by Rexi Lake
I pulled back and I could see her lips were already bruising and plump from my kiss. Her eyes were glassy as her lids raised just enough for me to see those emerald orbs. Shiny with need and telling me she was just as aroused as I was.
“I want you,” I told her. I might have growled a little.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, pulling back further.
Damn, I shouldn’t have spoken. I should have kept kissing her. Run my hands over her. Taken her high into that sphere of euphoria where sparks collided and infernos sent cascades of molten need through our veins. That’s what I should have done. But I didn’t.
“Why not?” I asked, knowing full well the numerous answers to that question. And more that even she didn’t know.
“I - we - just can’t.” She was starting to sound more coherent. She pulled away. Fully, completely, away.
I’d missed my chance.
My hands dropped to my sides and I watched as she again put her hands up and pulled her hair into a quick ponytail.
“Um, I just need your clothes and then I’ll get out of here.” She didn’t look at me as she spoke. Just waited.
I sighed, but handed her the rest of the clothing I’d just tried on. She barely paused long enough to put it on the hanger before she grabbed it and her bag and fled the room without another word or even a glance in my direction.
“WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU say to that poor woman?” Starla’s voice penetrated my thoughts.
I looked up at her as she entered the room. I hadn’t left it since I’d watched Drew practically run from me. “I kissed her,” I said. That was all it had been too. I’d wanted more. So much more. Even now, my brain and body conspired against me to conjure images and desires that clashed with reality and faded into fantasy.
Star’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She sat next to me, her mouth pursed slightly as she considered my words. “How was it?” she asked curiously.
“Ha!” I barked out a laugh. Leave it to my little sister to ask the one question I didn’t expect of her.
“What?” she asked, blinking at me.
I gave her a look. I know I did. It’s the same look I’ve been giving her for years. Since she was three and I was ten and she attempted to follow me around everywhere.
“I haven’t kissed anyone,” she told me. “Was it nice?”
I closed my eyes. I was not going to have this conversation with my little sister. Not only that, but nice didn’t even come close to describing that kiss. It was fireworks and molten lava, mixed with heaven and hell, all balled up into a knot that had settled in my stomach when she’d pulled away.
“Tate?” She interrupted my thoughts again.
I looked over at her. “Yeah?”
“You really like her, don’t you?” she asked me.
I sighed. There wasn’t an easy answer to that question. I didn’t know her. But at the same time, I felt like I knew her. “I don’t know, Star,” I answered after a minute. It was the truth. Of a sort.
“Why don’t you find out?” she asked. She held out her hand and I took the slip of paper she offered.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s for you. She dropped it on her mad dash out the door. I think she might like you too.” She smiled and then stood and walked away, leaving me behind in the room. Alone except for a folded slip of paper in my hands and a desperate desire to run after a woman who continued to occupy my thoughts.
Carefully, I opened the paper. The handwriting was beautifully scripted. Loopy and delicate. It alone was a work of art.
Dear Tate,
I know we haven’t spoken much but I find myself inexplicably drawn to you. I haven’t been able to breath without thoughts of you drifting through my mind. It’s strange and probably not the healthiest thing to do, but I can’t seem to stop myself from imagining the things we might say to each other or the things we might do together.
I’d like to get to know you. The real you. Speaking in that place is difficult. And perhaps I am so out of line I may lose my job for this. But here is my number. If you would be interested in getting to know me as well, perhaps a text message might start a conversation.
Drew
CHAPTER SIX ~ Drew
I dumped my bag onto the floor. I knew I hadn’t left it there. I’d just left. I didn’t have a chance to leave it behind. But where was it? Digging through the random pens, papers, pins, cards, and all the other crap that ends up in a woman’s bag didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t there.
The note. The one I’d written for him. It was gone. And I had no idea where.
I think I actually growled out loud as I sat on the floor and stared at the mess I’d just made in a desperate attempt to find that little piece of paper. It couldn’t be gone. My phone number was on there. Anyone could pick it up. Anyone could find it. Read it.
I mean, it wasn’t like there was anything super revealing in the letter itself. Our first names and my phone number were the only personal things. It wasn’t like anyone would figure out exactly who I was or who Tate was or who we worked for. That couldn’t happen. I’d be in so much trouble if the tabloids suddenly picked up on a story about Miss Starla Night’s employees. That wouldn’t go over well at all. It would probably cost me my job. Maybe even cost Tate his.
I sat on the floor amid the mess I’d made and groaned. My head dropped into my hands and I couldn’t help the frustrated desire to pull at the strands. Not only had I managed to make a complete and utter fool of myself with Tate, potentially sabotaging my job in the process, but I’d somehow lost that tiny slip of paper that I hadn’t even decided what to do with yet.
What the hell was I going to do?
IT WAS TWO DAYS LATER when my phone buzzed and an unknown number popped up with a text.
Unknown: Hello Drew.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: I found your note.
Oh, shit. I almost dropped my phone. Was it Tate on the other end? Or was this someone else? Who had found my note? Where had I dropped it?
