by Rowena
I can’t deal with any smugness from him about taking my virginity.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To get my clothes.”
“What’s the rush? Stay here with me a…”
“What’s the point? You already got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Kiki, it’s not like that. At least, not just that.”
I ignore him, taking off for the dining room to pull my clothes on and stop him from getting his fill of my naked backside, etc.
He is on my tail but doesn’t stop me from getting dressed.
Also, he doesn’t bother getting dressed himself, which is a little distracting.
“Looks like you’re off the hook,” I say, tugging on my top, “no need to go out anymore since mission accomplished.”
“What are you talking about? You owe me at least one more date.”
“No, I don’t! The four-date minimum requirement has been met.” I count off on my finger. “The dinner, the opera, the movies, and this—the yacht. It wasn’t part of the planned evening and it’s technically a new day now since it’s after midnight, so it counts as the fourth date. So there—we’re done! I’ve earned the donation and you got to pop my cherry. Congrats.”
“Okay, I understand things might be a bit confusing right now, but I need you to know I want to keep seeing you. This wasn’t about ‘popping your cherry,’ Kiara.”
“Whatever. Just please don’t tell anyone, okay? I mean it—this whole virgin thing is now part of my image, and I hate people talking about my business; I don’t need strangers discussing such a personal thing.”
“I give you my word, Kiki; I’ll keep it between us. But just so you know, I’m nowhere near done with you. I understand you might need a bit of space to process what just happened—it was epic, after all—so I’ll leave you alone to sort things out for yourself for a bit. But I’m not letting you go.”
Finally, he starts tugging on his clothes.
We remain silent the rest of the way—through docking and exiting the yacht and even on the drive home.
I keep getting caught between my thoughts and stark awareness of his presence—particularly since his eyes seem to stay on me the whole drive home.
When the car comes to a stop, I get ready to leave it, but before I manage to, Liam suddenly grabs one of my hands and kisses the top of it.
“See you soon, Kiara,” he says in a warm deep voice that travels through my body, spreading thrills.
Saturday
When I wake up the next morning—naked since, after showering Liam off of me, I just dried off and hopped into bed—I feel content. Happy even.
The dull ache between my legs is a light reminder of what transpired, and despite being overwhelmed by emotions in the aftermath, the only one that remains right now is blissful satisfaction.
I don’t feel insecure about what happened between us anymore.
I don’t have anything, in particular, to do today since I’d cleared it for my fourth date with Liam, so I decide to spend it quietly, relaxed.
I’ll have breakfast, maybe do some reading, maybe even work on writing a new song—I feel one building.
I’ll, no doubt, end up replaying some of this past week with Liam in my head but without anxiety; I think things are clearing up mentally and emotionally for me. For us.
Liam seemed genuine about wanting to see me seriously, and we’ve both grown and changed over the past seven years—I’d be happy to give him another chance.
He makes me feel like I’m floating sometimes, and isn’t that worth pursuing?
I frown as I notice my phone lighting up and make a mental note to maybe do a communication blackout today—no phones, no internet; I already noticed a bunch of stacked text bubbles.
I’ll check in with my manager once, let Angel know I’ll be offline for the day, then ignore the phone after I take this incoming call. Perhaps even turn it off; I’ve already finalized things with my stylists.
Today might be low-key, but I have a fairly hectic schedule coming up with the awards show tomorrow.
Then the following week, I’ll be recording tracks for an animated film…
“What’s up, Angel?”
“How could you not tell me??” Angel says dramatically.
“Tell you what? What are you talking about?”
“You did it with Liam and I’m the last to know!”
My stomach drops.
“Who told you that?”
“Girl, it’s all over. Check your mentions.” She pauses. “So it’s true?”
“I’m not answering that over the phone; in fact, I’ll call you back.” I disconnect without waiting for her response, immediately going through the stacks of texts.
Some are from Angel about this very topic, and there’s one from Mary urging me to call her back. Even my mom messaged me.
No, no, no—this can’t be happening…
Did Liam do it out of spite? I can’t help but wonder.
The whole thing took place less than ten hours ago!
Who else but he and I knew? We were out on the water, for crying out loud!
The missed calls look the same—from Angel, Mary, and my mom—except there have been a few calls from numbers I don’t recognize.
What I mostly notice is that Liam’s name is not on the list.
I do a quick internet search for my name, dreading the results.
Recent articles and headlines appear, some using plays on my song titles.
Crying No More became Virgin No More.
Cherry on Top became Cherry Popped.
I roll my eyes.
Several outlets were unimaginative enough to use the same lame word plays while other, more shameless ones were a bit cruder.
Kiara Deflowered…
Songbird Gets Cock…
I sigh, steeling myself to read a bit of one of the news flashes.
Sources say billionaire Liam Cox, whom she apparently attended high school with, was the lucky guy…
I finally send Liam a message composed solely of question marks.
