by Cassie James
And then Gran’s cooing over her all over again and Dad has stars in his eyes as he nods along, agreeing with everything Gran says. It’s obvious that he wasn’t kidding when he said his problem isn’t actually with her, but with the weird way of coping—or rather, not coping—that her parents have chosen.
Mom catches my eye again to mouth to me, “She’s amazing.” I smile as I turn back to her, taking in all that she is. God, she really is incredible, and after all the shit we put her through at first, I know I’m so fucking lucky to have her.
14
Piper
It was bittersweet being back at school the week after spring break, but the first week back flew by. Now that we’re heading into the backstretch of senior year, things are considerably less chaotic at school. Which leaves plenty of time for me to hang out with my boys, flirting and just otherwise making googly eyes at them. Whatever, I’m not even embarrassed.
By Friday, Macie seems to decide she’s had enough of The Thorns. She pulls me away from a particularly flirty moment between them and me in the parking lot, dragging me unceremoniously to her car.
“Macie, what the hell?” I ask as she shoves me toward the passenger side of her car.
The guys are all trying to yell after her, but she just shoots them the middle finger and doesn’t respond. “Will you get in the damn car before they throw any more of a hissy fit? We need a girls’ day.”
“But—”
“Get in the goddamn car, Piper.”
I shake my head as I do what she asked, but not before taking one last longing look backward. Tyler raises his arms in a clear what the fuck gesture. I just wave him off. Macie’s right, we are due for a girls’ day. I slide into the passenger seat and barely have the seatbelt buckled over my lap before she’s peeling out of her parking spot.
“Mace, slow down, what the hell?” I ask as I reach for the handle hanging above the door while glaring in her direction. My bag falls over in the floor as she fucking flies out of the parking lot, the contents spewing over the floorboard. “I’m sorry, are we on the fucking run or something?”
“From your merry band of boyfriends, maybe.” She laughs as she says it. She reaches to turn the radio on, her fingers hovering over the volume for a moment as she continues. “Did you miss the part back there where Jude was storming over to his car like he might be gearing up for a high-speed chase? You’d think they’ve forgotten that you were mine first, hoes before bros and all that.”
My stomach drops as I realize why Jude was probably storming off to his car all pissed off. “Mace, I’m supposed to go to Jude’s tonight—we’re screening the movie for next week’s premiere.”
She shakes her head as she waves a hand casually across the air.
“Text him and tell him I’ll drop you off in a few hours. This way, we can get your premiere dress tonight instead of tomorrow morning. It’ll be way less risky, since I can drop you off at Jude’s afterward instead of us trying to figure out how to sneak you in and out of your house tomorrow.”
“Mace,” I start to whine again, but then I snap my mouth shut. Stop being a shitty friend, Piper. The Thorns aren’t going anywhere. I send the quick text to Jude letting him know the new plan.
When he doesn’t respond instantly, I nibble at my bottom lip. Maybe he really is pissed about Macie commandeering me away from them. I contemplate sending him another message but decide to tough it out. If he really is being a diva about it, I don’t actually want to deal with that right now. Apparently, that’s not the case, though. His message comes through a few minutes later.
That’s fine. We’re gonna grab some pizza. Can’t wait to see you in that dress.
I haven’t even started typing a reply when the next text comes through.
And peel you out of it.
I roll my eyes, but a smile stretches over my lips anyway. I toss my phone in the cupholder without responding—I like keeping him on his toes—and reach over to turn the music up even louder, screaming along to the song lyrics with Macie as she races toward West Hollywood.
My mouth hangs open when I step out from behind the changing curtain and catch a glimpse of myself in the large corner mirror. I run my hands down the front of the dress, my hands catching over the beads and crystals as Angelique stands off to the side with her fingers steepled under her chin, eyeing her work as Macie rushes forward to help me straighten the long tulle skirt when I stop in front of the mirror. Just like the first time I’d come to meet the designer, she’s quiet and contemplative.