Me: Who is this???
Unknown: You dropped the note when you ran away. Not quite as difficult to figure out who owned it though. Not like leaving behind a glass slipper, Cinderella.
Ugh! That was a horrible comparison. Accurate, maybe, but whoever this was had no idea the memories that particular night brought up. To be fair, who but El could wear glass slippers without the heel shattering? I mean, really? Glass? She’d have been better off wearing sneakers. Especially since those wouldn’t have fallen off her feet in her mad dash from the castle. I didn’t bother holding back the eye roll. Not like anyone was sitting in my apartment with me.
Just Brutus. Yeah, yeah. I know. The dog in the cartoon movie was Brutus. But actually, they got that part a little mixed up. Brutus was my cat. A big, fluffy, giant of a cat that had absolutely no interest in chasing mice or even hunting for his own food. He definitely preferred the royal treatment. Brutus came with me when I got dumped into this world. He was the only thing, which was fine with me.
Wait. Did he say when I ‘ran away?’ Was it someone from Starla’s employ? Was it Tate?
Me: Who are you? What do you mean when I ran away?
Unknown: You went flying past me the other day like you were being chased. What were you running from?
Me: Nothing.
Unknown: Uh huh. So, what do you say? Shall we get to know one another?
Me: I’d like to know who I’m talking to.
Unknown: Call me Nathaniel.
Me: How did you find my note, Nathaniel?
Nathaniel: Like I said, you dropped it. I found it.
Me: What do you want?
Now I was getting a little frustrated. Some random person was texting me just because he found my note? Who did that? I ran past him he said? I didn’t remember running past anyone. Then again, I didn’t really remember much of anything from my scurry away from the mansion.
Nathaniel: I’d like to get to know you. Any woman who wo
uld leave behind a note so beautifully written is obviously someone with depth of character. You took a lot of care to craft this.
Well, he wasn’t wrong there. It had taken me years to learn how to write that level of decorative script. Years of bruised knuckles and criticism from my mother. But I guess it had paid off in one way. It got someone’s attention. Even if it wasn’t the person I wanted.
“What do you think, Brutus? Should I play along?” I looked over at him. He blinked at me, but didn’t even move from where he was lounging in a sunny spot on my bed. Lazy beast.
What the hell? Maybe this would be my own chance at finding a prince amidst the frogs. Or something like that.
Me: What do you want to know?
Nathaniel: How about we start simple? What’s your favorite color?
I blinked at my phone. That’s what he wanted to know? My favorite color? Couldn’t he come up with something a little better? Like, maybe he could have asked what my favorite drink was. Or he could have been a little more risque and asked what my favorite type of panties to wear were. Hell, he could have been downright wicked and asked if I liked missionary or cowgirl. But no. He wanted my favorite color.
Me: Purple. Sometimes green. Why?
Nathaniel: Why not? Isn’t the littlest things about a person what builds them into who they are?
I bit my lip. Okay, this was not exactly how I anticipated a conversation. But I guess it had to start somewhere, right? And if I wasn’t asleep and this guy was real and actually being a gentleman, I could play along. Right?
Me: I guess that makes sense. What’s your favorite color?
Nathaniel: Green.
Nathaniel: What about music? Movies? Hobbies? I want to know who you are, Drew. Will you tell me?
Tell him? Tell him what? That I was single, lived with my cat, didn’t do much outside of designing clothes, and my job was top secret? I mean, I guess I could tell him that. But it would probably scare him off. Then again, maybe that would be a good thing?
How had a simple note become so dang complicated?
Me: I’m not sure how interesting I am. Why don’t you tell me about you first?
That sounded good, right? Ugh! I flopped onto my bed, disturbing Brutus who was not happy with me and made it known with a disgruntled mrow in my direction.
“You could help instead of snarking at me,” I told him. But I still reached over my head and scratched him lightly behind the ears in apology. Who knew I’d be so indecisive when it came to a conversation about myself? Certainly not me. Probably no one in fairyland either. They’d be shocked to see me right now. Hell, I was shocked with myself. And I lived with my new life.
CHAPTER SEVEN ~ Tate
I couldn’t help but grin. She was smart. She didn’t want to just give out information to a stranger. Except I wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly. In fact, she now had more information than anyone else in Hollywood. She had my real name.
“Did you finally text her?”
I looked up as Star walked into the room.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Did you tell her it’s you?” She sat down in the chair across from me and took a sip of the lemonade she’d brought with her.
“Not exactly.”
“What’s that mean? ‘Not exactly?’”
“I told her my name. My real name.”
The look on her face was almost worth the spray of lemonade that shot towards me.
“What!?” She grabbed a tissue from the side table and wiped her mouth.
I, meanwhile, was left brushing saliva and sticky lemon juice from my shirt and arms.
“You heard me.”
“Why would you do that?”
I sighed. I didn’t have much of an answer that she’d like. “I’m tired of pretending, Star,” I told her truthfully. “I know you love what you’re doing. And I’m not going to ask you to give it up. But I’m tired. And maybe this will give me a chance to find something real in this whole charade we’ve created.”
