by Anne Eliot
I scan the headlines and read: Guarderobe’s Daily Delivery! Young girls seem happy to offer up favors and more this summer to the rockstar residents living in the penthouse at La Belle Paris! Exclusive interview from a groupie who’s been inside. What she saw, what she did, who she did it with, and who was already up there in Royce Devlin’s closet.
“Holy…crap.” My gaze lands on four photographs. Of me. Laid out in a photo collage.
In one, I’m exiting the limousine. Someone’s got a shot of the back of my head as I’m entering the unmarked hotel side door. A second shot shows me in a different outfit with my face turned away again, while jumping into the unmarked elevator holding my lanyard. My hair is down, so it must have been snapped early in the morning, because it’s also shower wet. The third is me in the shorts outfit I’d worn on the first day of work! The fourth was taken yesterday as I’d run out. I’d been rubbing my temples and trying not to cry, but the way the photo is shot, it looks as though I’m trying to hide my face from the paparazzi like I knew that they were there!
“I don’t remember anyone taking any of these photos.”
“Luckily they’re not clear, obviously shot from a long distance.”
The largest two photos in the article, thankfully, are of other girls. One is particularly damming. It’s a full shot of a long-legged redhead who’s dressed in stilettos and a very short skirt. She’s pressed up next to Adam’s neck inside the same elevator I’ve been using to access the penthouse. His arms are locked tightly around her waist like he’s not going to let her go, while very inch of her body seems provocatively pressed into him. Royce is in the background, making the photo look worse because he’s doing his sexy, lip-twisty-smile like he approves of what he sees.
Or, according to the photo caption, Royce Devlin waits his turn.
I pull in a breath. “Oh…wow this looks bad.”
The last large photo is a selfie taken with Royce and a third girl. A girl I recognize.
“Wait! I know her. That girl there.” Angel scoots in to look over my shoulder. “She was up in the suite. Royce didn’t do anything with her at all, even though she says he did. Adam…invited her up, mostly as a joke, But, oh, that girl, she was there for serious. She was nuts. She even grabbed him and begged him for time with his crotch! And worse, she seemed angry when she didn’t get anything out of Royce beyond this selfie, even though he gave her free VIP concert tickets, swag, the works.”
“That explains why she did the interview for the article. Nothing like a pissed-off girl who didn’t get what she really wanted to make up malicious stories.”
I bite my lip. “Poor Guarderobe. This is so terrible for them, isn’t it?” I put the paper on my worktable.
“Terrible for them? How about for you?” Angel paces the room. “The article tells a nice story of girls being escorted up the private elevator by Adam and Royce. The selfie-girl says she was witness to another groupie making out with Royce Devlin in a closet. She says closet-girl had used up the lead singer’s energy, so the interviewee had to wait until she could get with him backstage. She also says the other girl was part of the band’s paid staff! That got Royce’s leather jacket as her special take-home swag for her services. That she lives there to keep the guys happy and relaxed like she’s on call, if you know what I mean?”
My eyes go round as I remember the conversation that Royce had with the girl after we kissed. “Oh—God.”
He taps the photos of me. “The girl in the interview has identified closet-girl as the girl in these photos.” He points to the collage. “That’s you, Robin. They don’t state your name, and maybe others can’t tell who’s in this photo, but, I can tell it’s you with only one of these photographs. Everyone who knows you back home will be able to do the same.”
I cover my mouth with a hand and pull in a long breath, blowing it out against my fingers, and think again of the words Royce uttered that day when that girl whined about not getting a jacket.
She earned that jacket.
She works here.
I mutter under my hand, completely unable to meet his gaze. “What if some of that story is partly true?”
“Are you saying Mrs. Felix and Gregory approve the keeping of paid prostitutes up in the suite?”
“No! Of course not. That part is sheer lies.”
He grimaces. “Well. Reading this, it’s easy to believe. What do you mean, then? What part of this madness is true?”
