by Staci Hart
“Spencer, come with me.”
I stood, heart thundering. My friends’ eyes followed me, speaking their support, and I tried to keep my chin up, offering the cop a wan smile. But she was too busy inspecting my ridiculous outfit to see it. I couldn’t even blame her—I looked like a disco ball that had rolled down Landfill Mountain and into Toxic Waste River.
When I stepped through the threshold, I chanced a question. “Do I get my phone call now?”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “Not just yet. There’s somebody who wants to talk to you. I don’t know who you pissed off, kid, but you really must have stepped in some shit.”
I frowned, my heart rate ticking higher. I didn’t know much about getting arrested, but I knew for a fact that I didn’t have to answer a single question without a lawyer. And I didn’t plan to, no matter who was so desperate to talk to me.
She led me to an interrogation room and cuffed me to the table in front of a gigantic two-way mirror. And for a while, I sat in that cold room, trying not to look at my bedraggled reflection, trying not to consider that people were on the other side of that mirror, watching me. Talking about me. Deciding what to do with me when I hadn’t done anything wrong.
It felt like an hour passed, though in truth, it was maybe ten minutes before the door finally opened.
And in walked the devil himself. Commissioner Warren.
My shock was complete, amplified by the long, degrading night and my lack of sleep. But it made no sense that he was here. Police commissioners didn’t question rich girls who disturbed the peace.
Unless that rich girl was associated with the Bright Young Things.
He smiled placidly, cup of coffee in one hand and a folder in the other. “Morning, Miss Spencer. Long night?”
Motherfucker. I smiled back, unperturbed. “I’ve had longer.”
He sat back in the metal chair and assessed me coolly. “Seems you caused quite the scene last night, you and your little friends.”
I said nothing, expending all my energy trying to tamp my emotions down.
Warren flipped open the folder. “Says here you were caught riding up Hudson on a shopping cart. Drunk. Making trouble.”
“I’m not sure what kind of trouble we caused, but I don’t deny the rest.”
He flipped the page. “You drew a crowd that stopped traffic. Resisted arrest. Excessive noise with the intent to riot—”
“Wait—what? Riot?”
He smiled, and the expression was anything but friendly. “You’ve got a squeaky-clean record, Miss Spencer. I’d hate to put a grease stain on it unduly. So maybe if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything. Because there was no way in hell I was scratching his hairy, old back.
“Who’s Cecelia Beaton?”
A laugh burst out of me, edged with the hysteria of sleeplessness. “Why do you care?”
“Oh, I’m not the only one who wants to know. That information is a hot commodity. Would you pay for your freedom with it?”
“I want my lawyer,” I answered with a shaky voice.
“I’m sure you do. But in the meantime, how’s about you and me have a little chat?”
I remained silent, as was my right.
“That’s fine too. One of you brats knows who’s running all this. We don’t want any of you taking up space—we just want the boss.”
“How do you know it’s not all of us?”
“Because you can’t keep that many people quiet. So it’s my job to find out who’s running the circus, and you, Miss Spencer, are at the top of my list. You’re the only one who’s had perfect attendance at these parties. I figure if it’s not you, you know who it is. And I intend to find out. So name your price.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I know just as much as you do. Aside from how to have a good time, something it seems you’re unfamiliar with.”
His face shifted to disdain, his eyes flashing with rage in a heartbeat. “I don’t care who your daddy is—don’t fuck with me, little girl. Your money might get you what you want, but it’s not gonna get you out of this. You all think you’re so funny, running around town like fucking idiots in chicken costumes. You’re a joke, and I’m gonna find out who the ringleader is. And when I do, I’m gonna ruin your whole little operation, top to bottom.”
I just stared at him, narrow-eyed and mad as fuck. “Do I get my call now?”
Warren’s jaw was so tight, the muscles at the corners were marbles. “We’re gonna talk a while longer. And then all your friends are gonna sit right there and tell me what they know. Starting with—”
The door flew open, and in stormed a woman I’d never seen before in a gray suit, her bun a shiny black knot.
“My client won’t be answering any further questions, Commissioner, and neither will anyone you arrested with her.”
“Like hell. If you don’t have a judge’s order—”
She pulled a stack of papers out of her bag and slapped them on the table. “Check the signature.”
Warren fumed. “How did you—”
But the lawyer just smiled. “You’ll find the names of those set to be released in section one-A.”
Warren scrubbed his hand over his mouth. But he didn’t speak. His hand rose and flicked toward the door, which opened at the gesture like a magic trick. A police officer entered, motioned for me to stand, and walked me out of the room with the lawyer. And we left that bitter son of a bitch seething in the room behind us. I waited for a parting jab as we left, but none came.
He’d been struck speechless in a moment of genuine surprise, and that amused me more than it should have.
“Marissa Alvarez. Your mother sent me,” she said, answering my unspoken question. “It’ll be a few hours before you’re processed, but just try to sit tight. They’re probably going to make it as long and painful as possible, but just keep your chin up and your mouth shut. All right?”
I nodded. “Thank you,” I said, sounding wearier than I’d ever been.