He immediately calls me.
“Hey...”
“How could you?” I interrupt.
“Uh... I’ll need some specifics.”
“Who did you tell?”
“No one. Just like I promised.”
“Then why is it all over the news?”
“What? That can’t be true.”
“Go ahead—check E!, Twitter, Google. You sold the story first chance you got!”
“Okay, for one—I have no reason to sell a story; I’m a fucking billionaire. And two—I promised you I wouldn’t breathe a word; I wouldn’t throw you under the bus like that.”
“You expect me to believe that? Like your word means anything with your track record. Prepare to go to prom, you told me seven years ago. I’m gonna let the world know how I feel about you. And then a week or so ago, you promised to keep your hands to yourself during our arrangement. I’ll follow your rules, you promised.” I shake my head, fighting off tears hard. “I just can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for your lies again! What’s wrong with me? Look, don’t ever try to contact me again,” I say, disconnecting the call before he can hear me burst into tears.
Well, here’s that bucket of pig’s blood I was waiting for.
Liam lied to me, seduced me, and betrayed me yet again, all for what… kicks? Some game? His ego?
He knew how important my chastity and my reputation were to me, and yet he spat all over it.
And right before my big day tomorrow! My first time up for an award.
Liam isn’t just careless or even cruel. He’s fucking sadistic.
10
Liam
What the hell happened?
One minute I’m over the moon, basking in the afterglow of what happened last night between Kiara me, happily considering our future possibilities. The next minute, she’s telling me she never wants to see me again? She thinks I betra
yed her?
I have no idea how word got out!
I google Kiara and glance at some of the headlines and hashtags.
I’d laugh if this wasn’t such a dumpster fire.
Kiara and Cox? I mean, come on.
But I have to get to the bottom of this and clear my name.
I haven’t even told Logan; in fact, I’d made the decision not to share what happened between Kiara and me before it even happened.
I need to prove my innocence to her somehow—I can’t have her thinking I’m still that cad who worried way too much about what others thought, to the point that I sacrificed someone’s heart at my altar.
The only possible candidates I can think of include people who work for me—the helmsman of the yacht, in particular.
I can’t believe he’d take a single payout over long-term employment possibilities.
I don’t imagine the tabloids would pay much for info like this—it’s not really a big deal and Kiara’s star is only beginning to shine—she’s not some huge star where any tiny morsel will do.
I get in contact with the helmsman and he vehemently denies spilling the beans.
I might have to hire someone to trace this backwards—figure out who broke the story, where the info came from.
I consider calling Kiara again, and while I’m staring at my phone it rings.
“What’s up, Logan?” I answer my brother, though my tone is not at all inviting—I don’t really want to talk to him right now.
I have to work on solving the mystery of the snitch, winning Kiara back.
“So you did it! You caught the songbird. Popped…”
“Guess you saw the news,” I say quickly, cutting him off.
If I hear or read one more thing about birds or fruit or flowers…
“It’s splattered all over—no pun intended. Now everyone on the planet will know you got first!” he says with a grin in his voice.
“You think that’s something I should be stoked about? Her personal business out there like that? I didn’t tell anyone about it—it just happened last night!—and yet…”
“Well, I just put two and two together, bro.”
It seems air got sucked out of the room.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you butt-dialed me the night of the opera somehow. I heard you guys going at it pretty hot and heavy in the background but I still wasn’t sure and disconnected the call before you realized I was there. And when I figured out you were taking her on the yacht, I was pretty sure it was going down.”
“So you went to the press?”
“Not exactly, but I shared my suspicions with a friend, and from there, I can only imagine what happened. But whether I’d told him you banged her or not, you know the story would have ended up there Telephone style.”
“So you did this?”
It seems he finally detects the rage in my tone because he backs up a little.
“I didn’t mean to let the world know—I just told my bud you were dating her and on the verge of sealing the deal. He’d brought up that interview and mentioned interest in being the one to break her in; I was just telling him not to bother.”
I’m too angry to respond, legitimately feeling like I’m about to bust out of my clothes Hulk-style.
I grit out some sort of departing response and hang up before I say something I might regret.
I pace the room, my hands behind my back while I think hard.
I have information that can help my case now—I can let Kiara know about my brother’s admission and she’ll see it wasn’t me behind the leak after all.
But will it help or hurt?
It’s still my fault since I made choices that led to her being distrustful of me in the first place; she has no reason to give me the benefit of the doubt.
But surely it can only help to let her know my brother’s part in this mess? Maybe I can even get him to tell her himself!
After all, it’s not as if Kiara didn’t suspect I was playing some sort of game in the first place, so knowing my brother had been sort of watching us and tracking our progress shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.
Besides, it’s best to be completely honest now, isn’t it?
I try and try to reach her, but I quickly realize she must’ve blocked my number.