“I was in Royce Devlin’s closet. And he did give me his leather jacket. See, he heard me rummaging around in there, and one thing led to another and so we—” I look up at Angel and shrug.
“What?” Angel’s eyes widen and he almost trips over the canvas that fell on the floor. “Holy shit! You really are closet-girl? You slept with Royce Devlin in a closet? And he paid you with a jacket? And that obnoxious girl witnessed it? No way!”
“No!” I shout, shaking my head. “I kissed him in his closet. For a long time, but we didn’t sleep together or anything like that. And I feel really guilty about it.” I put my hands up to cool my cheeks. “And—fine. I sort of lost my head during that kiss, and it hasn’t been right ever since.”
“Holy mother of God.”
I lean my weight on the work table and sigh. “Whatever. How many girls has that guy kissed? Inside of closets—and outside of closets—and probably everywhere before he kissed me, right? It was only a kiss. A huge mistake. It’s not like he’s thinking about that kiss non-stop, or thinking about me one bit, that’s for damn sure.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing? Thinking about that— about him?” He paces over to the window.
“Only a little. Hardly at all, actually.” I lie. “And even if I was, well now I’m done thinking about him,” I acknowledge, my voice sounding half-hysterical as he turns and bumps into my easel.
“Oh—no. Watch that.”
Angel saves the painting before it almost hits the floor and he gasps as he registers what—who’s on the canvas.
I put my hands up and shrug.
“Liar. Done thinking about him, my ass!” Angel cries out. “You better come clean, Robin. What the hell? Why did you paint this?”
I swallow, watching him stare at my work. “I don’t know. It’s kind of like how I wound up kissing him. I simply couldn’t stop myself and then what seemed small turned out to be huge.”
“You like him?” His eyes seem to gobble up the painting. “Damn.” He holds it out so he can get a better look. “You really…must…like him?”
“Twenty billion-million girls like him. He’s a famous rockstar,” I evade, feeling queasy. “But yeah. Considering what went down this past week at work, I might like him more than I’d care to admit. Which means I probably need therapy, because I also hate him utterly, completely and irrevocably,” I whisper, trying to joke.
But it’s not funny. Royce Devlin’s made me feel crazy.
After a long silence, Angel sighs, turning the painting more into the light. “This is such a good painting. I totally see how you got a Ridley scholarship. You’re amazing. You’ve made him look even better than he looks in person. This blows my mind. I guess this face is why Royce Devlin’s got record deals and twenty-eight million Instagram followers. I feel like after staring at this for so long, that if he asked me to kiss him in a closet, I just might do it.” He winks.
“Shut. Up.” I snort-laugh, grabbing the canvas away from him and shoving it back on the easel, facing it to the wall again. “You’re just as handsome. If we put you on a stage and handed you a guitar to hold—even without playing it—you would get the same number of social media followers and your antics inside of closets with groupies would be epic.”
He grins. “Yeah? Nice of you to say, and I’ll keep those compliments.”
“You should.” I grin back. “And unlike that devil, you’re actually nice.”
His smile drops off his face. “About that. Royce is nicer than you think. Way nicer.”
�
�Have you gone mental? You sound like Vere and Adam. They’re always saying that, but I really know him. He’s not mean—but he’s not nice—he’s just…kind of a mess.”
Angel laughs. “Well, all of us are, right?”
“Yeah.” I laugh with him some, pointing to the back of the panting. “Let’s not tell anyone about how I became fangirl number twenty-eight million and one today? No one needs to ever see that portrait besides us. I’m quitting the job. I mean, I’ve quit just as soon as I get the courage to call Mrs. Felix and tell her that I’m not going back and not ever seeing them again. I’m sure I painted Royce’s face to purge him from my head. I think it’s the best way. If I never go near them again, I will fade out of this crazy newspaper story, right?”
“I’m not so sure of that, Robin. I think closet-girl is in trouble.”
“Impossible. Closet girl has officially disappeared.” I shrug. “Like you said, they don’t have my name and I refuse to add more worries to what I’m already carrying in my head. Plus, I’ve got a most awesome princess birthday party to attend, right?” I open my eyes as wide as possible, hoping my expression is as convincing as my words just were.