I stare at the dress in the mirror again and I’m just… overwhelmed by the beauty of it. It’s elegant but effortlessly sexy at the same time. Simply put, it’s a masterpiece, perfect in every single way—dusty pink with a floor length skirt of hazy tulle. It’s side split, allowing my leg to pop through when I bend it at the knee—adding a touch of sexy to the bottom of the dress that might otherwise be too princessy. I don’t doubt Jude will like that particular detail. I can already picture him running his hand up my thigh in this dress, and the thought makes me shiver. My hands flutter to the bodice again, shaking as I try to steer my head back into safer territory.
The steely gray beads, crystals, and rhinestones start at the very top of the thin straps, and cluster precisely to keep my chest covered in the classiest way possible in a dress with such a low v-neck. They swirl out from there, fading into smaller lines that look like they’re dripping into the tulle of the skirt. I spin around carefully to look at the barely there back of the dress. It dips low, to the small of my back, the embellishments continuing on the little bit of material that’s actually back there.
“It’s breathtaking,” I finally manage to choke out. Not that I expected anything less. Naomi Alton was the one to insist I come get fitted with this particular designer, and Naomi knows designer dresses better than anyone on the West Coast.
Angelique Flores might be an up-and-coming designer, and she’s admittedly a little standoffish to boot, but she’s going to go so fucking far in Hollywood if she keeps making dresses like this. It fits like a glove, with not an inch of gaping material. And even though it’s impossibly sexy and shows so, so much skin, I have no fears that I’m going to have a wardrobe malfunction and accidentally flash the press.
Angelique hums in the back of her throat, but doesn’t actually speak to me before finally approaching, running her hands along the skirt quickly one last time, as if checking to make sure everything’s okay—or to say goodbye to her masterpiece. Either way, I get it because I’m in love with it, too. God knows if it wouldn’t be completely fucking frowned upon, I’d wear the dress to prom, too. But I’m not stupid enough to try that, not when the premiere will be so heavily photographed and splashed over the internet and through gossip mags. I don’t think Jackie would ever let me live it down either.
Angelique gives the dress her final seal of approval in the form of one short nod before ushering me back behind the curtain to change into my much less fabulous Rosewood uniform. “Jude is going to cream his pants,” Macie whispers through the curtain, and I struggle to bite back laughter. What a completely Macie thing to say.
At her mention of Jude, I fish in my bag for my phone, laughing lightly when I see the string of incoming text messages in my group chat with The Thorns. I slink out from behind the curtain, and Angelique rushes in with a garment bag to carefully secure the dress for me. Macie sidles up next to me, eyes eavesdropping on my phone. I don’t mind, most of the time all the guys send in the group chat are strings of eggplant and peach emojis.
I shoot a quick text, letting the guys know I’d gotten my dress and would be on my way to them soon. Jude is the first to text back, and I’m not surprised to see his request.
Pics?
Angelique steps out of the dressing room. She presses the garment bag into my hands, telling me that Naomi had already taken care of the payment and thanking me for my patronage all in one breath. She barely gets the words out before she’s shooing us from her
studio. This poor lady does not seem to want us to stay a second longer than necessary.
I know I’m probably being stupid, that Angelique most likely just isn’t a huge fan of loud, gossipy teenagers, but I can’t stop from wondering if there’s more to it than that. Like maybe she could tell there was something off about me. Maybe her objection wasn’t to human interaction, but to interaction with me. I try to shake off these new thoughts plaguing me. As standoffish as she might have been, there was nothing to suggest Angelique had a problem with me, in particular. She was just as short with Macie, who’s one-hundred percent human.
As I climb into the car with Macie, dress carefully laid across the backseat, I send a simple response to Jude.
No.
C’mon, Pi, we want to see how you look. I mean, obviously, you look stupid fucking hot, but still…
I roll my eyes at Brennan’s gratuitous use of the tongue emoji as I lean back, getting comfortable in my seat. It’s amazing how they manage to make anything seem dirty. Even dress shopping.
