by Lucy Score
Kate signaled to Xavier, and he crossed the suite to her.
“Got another message from our pal,” she whispered.
He took her phone and glanced at the screen.
I look forward to seeing you at the premiere. It’ll be our night.
--------
Kate was readying for battle with her arsenal of boob tape, safety pins, floss, markers, and a cosmetic bag full of beauty tools spread out over the European down comforter in one of the main house’s upstairs guest rooms.
“I feel woefully unprepared for a stalker attack,” she muttered, shoving beauty supplies into her sleek tote.
“Hey! Don’t jinx us,” Waverly complained from her perch on a tufted ottoman in front of the mirror.
“Hold still,” Marisol commanded, the pins between her lips moving as she spoke.
“Sorry, Mari,” Waverly said and tried to stop fidgeting.
“I feel like I should at least be packing pepper spray or a Taser or something,” Kate frowned. “Unless I can like stab him with this.” She picked up an eyelash curler.
“This is why we have security: so we don’t have to be the ones doing the stabbing,” Waverly reminded her.
“Yeah, but, aren’t you mad? I mean, don’t you kind of want to have the pleasure of kicking this guy in the balls yourself?”
Waverly’s stomach took a sick slide at the thought of being that close to Ganim. She was mad, yes, but fear was right up there on the list of things she was feeling leading up to the premiere. She already felt woefully unprepared to deal with the mental side of the evening—the crowd, the photographers, the interviews. And adding worries about Ganim to the mix could have her curled in the fetal position if she let herself think too much. But Kate the warrior wouldn’t understand. She’d punch trouble in the balls without a second’s hesitation.
“I don’t care who kicks him where,” she confessed. “I just want him gone from my life.” She thought about the envelope that had arrived today from Stanford. The one from Admissions. The one she’d been too terrified to open. It was the news she’d been waiting for, and now she was too freaked out to find out whether or not she got in.
As long as the envelope was still sealed, her dreams could be both alive and dead. She couldn’t imagine getting a yes and then trudging around campus with a security detail and a stalker. Normal would never be within her reach if Les Ganim stayed free.
“Don’t get her all riled up,” Mari said sternly to Kate. “This is a big night and Waverly does not need to be worried about anything. Worry gives you wrinkles.”
Waverly met Kate’s gaze in the mirror, and they rolled their eyes at each other.
“I saw that,” Mari announced without ever lifting her gaze from the seam of Waverly’s top.
“Spooky,” Kate hissed. She flopped on the bed.
“Don’t wrinkle your dress,” Waverly warned her. “You look amazing in it, by the way.”
Kate stood and obliged with a slow twirl around Waverly’s footstool. The navy sheath dress nipped in at the waist giving Kate a hint of curves she’d never quite sprouted on her own. She’d pulled her hair back in a serviceable ponytail and added a bit of curl to class it up. She wore two pairs of diamond studs in her earlobes.
“Think Simon will like it?” Kate asked. Simon Shipley was the host of an entertainment news show. He’d been flirting with Kate for the past year whenever their paths crossed on red carpets.
“You’ll have him drooling after you like a dental patient,” Waverly predicted.
Kate looked satisfied. “Speaking of drool, how do you think X-Man’s going to feel about this little number?” she asked, eyeing up Waverly’s dress. They’d scrapped the red gown Ganim had photographed her in and worked feverishly with the designer to come up with a new concept for the event. The dress was a two-piece in sinful black. The top was a fitted satin crop with cap sleeves, while the skirt fell away into airy layers of tulle. The pieces were separated by two inches of bare torso. She looked glamorous and edgy in it. And with hair and make-up she’d be fierce, at least on the outside.
“I showed him the dress on a hanger and he approved it,” Waverly told Kate. “I think he was relieved to see so much material.”
“But you are no clothes hanger,” Marisol reminded her, tucking another pin into place.
“That’s why I’m staying up here until the last possible second so there won’t be time to change,” she smirked.
“There,” Marisol said, smoothing down the seam. “Now it is perfect. Just don’t breathe too much.”
“Thanks, Mari. Your talents know no bounds,” Waverly told the woman.
Marisol paused while gathering up her sewing tools. “Be careful tonight, okay? Don’t ruin my hard work, and do what Mr. Saint tells you.”
Waverly patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry about me, Mari. I’ll be good.”
Marisol pointed a finger at Kate. “I’m counting on you to keep her out of trouble.”
“Yes, Mari,” Kate promised.
Waverly’s phone signaled. “That’s Mom. Hair and makeup are ready for me.”
“Take off the dress and I’ll finish the stitches. It will be ready in half an hour,” Mari ordered.
Kate excused herself to load her supplies in the car and flip-flopped her way downstairs. Waverly handed over the dress and changed into a short satin robe. She headed across the hallway to the skinny room her mother had dubbed the glam room.
One long wall was dominated by a twelve-foot slab of marble counter divided into three vanities with professional lighting and outlets galore. Sylvia was perched in the first chair while Chase, her long-time make-up artist, finished her eyeliner.