“Thank your mom. I’ll see you on the other side.”
The door to the holding cell opened, and the cop deposited me inside to face my worried friends.
But I smiled and delivered the good news with relief I felt to my toes.
“We’re out.”
20
Rise and Fall
STELLA
Eyes closed, I leaned into the shower stream.
I hadn’t been able to get myself clean. No amount of scrubbing and no quantity of soapy lather could wash the night off of me. So I stood there under the blazing water, hoping I could burn it off instead.
They’d managed to drag processing out for six grueling hours, and by the time I was handed the plastic bag harboring my belongings, we were all over the news. Photos of us being arrested had been splashed across the internet, coupled with headlines like Rich Kid Racket and Busted Young Things. I was too exhausted to do anything about it but sit in the cab and stare at my screen, but Levi sprang into action, calling his contacts to see what he could do. There was no way to head the story off, but he was convinced there might be a way to wrangle a little bit of control, a little bit of leverage.
Mostly, he threw the commissioner under the bus, doing his best to spin the headline in the other direction. Abuse of power. No just cause. That sort of thing.
But I was too tired to even crack open that box.
The lot of us dragged ourselves inside and mumbled our way to our rooms. Levi’s phone rang before he could get in the shower with me, so I’d climbed in alone and tried not to think about anything beyond the curling steam and the hissing water and the sting of heat that turned my shoulders and chest pink.
Levi walked in with a sigh, dropping his phone on the counter with a thunk before reaching behind him to pull off his shirt. His worried gaze swept over me.
He grabbed a towel and opened the door. “Come on. I think you’re clean. Time to get
you in bed.”
“I’ll never be clean again,” I tried to joke, but I was as flat as a slashed tire.
With a chuckle, he turned off the water and opened up the towel, wrapping me up and pulling me into him. My sopping hair sent rivulets of water down his bare chest.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“I think so. Everybody was very interested to hear what the commissioner said to you. There are too many questions. Like why was he even there?” He sighed, a frustrated sound. “The whole thing smells. What the fuck does the police commissioner want with Cecelia Beaton? He acts like she’s a fucking drug lord. Hell, maybe she is.”
I leaned back to frown at him. “Wouldn’t there be substantially more illegal substances at the parties if she were?”
“Maybe. But the truth is, if she were dealing drugs, Warren would have added that to his sandwich board.” He paused, his curiosity clicking and whirring behind his eyes, bright despite his lack of sleep. “We’ve got to figure out what this is really about. Because I have a feeling if we don’t, things are going to get much worse.”
I sagged. “I can’t talk about this until I’ve had sleep, Levi.”
He softened, cupping my neck. His lips brushed my forehead. “You’re right. Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll put together a plan when we’re rested. Go on and get in bed. I’ll be right behind you.”
I nodded and headed to my closet, my hands fully occupied with the herculean task of drying myself off when my phone rang from the other room. Too much had happened to ignore it like I wanted to—the odds of it being important were too high. So with another sigh, I hurried into my room. When I saw the name on my screen, I stopped dead.
I snatched it up, barely answering in time. “Mom?”
“Hi, pumpkin.”
Mute, I sank onto my bed.
“I hear you got my lawyer. When the news broke, I had a feeling you’d need her.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. “They wouldn’t give me my phone call.”
“I heard that. You’re all over the papers and gossip columns. Really, Stella, could you make us any more of a laughingstock?” She sighed but continued on, her tone light. “I’m sending my publicist too, so keep an eye out for her.”
“I don’t need a publicist, Mom—”
“Oh yes, you do. I can’t run damage control from the other side of the world, Stella. Our reputation in New York is at stake, and the stain won’t come out. Don’t just think about yourself, honey. Think about me too—if you don’t cut it out”—her voice lowered to a furtive whisper—“the wedding might be off. Fernando is appalled with your behavior. He’s royalty, you know, even if it’s in money only.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” I said quietly.
Her voice rose back to a normal decibel and shone with a cheer only she felt. “Oh, I’m so happy to help you though. What with the lawyer and publicist and all.”
She paused.
I didn’t speak.
“Well, you’re welcome, honey,” she sang. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. I’ve just had my neck done, and I really can’t talk with this much Lortab in my system. Listen to whatever the publicist says, and for God’s sake, quit making fools of us all. Okay? Okay. Love you! Talk soon.”
With a few kissy noises, she ended the call without waiting for a response.
My hands dropped to my lap, my eyes on the black glass.
I wanted to hate her, but I couldn’t seem to muster up the energy. She was too privileged to be graceful. Too entitled to have empathy. My mother had never been cruel, never spoken to me in anger, never hurt me intentionally. She didn’t mean to be a selfish asshole—she’d been bred that way.
In fact, I didn’t believe she realized she hadn’t acted to help me at all.
She was helping herself.
When the lawyer had informed me that she was a gift from my mother, a foolish, childish hope had flared in me—that she was worried about me. A call from her only fed the flame. But then she’d opened her mouth, and the light had been doused with a hiss.
Levi walked in scrubbing his hair with one towel, another wrapped around his waist. But when he saw me, he slowed.
