by Nya Jade
“You’re not like anyone I’ve met, Phoebe Pope,” he murmured, bringing his face back up to hers. “You’re—”
Phoebe silenced him by softly nibbling his lower lip before moving up to cover his entire mouth in a kiss.
When the glamour squad eventually arrived to peel Phoebe from Colten’s arms, she made only two meek requests: she must wear her hair down and she’d prefer to wear the one dress they’d brought that wasn’t strapless. Phoebe wanted to make sure that all of her scars were concealed. With that understood, she sat contritely and not a little disheveled in a chair in the middle of the suite’s massive marble bathroom and relinquished herself to them. Soon there were hands in her face plucking at eyebrows, curling lashes, and applying mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick. She felt the bristles of a brush against her neck as it was yanked through the tangles of her hair. Lastly, Phoebe stepped into a dress that was fastened so tightly it threatened her ability to breathe.
When a full-length mirror was rolled in front of her, Phoebe made eye contact with a person she’d never met before. This girl had the radiance of models pictured in magazines, with eyes that sparkled and flawless skin. The smoky eye shadow framing her gray eyes made her stare that much more piercing. Her always wild hair had been tamed into soft curls that fell around her shoulders. Even her streak had an extra glow to it. And the Armani dress: a rose-hued lace confection that ignited the fiery tones in Phoebe’s hair. The body hugging dress, with its scoop neck, and delicate cap sleeves added curves to Phoebe’s figure, giving her a startling reminder that she had breasts and that they were quite lovely. Phoebe moved her hips from side to side, and watched the gown’s flowing skirt swirl around her. The stylist snapped a diamond bracelet on Phoebe’s wrist, placed a gold clutch purse in her hands, and sent her on her way.
Shyly, Phoebe stepped into the suite’s living room, balancing precariously on a pair of stiletto pumps that were as painful as they were beautiful. Nicole’s approval was immediate. Although she made no comment other than, “It’s about time,” Phoebe could read it in her wide, appraising eyes.
Colten emerged from his room then, expertly styled in his own Armani with the neck of a crisp white shirt open underneath a charcoal suit. When his eyes caught hold of Phoebe, his entire face broke into radiant pleasure at the sight of her. He took in everything about her in one appraising gaze: the dress, the hair, the dress. Phoebe bit her lip as Colten immediately crossed to her and took her in his warm and reassuring arms. “Beautiful,” he said low and gruff, and tilted his head toward hers as Phoebe felt a quick rush of heat sweep over her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.
“Don’t you dare kiss her and ruin her lipstick!” Nicole snapped, as Colten continued to lower his head to Phoebe’s. “She needs to look good for the press!” Colten abruptly took a step back and turned his palms up in a playful retreat from Phoebe who laughed.
Nicole glanced down at her watch, frowned, and then looked up at Colten. “Now that glam’s done with her, go have them take care of your make-up, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Phoebe snapped her eyes to Colten, surprised. “You wear make-up?” She hadn’t expected that.
“Oh, God yes,” Nicole answered, brushing pieces of lint from Colten’s jacket. “In this age of HD the cameras pick up everything. Look at those bags under his eyes”—she placed a hand under his chin and tilted his face—“a quick dab of concealer and he’ll be all set.” Colten pushed Nicole’s hand away. And as Phoebe continued to stare incredulously, Nicole added, “All the men in Hollywood do it.”
Colten shrugged with mild amusement. “Just one of the many perks of my job,” he said to a still disbelieving Phoebe.
“All right,” Nicole said. “Make-up now, flirting later. We’ve got to go.”
The red carpet was some distance from the hotel. When the limousine finally cruised to a stop, Phoebe pressed her nose lightly against the glass, staring out at a daunting scene. Several streets had been closed off with police and private security personnel every few feet to direct both human and vehicular traffic. Fans, (mostly girls and their equally crazed mothers) waved posters from raised bleachers waiting for Colten’s arrival, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Only because she was in a car, could Phoebe let her eyes roam over the star-struck faces; somewhere out there was a potential threat.