It’s bad luck to see the dress before.
Immediately, they’re all protesting.
Pipe, that’s a wedding thing. Jude’s taking you to his mom’s movie premiere—you’re not getting married.
We’re not getting married, assfucks. Let us see the dress, Piper.
NO. You guys just have to wait.
Why do we have to wait? Jude didn’t invite me or Brennan to the premiere. We shouldn’t get punished just because he’s an asshole.
You’re the asshole, Hamilton.
Fuck you, Alton.
Everyone can wait for pictures, I type back, shaking my head at their endless back and forth. To an outsider it might seem like a short, terse exchange, but I know the truth. They like this back-and-forth. The camaraderie of having separate relationships but being able to come together when it counts. Like when they want to gang up on me because they think I’ll cave faster when it’s all three of them. I’m sure they’ll all sitting at Jude’s house laughing and giving each other shit while they send the texts.
As the texts subside, my mind goes to Angelique again. I can’t help it. All I can think about is how she couldn’t seem to get me out of her shop fast enough. I know there are other possible explanations, but my mind is still stuck on that one. Somehow she knows what I am, and she hates the very idea of me. And if a perfect stranger can hate the idea of me, how can anyone ever love me? I close my eyes, unease settling in my gut as Macie drives toward the Altons’ house.
The volume of the music suddenly lowers, and I can hear Macie sigh over the low humming of it in the background. “Pipes, are you okay?” she asks softly. I shrug, the motion tired and morose. “Well that’s not promising. What’s going on—did one of the Pricks do something?”
“No.” It’s a definitive answer, and my eyes pop open as I turn my head to stare at her, hoping she can feel the weight of my stare and know how serious I am. “We’re good—super fucking good, actually.”
“Okay… are you sure?” She sounds like she hates asking me, and she grimaces when she chances a peek in my direction. “It’s just, obviously something’s bothering you right now, and you’ve seemed a little off the past few days.”
Carefully, I pick my words. “I don’t know, Mace. Objectively, everything is perfect. We’re all hanging out. Everyone’s happy.” There’s a but coming, but I can’t actually stomach saying it.
Macie offers me a small smile. “I know once upon a time I told you I thought everyone has one person out there that fits all of their needs perfectly and that I didn’t really understand why you’d want multiple boyfriends. But Piper, after watching you guys together for the past couple of months, I get it. You guys are literally perfect together. Not just you and any one of them, but you with all of them. It’s like couple goals times three, plus some serious friendship goals when all four of you hangout.” She tries again, “So what’s bothering you?”
“I just don’t know, exactly,” I answer as honestly as I can.
But then I think about the dress designer. And Ms. Diaz’s reaction to my relationships with The Thorns. How Jackie would lose her shit if she found out what I’d been up to with my guys. The comments from Tyler’s dad that I pretended not to overhear in Vancouver. I want everything to work out, more than fucking anything, but hell, I don’t think the world’s ready to accept me. Much less my non-conforming relationship with the three hottest guys in L.A.
“Are you hearing a lot of shit-talking at school?”
“No, if people are thinking it, they aren’t saying it. I think people are too scared of the consequences with The Thorns to risk saying anything to any of us directly.”
She hums in the back of her throat but doesn’t offer any other suggestions. I run my hand through my hair and try to shake off all the nasty thoughts, but it’s easier said than done.
I’m working so fucking hard to figure out how to solve my Jackie problems. Ms. Diaz, while shocked by the revelation of the type of relationship Brennan and I are in with the other guys, has done her best to try to be understanding. Tyler’s family did accept me. His dad was adamant the problem was my family, not me. And who’s to say that Angelique Flores isn’t just as weird and standoffish with all of her clients? Maybe I’m overthinking things.
Get real, Piper. There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.