She sighed. I could see her mind working through what I’d said and her own thoughts and feelings. My sister wasn’t selfish, even if she had stolen this time for herself. She was smart and she was logical.
“I guess it wouldn’t be a bad thing if my designer moved into the household.” She said it thoughtfully. “But what about explaining the truth? How is that going to work?”
“Do you think she’s trustworthy?”
“Well, yes. She’s never broken her NDA with me or even thrown crumbs to the tabloids. I’d have known if anything popped up.”
True. Very true. If anything, Star finding Drew felt fated. Few people in the world were as conscientious and honorable as she was. Even if it was because of a legally binding document. Not everyone would honor that piece of paper.
“We have a few weeks before that midnight ball you’re hosting. I thought we might send her an extra invitation and I would reveal myself then.”
“So, you’ve decided to ‘talk’ to her as you until then? What about when she’s here? I have several fittings for different ensembles over the next two weeks. How are you going to pull this off?”
I shrugged. “It’s not a foolproof plan, but I’m hoping it’s at least feasible enough that with a little luck on my side, it’ll work.”
“I don’t know what to say. Except....good luck.” She sat back in her seat in an uncharacteristic slouch.
“Thanks, little sister,” I muttered wryly. I looked back down at my phone. I needed to respond to her. Give her something more than my favorite music or color.
Me: I grew up in a small town where my mother still lives. My father passed away unexpectedly when I was very young. My mother remarried and my stepfather is a good man. I have a younger half sister who is extremely headstrong and stubborn, but also very selfless and genuine. I was more privileged than some of my peers and had opportunities to travel, so I took advantage of that most summers and have visited many European countries and a few Asian ones as well. I prefer warmer weather, but always look forward to a snowy Christmas.
Me: Is there anything specific you’d like to know?
Drew: What was your favorite vacation?
Me: Spain. The colors of the old ruins, even faded, are still brilliant and represent the bright palate and personality of the country that defines their culture there.
Me: Have you traveled?
Drew: Not like you. I grew up elsewhere with my mother, sister, and stepsister. I don’t visit them though. We have a very strained relationship at best.
Me: I’m sorry. I can’t imagine having anything but a good relationship with my own sister.
Drew: It’s fine. I’ve accepted it and moved forward for myself. The only thing I carried with me from my past is my cat. Brutus.
Me: I believe moving forward is a great way to look at life.
Drew: Perhaps. But when you can’t go back, it’s the only way to look.
Me: And why can’t you go back?
Drew: I don’t want to be the person I was in that place.
I frowned at the phone. The person she was? What type of person could she have been before? From everything I had observed from her, she was honest, true to herself, and in many ways an average person. I wouldn’t say she was sweet, but her nature seemed genuine and I know she went above and beyond for Star more often than not. She had a strength to her that didn’t bend to others. She listened and observed, followed through on her work tasks, and held strong ethics.
That wasn’t something that changed in people overnight. Or even with time. Those were innate characteristics. At least, they were in my mind.
CHAPTER EIGHT ~ Drew
It was six days. Almost a week of texts that spanned hours of my time. Morning to night we talked. It was stilted and awkward at first. And there were still moments where the conversations turned to what things we did or liked, but it was real. Well, to me it was. I still didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Nathaniel was open, funny, and almost forma
l in the way he spoke. He rarely used contractions, which was fine by me. I had a more formal speech pattern too. The curse of being raised in what was technically a higher societal position. But Americans, normal Americans - whatever that meant - didn’t speak at that level.
My patterns had adapted to theirs slightly, but even with that adjustment, some of my upbringing stayed in place. I had lived with such rigidity for so long, it was basically ingrained in me. I could still curtsy and simper and bat my lashes like any good young maiden in fairy tales. I could even whip myself up a ball gown to rival the ones I’d had in my past life. Actually, I won’t lie, I did have a few gowns already made. They were fantasy gowns. Probably would never see the outside of my closet, but I occasionally did make something outrageous for myself from the leftover materials I had.
I sighed and forcibly put my phone on silent and away from me. I had to finish checking the lines of both Starla and Tate’s gala ensembles. Had to. I wanted to ensure that there wouldn’t be any mishaps the night of the event. It was in one week and I’d put it to the side to work on some of Starla’s other outfits. She had a concert tour starting in two months and the outfits from the previous tour needed replaced. Then there were the numerous benefit dinners, and she never wore the same outfit twice. So, in between the distraction of Nathaniel’s texts, I was working hard on getting pieces and sketches together for my visit to Starla’s mansion later this afternoon.
Part of me was anxious about the visit. I hadn’t been back yet since Tate had kissed me. It had been a damn good kiss. Curl my toes and make me lose my head kiss. And I wanted another one. But.... Then there was Nathaniel. I didn’t know if there would be a physical attraction to him the way there was with Tate, but he’d certainly grabbed my interest.