“Yes. The birthday party. You have to look outside.” He nods, seeming to force some brightness into his voice like I just did. He follows me to the door and swings it open for me. “It’s—uh—all set up. What do you think?”
“Wow. Look at what they’ve done.” I grin as I swing the screen door wide, admiring how the Perinos have transformed the garden in the last few hours. “It couldn’t be more princess-bride perfect. It looks like there’s going to be a real wedding!”
“Good. Legit is what they were shooting for and I have to agree, it’s pretty great back here.”
We survey the garden and mini piazza together in silence. Someone’s placed little white paper bag lanterns around the circumference of the patio. White and silver ribbons of varying lengths have been tied to the trees and float in the breeze over the tables. Fat ivory candles have been lit and placed with glitter inside mason jars. Their flames reflect on the glass and brighten the white linens that have been laid over the picnic tables. Fresh garden daisies have been placed in little vases as well as scattered all over the grass, filling every spot that’s not holding a candle or a paper lantern.
“Oh wow.” I clap my hands in front of me and sigh. “Tell them all thank you. It makes me feel so special.”
Angel steps out and pushes me back into the cottage. “Once we’re all set, we’ll come and get you. Oh, and we’re hoping for some sort of a grand entrance, which includes this.” He picks up the bag he placed by the door when he first came in, and takes out a surprisingly fancy sparkling tiara that someone, most probably his mom, has wrapped partly with ribbons and then attached fresh daisies from the garden to the ends.
“Aw, this is so pretty.”
He nods, as I hold it over my head and flutter my eyelashes. “What do you think?”
He grimaces and hands me a long, flat box. “As horrible as the veil that was sent along to go with it.” He reaches into his suit pocket and shoves a pile of pins onto the top of the box. “Mom says attach the crown to the front of the veil first, then add more pins so none of it slips. Whatever that means.”
I laugh. “I know what to do. I can’t wait to put all of this on and dance with the girls. I heard some chatter that they’re even making Sage wear a suit, too. Is it true? If so, this will be the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”
“Robin—um.” Suddenly he can’t meet my eyes at all. “I—we—my mom and I—hope that you know that we—” He turns back to face me. “Damn. I suck at this. I have so many things I wish I could say to you, but the timing is all wrong, and I’m suddenly afraid I’ll never have the chance.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to say what I already know. I love you and your family right back. I know you’re worried about me, but I’m okay if the authorities show up, even if they show today,” I say. “I need to fix this the right way, and I just know everything is going to turn out fine. I simply haven’t thought of how get to that point yet, and I know you wish you could do it for me, and I love you for wishing that. Okay?”
He shakes his head. “You’re sound exactly like Cara right now. I only wish I could control what’s happening and…the newspaper and all of it, it’s so bad…and I’m sorry,” he trails off, voice going hoarse.
“I should say I really regret meeting you, because I’ve involved you and your family in my mess. And I’m terrified the news is going to find out that I’ve been staying with you, and it will make your past come back and you will suddenly be ‘new news’ all over again, and that will be my fault. Because I agreed to come here.” I feel my eyes tearing up. “But even so, and I know it’s selfish of me, I can’t say that I have regrets because I’m so happy I met you guys and that you made us…yours. Even if it was only for a week, and because I couldn’t imagine not knowing you, you know?” I sniffle.
“Hell yes, I know.” He pulls me into a big bear hug. “Hey…don’t cry. I can’t breathe if you do that. We wouldn’t trade this last week and meeting you and Sage for anything. No matter what happens, that’s what matters. Remember that. You two have a whole family at your back now. A meant to be family. You also have so many other people who also care, like Mrs. Felix and Gregory and the band. We’re all fighting the fight with you, but you must let others step up and help. It might get crazy these next few days, hell these next few hours even. But if you roll with things and stay open to suggestions, it’s all going to work out. Would you believe that, please? None of us are going to let you go through any of this alone. Got it?”
