glanced at me, her small hand squeezing mine. “There are a few parties. I’m not sure when we’ll be home.”
“That’s fine. I don’t know when we’ll be home either. I want you to have a good time tonight, this is your night.”
I glanced around at what was left of the crowd, wondering where my parents were. “Have you seen my—”
“They’ve left,” he barked, before I could finish my question.
Nina addressed me without meeting my gaze. “I’m sure they meant to say goodbye. They probably just didn’t want to interrupt.”
Jolie hugged her father and stepmother, and then they left. I didn’t bother leading her back onto the dance floor. “Something is going on, Tripp.”
Her concern echoed mine. “Yeah. I just wish we knew what it was.”
Jolie shook her head, a tendril of hair floating around her face catching in the crease of her lips. I gently smoothed it away. “I don’t,” she said. “Because if it’s big enough for us to hear more than an argument from behind closed doors, that’s not a good thing.”
As we left the gilded ballroom behind, I had a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach that whatever it was wouldn’t remain behind closed doors for long.
7
December 2007
Jolie
My debutante ball was over . . . but my night was just beginning.
Tripp led me to the bank of elevators, concerns about his parents or my parents or anything other than us slipping further from my mind with each passing minute.
When the doors opened on the floor of the hotel room Tripp must have reserved earlier today, I flashed a nervous smile his way.
“We don’t have to—”
But I didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, stepping over the gap and into the corridor, turning back to face him with a rustle of satin and tulle. “You coming?”
Tripp Montgomery was so damn gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him. Desire was carved into the broad planes and sharp angles of his face, excitement into the aristocratic sweep of his brows and chiseled curve of his lips. A kaleidoscope of butterflies swirled and soared within my stomach, their delicate wings stirring up those very same emotions inside me.
I didn’t tear my gaze from his face until he joined me, grabbing for my hand. By unspoken agreement, we broke into a jog, our laughter echoing within the narrow corridor as we ran down the hall. It wasn’t long before Tripp pulled up short, fumbling in his pocket for a keycard.
Impatience wound around my ribs as my breaths were reduced to shallow stitches of air. My lungs were already operating at a disadvantage because of the tight corset that formed the bodice of my dress, a corset that had become a cage for the beating heart trying to break free from my chest.
There was a metallic slide, a quiet click, then a twist of the handle. I went to step over the threshold but Tripp gathered me into his arms with an eager grin, the outer edge of his strong thigh holding the door open. I was lifted, cradled against his chest like the most precious of packages. “What are you doing?” I asked, the lilt of my voice sounding like the purest happiness even to my own ears.
“Carrying my girl over the threshold.”
Another giggle broke free from my lips. “I think that’s only a tradition for brides and grooms.”
Tripp planted a tender kiss on the tip of my nose, the full skirt of my dress swishing as air rushed through the closing door. “I’m as committed to you as if I’ve spoken vows, Jolie. You know that, right?”
Some of the intoxication of the moment receded, clarity adding definition to the images forming in my mind. Tripp stood just inside the room, not moving further toward the bed, but not letting me go, either. Could he feel me swooning inside? “Yes,” I whispered. “I know. And I feel the exact same way.”
My lips found his, seeking out the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth, the potency of his kisses. I sighed as our tongues slid and tangled, probed and parried. There was a restrained hunger to Tripp’s kisses tonight. As if he knew what we were about to share, but was holding himself in check. So that I was the one giving rather than him taking.
His arms relaxed, just enough for me to slide along the smooth fabric of his suit until I was standing on my own two feet. I pulled back to stare at him, not caring that my hair had come unbound from its carefully constructed knot an hour ago and he’d just kissed the last of my lipstick off. “I feel like I’m living a fairy tale right now.”
A frown pushed its way between Tripp’s brows. “Does that mean you’re going to run off at the stroke of midnight and I’ll have to hunt you down with only a forgotten shoe as proof that this actually happened?”
I shook my head, feeling loosened tendrils sweep across the sensitive skin of my neck and back. “No way. I would never be crazy enough to run away from my Prince Charming.”
A suspended moment of connection passed between us in the darkened room, lit only by the glow of the Manhattan skyline shining through the windows. A mutual understanding. We might only have this hotel room for tonight, but what we had was special and serious. Made to last. A forever fairy tale.
Tripp spun me gently, and from the mirror hanging on the wall across from where we stood, I watched as he worked to free me from the white scaffolding of my dress. His face was in shadow but I could make out the sharp set of his profile, the intense air of concentration required to release the hook and eye closure and complicated combination of tiny buttons and delicate zippers. The moment my dress was loose enough to wriggle from, I did.
Naked but for a wisp of sheer lace underwear at the apex of my thighs, I turned back to Tripp, my dress a frothy wedding cake clinging to my calves. I pushed at the tuxedo jacket covering his shoulders until it raced along the length of his arms to join my dress. With shaking fingers, I untied his tie, then unbuttoned his crisp cotton shirt until both were mere brushstrokes of black and white on the neutral carpet and my hands were pressed against the naked heat of Tripp’s muscled chest, his heartbeat thudding against my palms. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he breathed, those calm gray eyes of his now turbulent with need.
I looked away, a flush warming my cheeks. I was too tall, too skinny, too awkward. My eyes were set too far apart on my face, my lips too full. But Tripp caught my chin in his hand and gently returned my gaze to his. “I mean it, Jolie. And it’s not just the way you look. There’s something so . . .” He hesitated. “There’s beauty in the way I feel when I look at you. The way you make me feel. It’s not, I’ve never—” An embarrassed laugh rumbled from his throat. “God, I sound—”
This time I was the one to capture his face, moving my hands up Tripp’s neck to curve over his jawline, a dusting of stubble adding an abrasion to his skin. “You sound perfect. Perfect for me.”
And he did. He was. Not just because he called m
e beautiful or because of his last name or lofty address. I knew what Tripp meant when he said he felt different on the inside when he looked at me, because every glance of him had unfamiliar places in my body tingling. Like there was a shaken snow globe of wonder happening beneath my skin. I couldn’t see it, but I didn’t need to. I felt it. I felt him. Everywhere.
8
December 2007
Tripp
All traces of the disquiet that had whispered through my nerves in the ballroom earlier vanished. Standing here, all I could see, all I could hear, all I needed—all I needed to know—was written in the curve of Jolie’s lips, in the swirling mix of anticipation and attraction gleaming from her deep blue eyes.
“And tonight . . . This is what you want?” I’d never been with a virgin before, and I was determined to make this moment as perfect as it could possibly be—even if that meant postponing it altogether.
“Yes.” Jolie’s answer was certain and straightforward. “More than anything.”
I placed my hands on her hips, my fingers sliding beneath the lace as I pulled her closer to me, the discarded dress still encircling her feet. “If you change your mind, at any time—”
“I won’t.”
I ignored her, the only time I would do so tonight. “If you change your mind, at any time, I’ll stop. Do you understand? At any time.”
She blinked up at me. “Are you trying to tell me something? Do you not want to do this?”
A surprised laugh ripped from my lungs. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, since that damned Bachelor Brunch.”
I lifted Jolie up and laid her gently in the middle of the bed just a few feet away, setting a knee on either side of her thighs. Jolie’s warm breath feathered across my face as I took a visual journey of the woman who had become my whole world. Creamy skin glowing in the dim light, fluttering pulse in the hollow between her collarbone, pink nipples furled and pointing at my chest, tiny scrap of lace hiding the bit of blonde hair just above her thighs, long limbs quivering between my knees.