The carpet itself, which was green in honor of the environment, stretched over the length of a city block, ending at the threshold of an imposing art deco theater. Throngs of beautiful people were already milling around, talking with reporters and posing for cameras. Phoebe found herself smiling, thinking it was a living picture from Hayley’s Dish magazine.
“Ready?” Colten said, squeezing her hand.
Phoebe nodded.
The car door opened. Colten smiled and waved as he exited. The crowd went mad for him, their screams of adoration deafening. Hand firmly in Colten’s, Phoebe stepped out after him, fear and excitement gripping her. From the moment they crossed onto the carpet, Afua, Yelena, Deborah-Anna and six more formally dressed agents emerged from the crowd to surround Phoebe and Colten from a small distance. Colten was unfazed by this; the six agents had gotten jobs as members of his security detail for this premiere. Phoebe knew that they were armed with diamond daggers. And she knew that a number of them walked among the fans while others surveyed the press. But even so, it did not comfort her nerves. If anything happened and Colten got hurt, it would be her fault; she’d agreed to this plan.
“Relax. You’ll be fine,” Colten said under his breath, misinterpreting her sudden tight grip on his hand. Phoebe smiled tightly in response.
Aside from reporters, Colten spoke with other co-stars and celebrity well-wishers, celebrities so famous Phoebe held her breath when looking at them. Phoebe listened in on conversations, losing herself in the banter of the newly famous and the veterans, at one point hearing Tanya say, “I’m fine; the break-up was amicable. He’ll always have a piece of my heart.”
The scenery was so surreal that it wasn’t until Phoebe felt the brush of a nearby Blackcoat’s physical energy that her reality crept up on her. She was a pawn in a sting. Not a princess living out a fairytale. The hairs on her arms rose as she wondered whether or not there were Vigos around, waiting to make a move. Were they watching her now?
So far, Phoebe had managed to remain such a quiet observer of the Colten love-fest that she almost didn’t hear it when a reporter inquired about her dress. The voice drew her out of her thoughts.
“Who are you wearing?” the woman asked, beaming at her. Smiling widely with pride, Colten nudged Phoebe forward to where people could get a better view of her.
Phoebe stared a moment, then stepped forward and placed a hand on her hip, and remembering said, “Armani.” She saw members of the assembled press smile approvingly and it suddenly hit her just how wrong her own dress would have been. Suddenly the comments started coming. A photographer yelled, “You two look great together!”
Another said, “How about you give us a sexy pose!”
At that, Colten took both of Phoebe’s hands in his and brought them slowly to his face, brushing his lips against them. In that instant, Phoebe could hear the cameras clicking as wildly as her beating hearts.
“C’mon. You can do better than that!” someone shouted.
“Yeah, we’ve seen more heat with you and Tanya.”
Phoebe felt irrational jealousy at that. She wanted very much to make the crowd forget his staged relationship. It was powerful, this need, and in a PDA move that was uncharacteristic of her, Phoebe stretched onto her toes, swept Colten’s sandy hair aside and placed a kiss on his neck, just below his ear.
The response was immediate. A storm of whistles and screams.
“That’s what we’re talking about!” someone yelled out.
Phoebe pulled away, and satisfaction began to fill her up until she saw the lipstick she’d smeared on Colten’s neck—apparently her kiss had been a sloppy one. Phoebe
hastily removed a white handkerchief from her purse and reached to dab at the lipstick when to her surprise, Colten clutched her wrist, pulling her hand down.
“Leave it,” he whispered firmly. “It will be cute for the cameras.” He flipped his shirt collar up but not before Phoebe caught a glimpse of something that made her hearts stop. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. Phoebe stared at her handkerchief, and saw at once what had happened: along with her red lipstick she’d also removed a layer of foundation. A layer that had been hiding a Mark of Wang tattoo.
Phoebe’s hand dropped, falling limply to her side. Time seemed to slow. She stood there, horror burning through her, hardly daring to believe what she had seen. “Vigo?” she breathed into Colten’s ears before slowly backing away from him.