“What happened?” he asked darkly.
Somehow, I dug up a tired smile. “Nothing.” I set my phone on my nightstand.
“Nice try.” The bed dipped when he sat next to me. “Who was on the phone?”
“My mother.” My towel slipped a little, and I tugged it to keep it in place. “It’s fine, really. She just wanted to make sure I got the lawyer.”
“I’m glad she checked on you. I didn’t expect that.”
“That makes two of us. But she didn’t want to check on me so much as she wanted to tell me to stop embarrassing her.” When his face fell into shadow, I added, “She wasn’t ugly. Just …” I sighed. “It’s fine.”
“How many times do you think you’ll have to say it before it’s true?”
I looked over at him, and my heart twisted at the care and worry in the corners of his eyes, the brackets on his lips, the line between his brows.
Exhaustion and emotion pushed me closer to the edge. My eyes filled with tears.
In a beat, I was in his arms, crushed against his chest, rocking gently.
“It’s okay,” he promised. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”
And those words felled the final brace against my emotions.
There was a place in my heart where I put the bad things, the hard things, the things that hurt. I’d buried them all there and planted fields of flowers on top with the intent to turn the rotting pain into fertilizer for something good, something beautiful, something I tended and watered in the hopes that the darkness I’d put in the ground would decompose. But that was just the thing. It was indestructible but not precious like a diamond, not like a gem. It was a smattering of plastic garbage that couldn’t decay if it wanted to. It wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how badly I wanted to pretend otherwise.
So for a little while, I let it out. Dug around in the earth on my knees and sifted through the trash I’d so desperately tried to forget. There was, of course, my mother—both the woman she was and the mother I wished for. The commissioner and the pressure he’d pinned me with. The escalation to not just my arrest, but the arrest of the people I loved. There was the secret I kept and the corner I found myself painted into. The secret I couldn’t share with Levi under any circumstance, no matter how badly I wanted to.
Levi. My leaving, lying Levi.
The thought brought a fresh wave of tears, pulled by a tide of sad surprise.
You do this every time, Stella, always wanting what you can’t have. Every goddamn time.
I had to stop crying, or he’d ask questions I couldn’t answer. He’d see what I wanted to hide, and then everything would come unraveled. So I thought about anything that made me happy, anything at all. Riding on the back of Levi’s bike with the wind whipping my hair and his warm body in my arms. The glorious sights at my parties, the fantasy so rich and lovely. My friends, their laughing faces marching through my mind like trusty soldiers come to ward off what might hurt me.
And after a moment, the tears stopped.
I leaned back and laughed at myself, swiping at my cheeks. “God, I must look like such a brat, crying because my mother is selfish. I’m privileged and I know it, and my life is not that hard. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I cupped his jaw. “You have been through so much, through things I couldn’t imagine—”
“We’re not comparing pain. Ever. What hurts, hurts. There’s no other metric than that.”
For a moment, I looked him over with wonder and longing. “How did you get so wise?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “I know Billy’s a grumpy old sonofabitch, but he happens to be one of the wisest men on the planet.”
We chuckled. Fell silent again. Something in his face shifted, tightened with worry or pain or both. I instantly knew I didn
’t want to hear what he was about to say, not if it meant discussing goodbye. Not yet. Not now.
“Stella, I—”
“I don’t want to talk anymore, Levi. Not about anything that means anything. I don’t want yesterday or tomorrow. All I want is you and me and now.”
His expression settled on resignation, tinged with sadness. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”
Our lips met by his design in a kiss thick with promise and quiet worship. It was a tasting, a savoring of a thing we couldn’t keep. I wanted to. I wanted to keep him, whatever that meant. Maybe it was just waiting—waiting I could do. But would he? We had studiously ignored that discussion since the first night we were together, and now we were in too deep to have that conversation without someone getting hurt. And I was pretty sure that someone would be me.
It was easier to pretend that everything was fine, just fine. It’d hurt later—there was no doubt about that. But maybe he’d come back and look me up. Maybe we could pick up where we’d left off. Or maybe it would be so much time that I would have moved on. Maybe he would. If there were no rules, no boundaries, it would all be left to fate. Maybe if I wished on the first star I saw tonight, he’d come back to me.
But that was the most dangerous thought of all.
Because all I could count on was this, right now.
So I’d have to make the most of it.
I didn’t break the kiss when I climbed into his lap, sliding my legs outside his thighs until our hips locked. My towel came undone, draping at my waist and falling away, but I didn’t notice or mind. My thoughts were consumed by his lips, by the humid air between our bodies, by the damp skin of his chest when my breasts brushed those strong, flat planes.
He moaned into my mouth and tightened his arms until there was no space. And the kiss went on and on, hotter by the second, deeper by the minute. The aching center of me found the hard length of him and stroked with a flex of my hips. His towel slipped, and a hot greed bloomed low in my belly, eliciting another grind of my hips, one that shifted the barrier lower, low enough to expose his crown. A soft, hungry yes slithered through me, and I sought his heat with mine, desperate for the fullness the contact promised, gasping when the tip of him met that empty space.