“There you are, darling,” Sylvia greeted Waverly with a pucker of her freshly painted lips. “Am I gorgeous, yet?”
“You’re always gorgeous, Mom,” Waverly said indulgently and winked at Jenni, the hairstylist who was a pixie-sized version of Halle Berry.
Sylvia Sinner lived for premieres, and the only thing as good as one of her own was her daughter’s. She would plan her look for weeks out, and on the big day, not a drop of alcohol passed her lips. It wasn’t that she wanted to be sober. It was because she didn’t want to carry an extra ounce of water weight in front of the cameras.
Yes, there was nothing that made Sylvia happier than a red carpet with her husband and daughter by her side. “We are other people’s dream come true,” she often said.
Sometimes Waverly wondered how her mother could see their lives as anything but a nightmare. But today, Sylvia glowed.
Chase had performed his special kind of magic to hide the circles under her eyes and fill out her sunken cheeks with subtle contouring. The bronzer and blush brought a dewy freshness to Sylvia’s face. It made Waverly think of days when Sylvia had been naturally vibrant and full of life. But alcohol had slowly robbed her of that, and now she could only enjoy a temporary facsimile of that effervescence through the miracle of paints and lotions.
“Ready for me, Jenni?” Waverly asked.
Jenni spun her chair around and patted it. “I know your dress changed. Are we still going for a wild, jungle chic?” the stylist asked, plucking gently at Waverly’s tresses.
“You changed your dress?” Sylvia swiveled so suddenly that Chase almost lined her forehead.
“Mmm-hmm,” Waverly said mildly.
“But I planned my entire look around the red!” What she meant was that she had planned her gown to outshine Waverly’s original pick. Sylvia may have been bursting with pride over her daughter’s accomplishments, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be overshadowed on the red carpet.
Waverly tried to rally herself to comfort her mother. The tension she always felt before big events was already blooming in her belly. But she couldn’t have her mother melting down now.
“You’re wearing the gold Marchesa, aren’t you?” she asked while Jenni deftly stabbed pins into her hair.
Waverly decided to save him the effort and dug her phone out of the pocket of her robe. “Nothing is ruined. This is the dress I’m wearing.” She pulled up a picture from one of her fittings. “I think the gold is going to look even better against this, don’t you?”
Sylvia snatched the phone out of her hands and held it out at arm’s length, turning her head this way and that. “Well, I suppose I can make do with this,” she sighed. “Yes, I think the gold will still work. But next time, you must talk to me before you decide to do something drastic.”
Waverly made eye contact with Jenni in the mirror. The stylist winked as she wrapped a section of hair around the barrel of a curling iron. Waverly wondered what Jenni and Chase heard behind the chairs of other mother-daughter duos in Hollywood. Was it the same story everywhere? The same war between pride and envy? Of family responsibility and a desire to be one’s own?
With the crisis averted, Sylvia leaned back and let Chase set her makeup with a few deft sprays. “I told Kate to make sure Hollywood News gets a shot of all three of us together,” Sylvia said. “Oh! And Gwendolyn wanted me to remind you to make sure you mention how much you adored working with Liam. She felt you went a little light on the message at the junket.”
“Mm-hmm,” Waverly said, noncommittally.
Sylvia sighed dramatically. “I wish Liam wouldn’t have run off and gotten married. An affair between the two of you would have been just too perfect.”
Waverly let her mother chatter on and tried to relax. She had a routine that she religiously adhered to leading up to big events to help keep the panic at bay. At best, the energy at these events was exhausting. And if she wasn’t properly prepared, it could be a trigger. The press of the crowd, the atmosphere of excitement. Then there were the journalists and bloggers and TV hosts, all wanting the sound bite that people would talk about for days. Everyone wanted something from her.
To be the focus of so much energy was enough to spike anyone’s anxiety levels. But to Waverly it was a special kind of torture. She’d never been able to bask in the attention as her mother did. She felt guilty at times, living the life that so many others dreamed of yet not finding the happiness and fulfillment that were supposed to be there.
The panic attacks were practically non-existent these days. Thanks to the therapy she’d secretly completed, she had the tools she needed to cope. And she would have Kate and Xavier with her. She’d be steadier with them next to her.
She stole a glance at her mother who puckered prettily so Chase could check her lip stain. Sylvia never felt a moment’s nerves on the carpet. She was born for it and would never understand how the place she felt the most at home was a secret torture for her own daughter.
Jenni combed her fingers through Waverly’s tresses, and she closed her eyes and blocked everything else out to focus on her breath.
Her mother left to dress after a final reassurance that the Marchesa was still stunning and perfect, and Waverly, now with miles of wild waves, moved to Chase’s chair. She thought of it as armor. Her hair and makeup were always several steps in the opposite direction of what she would personally choose. It was her way of creating a distance, a persona. The persona could come under attack, and Waverly would still escape unscathed.