Colten turned and stared at Phoebe calmly. But for one hearts-stopping moment, as something painfully like regret crept into his eyes, Phoebe read the truth in them as though his lips had said it out loud. Phoebe turned, her mind completely blank, and broke into a run. As she pushed through the crowd, the clasp on her diamond bracelet broke; the sparkling piece of jewelry slipped off her arm to the ground. Not stopping to retrieve it, Phoebe continued running, willing away the tears that beat against her eyes. For a moment, a hush hung in the air, as people tried to figure out what had just happened. She saw the Blackcoats begin to mobilize. Then cameras began clicking away madly and reporters yelled out for comments. Phoebe didn’t care. All she wanted was to get as far away as possible from Colten Chase.
TWENTY-THREE
Phoebe sat, hearts still thumping, in the deep backseat of a parked limousine, her body pressed against a window, her long legs stretched across the floor. Her abrupt exit from the red carpet had sent the Blackcoats scrambling to find out what could possibly have caused her to flee. Nicole, who had been trailing behind her and Colten, had started immediate damage control, herding her client into the theater, yelling “no comment” to all reporters who then turned to others for their take on the turn of events. Phoebe rubbed her temples; she had ignited chaos. Not just on the red carpet, but in her mind.
Had she really seen what she’d seen? Colten, a Vigo? Was life playing some sort of cruel joke? She tried to settle her mind to think through it clearly. How was it possible? It defied everything she knew. Her skin had never once burned in his company. She had felt heat from Colten, but just her own attraction, not the singe of a Shaper’s reaction to a Vigo. Phoebe knew that burn. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that they’d been surrounded by Blackcoats. How could a Vigo walk among Shapers undetected?
The door opened and the slender figure of an elegantly dressed woman was outlined by the wash of light from nearby street lamps. Phoebe drew in her legs as Afua climbed inside the limousine and sat down opposite her.
“What happened out there?” Afua asked stiffly, her expression seeming less severe in the dim light.
Phoebe kept herself in check; she’d been expecting this question. She considered her answer. Something in her gut was preventing her from disclosing the truth. Perhaps Colten liked tattoos. She considered that many peopled got inked with Asian characters. Could it merely be a coincidence? Or could the Chinese character for “king” hold a different meaning for Colten? Phoebe shook herself inwardly. There was no denying the location and the size. It had been the Mark of Wang. But still . . . Phoebe was understandably shaken, and could use that, but she still knew she had to appear in control of her lie. “There was a photographer,” she started, her voice creaking. “He got too close. . . . I panicked.” Phoebe found that the lie burned her throat.
Afua studied Phoebe for a moment, her arms crossed over the bodice of her stunning beaded red dress. Her gaze was so direct that Phoebe found her eyes traveling to the tattooed rings that glowed on the Blackcoat’s wrists. Then Afua said something she didn’t expect. “Given the amount of pressure put on you, I am impressed you lasted out there as long as you did.”
Phoebe raised her head and looked into Afua’s eyes. A bubble of guilt rose in her throat and she waited, hoping for Afua to say something more critical. When she didn’t, the bubble burst and threatened to choke Phoebe.
Afua turned in her seat and rapped her knuckles on the dividing glass; it slid down soundlessly to reveal Deborah-Anna behind the wheel.
“You’re good to go,” Afua said.
“Should we debrief her when we get back?” Yelena’s voice floated to Phoebe from the front passenger’s seat.
“I’ll handle it later,” Afua said, stepping out of the limousine and closing the door.
Phoebe’s stomach plummeted. Afua wasn’t done with her yet. Had the Blackcoat not believed her? Or was it just protocol to follow up again?
The hum of tires on asphalt let Phoebe know that they were moving. She spun around in the seat and looked at the red carpet through the rear window; Afua’s lithe figure was disappearing into the madness. As the limo entered the flow of traffic, Phoebe closed her eyes against the guilt churning inside of her.
Knowing she would draw unwanted attention in her Armani gown, Phoebe sat in the limo and waited for all the dorm lights to wink out. It had pained her to see Hayley exit the building. They’d planned to meet up and discuss everything. Now, while the rest of her dorm slept, Phoebe finally stepped into the shower and cried into the water that loosened the curls from her hair and dissolved the make-up on her face. Her body ached with a pain that radiated from her hearts to her extremities as though burrowing for a way out. She scrubbed her face, her lips, her hands, anywhere that Colten had touched her. Anywhere a Vigo had touched her. She felt contaminated.