I rub my temples for a quick second as Macie pulls up to the gate in front of Jude’s house. She presses the button for entry, and a few seconds later someone buzzes us in. I’m sure Jude was probably waiting impatiently for us to finally get here.
They want you here, Piper. Who cares about all those other people? The Thorns want you.
15
Jude
Piper shows up early on Saturday, just like Mom told her to. She barely gets a foot in the door before Mom’s sweeping her right past me and upstairs to the army of stylists here to make sure Piper and her look red carpet ready. There’s a wistful look in Mom’s eyes for all of a second before she masks it. I know she probably wishes she’d had a daughter to play dress-up with, but she got me, instead. At least now I’ve given her something to look forward to, dressing Piper up like her own personal Barbie doll.
“She got you your own team of stylists, Piper. Good fuckin’ luck.” I call after their retreating forms. I bark out a surprised laugh when Piper flips me a middle finger behind Mom’s back. Feisty. I can’t wait to see her dress tonight so I know what I’ll be stripping her out of later.
The two of them disappear, leaving me to my own company to wait for fuck knows how long. I slip into the rec room for a glass of Dad’s expensive whiskey. He always stocks the good shit. While the girls do whatever it is girls do to get ready, I catch the last Warriors’ regular season game. And if I check my watch a few too many times, desperate to have Piper back for myself… Well, at least there’s no one around to see it.
I pace the marble foyer, glancing occasionally at the expensive French watch Mom brought back for me from her last shoot, as if expensive gifts made up for her absence. Not that it matters, it’s something I’ve gotten used to. After the last nanny left several years ago, no one ever bothered to replace her. I’m used to being alone in a big, empty house. Still, she keeps bringing the gifts every time she comes back from long shoots away from home. For living in the center of the Silver City, she sure spends a hell of a lot of time on location shoots. I used to wonder if she did it on purpose, so that she wouldn’t have to be a mother.
I’m thinking about all of it now as one of her absences actually burns me. Not because I’m all that worried about having my mother’s company for this thing, but because this time in her absence, she’s holding my fucking girlfriend hostage.
My lips purse and I dig my phone from the pocket of my slim-fit suit pants, checking to make sure that the watch isn’t running slow or some shit because there’s no way it’s only been ten minutes since the last time I checked. I groan when the phone confirms I’m being impat
ient, but goddammit I just want to get this red carpet out of the way, rub some elbows and come the fuck home. Normally I might not give a shit about getting home early, but it’s a Thursday and someone actually cares about showing up to school on Friday. Hint, it’s sure as hell not me.
“Jude, would you stop pacing? You’re driving me crazy, they’ll be down when they’re ready.” Dad snaps in my direction. My jaw tightens even as I give him a curt nod. He’s leaning casually against the wall, looking effortlessly careless as he scrolls through his phone. “Besides, it’s your mother’s premiere. When does she ever show up on time for them?”
I groan, but then finally—fucking finally—my eyes catch Piper freezing at the top of the stairs. My mouth fucking drops as I stare. She’s partially turned, talking over her shoulder to some nobody that’s making a last minute adjustment to something on the back of her dress.
My eyes rake over her slowly. That frilly, pink dress she’s wearing is enough to make blood instantly rush to my dick. Well, damn. Light catches on the gemstones that barely keep me from getting an eye-full of her tits, and I’m pretty sure I’m actually fucking drooling.
Laughter fills my ear, and I remember to shut my mouth as Dad slaps me on the shoulder. “I had a very similar reaction the first time I saw your mom in a premiere dress,” he says sagely, but I’m not actually paying much attention to him.
No, my focus is on Piper and Piper alone as she turns away from the stylist, her eyes catching mine as she starts down the stairs slowly. I bite my lip to hold in a groan as she makes fucking bedroom eyes at me. Fuck it being a school night. When we’re done at the premiere, I’m going to push that skirt up around her waist and let her know exactly what seeing her like this does to me.