I’ll have to use someone else’s phone to get through to her, though I suspect she doesn’t bother with calls from numbers she doesn’t recognize.
Perhaps I’ll contact her via someone she does recognize. And still talks to.
I consider her mother, but knowing her mom hasn’t exactly been a fan of mine since the night I stood up her daughter, I choose a different way in.
“Wait a minute—I think I know who you are,” the girl says as she approaches me.
She has a smooth brown complexion and large, almond-shaped eyes with long lashes.
She looks a bit like a Disney princess; I can see why the camera loves her.
I used a similar trick getting Angel McDaniels to see me—I contacted her through her booking inquiries email, expressed interest in her channel with vague funding possibilities.
“Liam Cox, right?” she says, looking hesitant.
She has halted her steps in a way that makes it seem she might take off any second instead of join me at the coffee table.
“Please sit down, Ms. McDaniels. This is about your friend, Kiara. I have some information I’d like you to pass on.”
She is wary, but her comically obvious curiosity gets the better of her and she sits.
I take a breath.
“She’s not talking to me right now—she thinks I betrayed her.”
“Didn’t you?”
“I did not. But I’d rather not go into the details in public. What I wanted was to request your help in reaching her, one way or the other. She’s no longer taking my calls, and I don’t want to just show up at her door; I’ll respect her wishes to keep physical distance for now—at least until we straighten this whole thing out and she hears my side. I do need you to believe me…”
“Why should I?” she asks, leaning back and folding her arms.
“Because I wouldn’t hurt her like that. I...” I swallow as the truth hits me hard. “I love her, Angel, and I need her to give me one more chance to prove it to her. Will you help me?”
She regards me for a long time, sizing me up, reading my face, doing whatever mental calculations she needs to.
Then she nods slightly.
“Let’s pick this up on Monday,” she says. “Kiara has a big day tomorrow and will be completely occupied with the logistics of that whole thing. Plus, I don’t think it’s fair to dump something like this on her beforehand or even in the immediate aftermath. Let her have her day to deal with all that other shit. I have my own business to take care of anyway, but I have time to help you out on Monday. I’ll make sure to check where her head is at before we meet.”
I smile my gratitude.
Sunday
I almost arranged to be at the awards show, but if I’m actually in attendance, there’s no way I wouldn’t try to approach Kiara at some point, and that can easily go left.
And like Angel said, it wouldn’t be fair to put this kind of pressure on her at this time; patience and timing are crucial to winning her back, so it’s best to wait.
I don’t want to add any more stress to her day, and I certainly don’t want to cause a scene, so like most people interested in the spectacle, I’ll watch the awards show in the comfort of my home, eyes and ears peeled for Kiara’s parts.
I’ll have it on in the background while trying to come up with a plan B and C in case whatever Angel has in mind doesn’t work.
As the show begins, I can’t help wondering who Kiara took with her, if anyone.
She didn’t have to go with a date, did she?
I ignore my jealous response, pushing the emotion back down and eventually banishing it.
When I catch a flash of Kiki as a camera cuts to her
, I realize I’d only fooled myself when my body is suddenly flooded with relief—I recognize her mom sitting next to her; no need to be jealous.
Kiki looks so fucking beautiful, it takes a lot for me to talk myself down from finding my way to the awards show venue again.
She’s in a gorgeous silver dress, looking like the diamond she is.
Fuck, I wish I could have been there with her.
I should have been on her arm, ready to protect her and fend off paparazzi, etc.
How many times has she had to endure a snide comment about losing her virginity from nosy, disrespectful assholes?
How many times has her cheeks flushed with shame that her business is out there, that people think it’s funny to joke about such a major thing to her?
How many times has she filled with regret for taking me up on my donation offer?
I hate that I have to wait until tomorrow for my next move, and possibly even longer—until she decides to see or talk to me again. If she ever decides to.
Maybe whatever I have to say and whatever I do won’t be enough.
Maybe she’s had enough of my broken promises, my half-truths.
“And here are the nominees for Best New Artist…”
I turn my eyes to the large screen, my ears pricking up.
The presenter names three artists I don’t recognize then Kiara, the cameras going to each in turn.
I’m thrilled to catch a glimpse of her again, and I must say, she’s doing an excellent job of seeming normal and unaffected by the media embarrassment.
Looks like my Kiki can be a pretty good actress when she’s ready!
“And the winner is…” Envelope fumbling, dramatic pause… “Kiara!”
“Yes!” I find myself punching the air in excitement on her behalf.
She actually looks surprised, and I can’t say if she should be or not—I’ve never heard of any of the other nominees, and I’m not sure I’ve encountered their music.
I watch Kiara make her way to the stage, my heart warming as I take in her familiar figure.
There’s a strength about her, and yet also a delicate femininity that brings out my protective side.