The tears didn’t stop. Steam rose and her body trembled from the unshakable questions in her mind: was Colten responsible for the abductions? And if so, was tonight the night he’d planned on taking her?
Knowing that any other Shaper would have instantly turned him over to the Blackcoats, Phoebe wondered what it said about her loyalty to her race. Why hadn’t she? Perhaps she was a traitor. A traitor to her father’s memory. An enemy walked among them and she had said nothing. A question from before struck Phoebe again as she reached a hand for the hot water knob to turn it off. How was a Vigo walking among Shapers undetected? Was this all her fault? Had she tapped into his emotions instead of hanging on to a romantic notion of preserving his mystery, would she have detected something sinister?
After flinging her tomato pillow to the ground, Phoebe climbed into bed numbly, still pondering the question. And that was the problem. She wasn’t really sure how she felt at all, besides betrayed. Phoebe knew the oath: kill Vigos, no questions asked. But that hadn’t been her impulse; she hadn’t even wanted him captured. The words of the oath plagued her mind as she fell into an uneasy sleep.
When Phoebe awoke late the next morning, she had a sense of someone’s eyes on her. Her roommate, Cyn sat at her desk across the room from Phoebe, dressed in her uniform, her fingers absently tapping her laptop keyboard. The first thing to occur to Phoebe, as she sat up slowly, was that this was a strange moment for her and her roommate. With her penchant for early morning photography, rarely did she cross paths with Cyn before breakfast.
“You lied to me,” Cyn said rather coldly and without preamble. “And to think my good word got you the job at the paper. The least you could have done was hook me up with the scoop.”
“Excuse me?” Phoebe said, sleepily rubbing her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Cyn frowned and folded her arms. “When you and Hayley were trying on dresses, it was about Colten’s movie premiere. You said it was for the Fall Enviroball.”
Phoebe suddenly became conscious of the rose-colored gown thrown over her desk as the previous night came rushing back to her. “I didn’t want to make it a big deal,” she said to Cyn who had followed her gaze and was giving the dress a covetous look. “That’s all.”
“Oh, it’s a big deal. A very big deal,” Cyn said. Phoebe was immediately on guard. It wasn’t what Cyn had said that made her un
easy; she expected Cyn to consider the premiere crucial news. It was the way she’d said it; like it was a universal fact. “They’re calling you the ‘Runaway Date.”’
“What? Who?”
“It’s all over the internet. All of us in Colten’s Cuties signed up for Google alerts for anything to do with Colten. And I got a whole bunch of alerts from half a dozen websites this morning. Do you want to see?” Cyn started to cross the room with her laptop, but at Phoebe’s furious head shake, she stopped in her tracks.
“I just thought I’d give you a head’s up,” Cyn said, sounding almost sympathetic. She lifted her backpack to her shoulders, paused, and then quickly removed something from inside it. She looked from what she held in her hand, to Phoebe and then back to her hand, thinking something through. “By the way,” she said, coming to some decision. “You accidentally included these with the pictures of Collette Nole you submitted to the paper.” She placed three prints on Phoebe’s desk and quickly left the room.
Phoebe swung her feet out of her bed and padded over to her desk. When her eyes settled on the slightly blurry photos of her and Colten from the Garden Café, her breath caught. His smile was broad and happy and her eyes shone with the nervous energy she’d felt around him at the time. “Flummoxed” had been her word choice for that moment. Today it was “heartache.” In sheer frustration, Phoebe flung the photos against her wall.
When Phoebe walked into the barn, the dining hall instantly quieted, and all eyes seemed to mark her entrance. Phoebe knew that Cyn had given her a head’s up. But she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be for her to try and keep her own head up while pushing back the frown that fought with her face. Phoebe forced herself to walk, careful not to catch any eyes. Slowly, chatter resumed across all tables; many people openly speculating about why she’d fled from the red carpet and what that meant about her relationship with Colten, apparently oblivious or uncaring that she could hear every word.