“Got it.” I swallow pull away from his arms so I can see his face. Finally, he smiles a real smile, one that reaches his eyes. “Your only job will be to do the one thing you hate the most.”
I raise one brow. “Which is?”
“Trust other people besides yourself. Trust that we love you. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Okay. Yes.”
Chapter 34
Twenty minutes later, I’ve changed my outfit into a white, eyelet peasant blouse that’s loose and wide at the neck. I’ve also managed to pull it even wider so my shoulders show. That move has stretched the little floral ruffles at the edges of the neckline, but I’m pleased with the effect because it does look very princess bride. I know the girls will love it. Hopefully they won’t be disappointed that I’ve paired it with a plain black miniskirt, but that’s the best I can do on short notice and limited wardrobe choices. The veil that Angel had left in the box had turned out to be a gorgeous, real wedding veil. I think it’s antique, because of its off white color and how the gauzy fabric is slightly stiff so it feels fragile. It has these amazing embroidered flowers all along the edge of it, and I swear the thing looks like it was made over one hundred years ago. I’m very careful as I attach it to my cute fresh-daisy headband, wondering if it was Mrs. Perino’s wedding veil.
To make up for how my outfit might be lacking compared to the veil as well as the hard work everyone’s done, I’ve gone all out with my hair. I Googled every photo of the Disney princesses and compared their long, flowing locks side-by-side. Then, I searched “best bride hair” and “bride hair with a crown and veil”. I’ve settled on keeping the front part of mine pulled up-and-back, leaving the rest of it cascading down my back, long and curling just how Anna and Julia would expect it to be.
Thank God for the numerous YouTube videos that showed me how to make a poof up front and how to use the pins to create waves all around it. When I attached the daisy crown, tiara thing it came out perfect. I’ve even secured the veil by pushing pins into little loops that were sewn under the embroidered flowers so you can’t see how it’s pinned. I’ve put on the necklace the girls made for me out of painted and glittered macaroni, and for full effect, I took some art glitter I found in Cara’s studio drawers and sprinkled it generously onto my hair, headband, and veil so that I would match the glit
ter in the garden they put out there.
Hello, pixie dust!
I can only hope I’ve done myself proud.
When the sound of frantic knocking starts at the door, I run to open it with a smile.
I think I’m about to be met by a swarm of dressed-up six- and eight-year-olds, but instead I’m shocked to find all of Guarderobe, including Vere and the baby, crowded on my small front porch. And they’re dressed how Angel was. Guys are in suit jackets, and Vere’s resplendent in this pretty, all-sliver, glittery dress.
“What are you doing here?” I try to push back the veil and locks of hair I’d arranged on both sides of my face to impress the girls before I opened the door, as my eyes lock on to Royce’s shocked expression. The way his eyes are going over my face, my head, and, I think, my bare shoulders has my stomach flipping all over the place, because this guy, this face, the one without the mask and the smile that seems to be just for me—this is the guy I spent the whole day painting.
And he’s so devastatingly handsome I’ve realized, despite Angel’s compliments about my painting, I haven’t captured one bit of how beautiful he is. I’m not even close.
Damn you, Royce Devlin…
“Happy birthday?” Vere sighs heavily. “We are—we were—going to crash your party, and now—um—” When I pull my eyes away from Royce, I realize that for the first time since I’ve met her, she’s not smiling all the way to her eyes. Her easily flushing cheeks also seem completely pale. “We—were—um—” She points to the garden behind her. “Mrs. Perino asked us to come.”
“Well, that explains your perfect outfits. And…I guess you’re welcome. Most of you, anyhow.” I fold my arms across my chest, feeling self-conscious about what’s going on with my hair, because a whole bunch of glitter is raining down all over my shoulders. Apparently when I opened the door with such a flourish, even more flew out and made their dark jackets sparkle, too. I’d yank down the hair and the veil, but I’ve secured it so tightly I’ll set off some sort of glitter blizzard should I dare to touch it.