Chase finished up, and when Waverly opened her eyes, she didn’t even recognize herself in the mirror. In her place was a woman with flawless skin, a mysterious pout, and enough smoke around the eyes to dazzle on camera. Her hair was ripe with a riot of waves with tiny braids tucked here and there for texture and drama. It was the perfect homage to her character in the movie who often wore her hair wild.
“You guys are miracle workers,” Waverly sighed. She gave Chase and then Jenni a quick hug.
She left them to pack up and returned to the guest room across the hall where her finished dress hung over the cheval mirror. Waverly preferred to dress alone and use the time to settle her nerves and mentally prepare. She pulled on the skirt and smoothed the tulle over her hips. The satin top laced up the back in a kind of corset to highlight her silhouette. She loosened the ties and slipped the top over her head. She’d get someone downstairs to lace her up properly, Waverly decided.
Overall the look was dramatic and intense without losing the sense of youth. It would certainly cause a stir on the red carpet. She made a mental note to send Padma flowers after tonight to thank her for her emergency dress services.
A knock at the door pulled her attention from the mirror.
“Come in,” she called.
The door swung inward and her breath caught in her throat when Xavier walked in. Even in a tuxedo, his raw, masculine energy made itself known. Where others would have looked elegant in the satin-lapeled Brioni, Xavier looked dangerous. There was power in the way he prowled into the room, authority in the way he looked at her.
He paused and took in the view and Waverly felt her temperature rise from the weight of his gaze. “That dress didn’t look like that on the hanger,” he said finally.
“Hmm, no it didn’t,” Waverly said innocently. “Can you lace me up?” she asked, turning her back to him.
He joined her at the mirror and she felt his long fingers brush the skin at her back as they plucked at the satin strings of the corset.
He pulled and she felt the tension around her breasts increase. “Tighter,” she said.
He met her eyes in the mirror and she felt the strong tug at her back.
The tension she felt now shifted to pool between her legs. Each time his fingers brushed her bare skin, tender goose bumps erupted.
“Better?”
“I can still breathe, but it looks pretty good.” She put her hands on her hips and nodded at her reflection. “Is it time to go?”
“We have a few minutes. I have something for you.” Xavier pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket.
Waverly turned around to face him. “You got me a present?”
“Invictus got you a present,” Xavier corrected her, opening the box. It was a delicate anklet in platinum with a small round heart charm encrusted with tiny diamonds dangling from the thin chain.
“Xavier—”
“Before you embarrass us both and think this is some kind of romantic gesture, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you it’s a GPS tracker.”
Waverly felt twin pangs of relief and something almost like disappointment. “You want to put a tracking device on me?”
Xavier ignored her and knelt down in front of her. He tugged her right foot up onto his thigh. She had to steady herself by putting her hands on his shoulders. “You can’t complain about it. It’s shiny and pretty,” he said, clasping it around her ankle.
“Your male clients must love wearing these,” Waverly joked, and her voice waivered. Every time Xavier touched her, her body reacted with an intensity that unsettled her.
“They usually get phony wedding rings or a high-tech belt buckle.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, admiring the charm.
“I was going to have the designer make it a ball and chain, but I thought you might like this better,” Xavier straightened. “You don’t have to wear it all the time, but I’d like you to whenever we’re away from the house.”
He didn’t realize how telling his words were. He’d known she wouldn’t like yet another reminder of her prison sentence, so he’d tried to make it something pretty and sweet to take the sting out of it. Waverly bit back a sigh. If she had to spend too much longer with Xavier, her heart would be taking a hit. A hard one.
“Are you ready?” Xavier offered his hand.
Waverly took a deep breath. Would she ever really be ready?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
X
avier felt the tension in the back of the limo like it was a smothering blanket. Waverly was sitting, back lance straight, on the lush leather seat next to him. Her hands were clasped in a white-knuckle grip as she stared out the window taking long, slow breaths.
On the bench seat with her heels stowed next to her purse, Kate texted maniacally.
“Your mom and dad are meeting us in the holding area. They’ll do the first half of the carpet with you and then peel off so you can alternate interviews,” Kate said, glancing up from her phone at Waverly.
When Waverly didn’t respond, Kate caught Xavier’s eye and then made a pointed look at her phone and back at him. Her thumbs flew over the screen, and Xavier felt his phone vibrate in his jacket.
He fished it out.
She gets nervous at these things. She’ll be okay. Just stick close.
As if he would let her out of his sight for a second tonight.
Will do.
Her response was rapid fire back.
You look tense too. Do I need to freak out?
Xavier gave her an exaggerated eye roll.
Everything is under control and no one is going to freak out.
He wasn’t tense. He was focused. He knew Ganim would show his face tonight, but what Xavier wasn’t sure of was the man’s intentions. Would he just watch from the shadows like before, or would he make a move tonight? Either way, Xavier was not leaving Waverly’s side for a moment. He would stand between her and any threat.
He glanced at her again, noticed that the thumb and forefinger of her left hand were moving rhythmically back and forth over the surface of something shiny. A lucky coin, perhaps?
He fitted the earpiece that would connect him with the rest of his team in place and fired off an ETA text to the Invictus staff already on-site.
