by Nora Cobb
“He’s not wrong,” Lucas replies, smiling at Cora. “You look sweet, like a blushing bride.”
Cora smiles and the tears are gone as she stands up to straightens her dress. “That bitch,” she mutters as Beth and I fix her hair. She waves her hands, making us scurry. “Let’s do this.” Cora lifts her chin, looking fierce.
I slip inside the ballroom, and nod to the emcee. Arielle is seated at the first table, but I can do nothing about it now. I’ll wait. The music starts, and I step outside the door. This time when the doors open, Cora smiles radiantly in her gold dress. Her smile widens as her gaze meets Mancuso at the front of the room. He cleaned up nicely. The shaggy shore boy is gone. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he sports a skinny suit that fits him perfectly. Cora floats down the center of the ballroom toward him in a mock ceremony of the big day she’s anxiously waiting for. Mancuso takes her by the hand and she sits on the recamier as a photographer takes pictures.
“We pulled it off, Nat,” whispers Beth.
“Not quite yet,” My eyes bore a hole into the back of Arielle’s head. Cora walks over to Arielle, who is in her seat, and I have to admire her restraint around Mancuso. I can’t wait any longer. I walk to the front and whisper in Arielle’s ear, “You don’t belong here.”
“Cora, tell her,” Arielle gestures toward me. “Tell her that you can’t have a bridal shower without your best friend here to see it.”
Cora smiles, speaking through her clenched teeth. “And who would that be? Certainly not you.”
“Don’t be dense, Cora,” replies Arielle. “I know you’re upset with me, but we’re still friends.”
“Friends?” asks Cora, “According to you, I’m your subject, your hanger-on, your lackey. A follower, and nothing more. Where did you get the idea that we are friends?”
Arielle laughs as if Cora has just made a joke. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t also my friend.”
Cora’s cheeks are turning red again, and I guide her back to the recamier where Mancuso waits. He takes her in his arms and holds her like a child. He repeats soothing words, telling her to ignore it and not to let it spoil anything.
I’m looking back at Arielle who still is in Cora’s chair, and I’m ready to just freaking tell her off. If she was Cora’s friend, she would go. I start to move, but Beth grabs my elbow.
“I think I just saw Anthony by the door.”
My head whips around, and I look toward the door. For a split second, I think I see him skulking around, but I can’t be sure. Crap, this party is swirling down the toilet, and she hasn’t even cut the cake yet.
“I thought Lucas was out there?” I ask.
“That’s good, right?” replies Beth.
“Not if he beats him up.”
Beth hikes up her skirt. “Stay here. I’m on it.”
My shoulders drop and my back curves into a question mark. I had some naïve notion that a hostess gets to enjoy the party too. I guess that’s only true if I’m serving beer and chips in front of the television. It’s freaking work all night, preventing shit storms from happening. But this isn’t any old shit storm; this is my shit storm, and everyone is waiting to see if I fail.
***
Instead of serving the cake before the presents, I decide that Cora should open the gifts and take the focus off the first table. I shake my head in disbelief, amazed that no matter where we go, we’re always fighting over the seating chart. I stand by Cora as she sits on the recamier. It’s all about her as I hand her presents and she opens them with a delighted look on her face. I switch into game-show-host mode and flash a smile as I show the room the excellent taste of the givers. I’m actually amazed at the quality. No cheesy hot pink polyester teddies in these boxes. All of it is tasteful and expensive antiques, and lingerie sewn from fabrics that feel like butter against the skin.
Cora is delighted by the attention, and my scathing gaze goes to Arielle. She looks like as if we’re ruining her year. It dawns on me the envy she must feel for Cora as Cora has the shower that Arielle never had. But Arielle deprived herself when she tricked Lucas into marriage. I can’t even feel sorry for her. Cora opens the last present, and I have to do something to get Arielle out of Cora’s seat fast.
“Are you going to thank everyone?” I ask.
“Oh, I should.” She holds a hand out to Mancuso, and he walks her to the first table. There are twenty tables. That should give me enough time to get rid of Arielle.
“You need to get up before she gets back,” I whisper in Arielle’s ear the minute I’m back at the table.
She looks at me with hard eyes. “I know you’re only using Cora to get to me.”
I pause. Am I doing that? It hadn’t occurred to me before, but Cora is an ally I need at Montlake. I was always her enemy until we needed each other. I feel conflicted, but it’s too late. It doesn’t matter how things started; I’m here. I am going to do right by Cora.
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” I say to her, “but I will ask security to escort you out.”
She scoffs. “You like making scenes, don’t you? Don’t you know how trashy that is?”
“My name is on the guest list. Yours isn’t. Which one do you think is trashier—to be escorted because you aren’t invited, or to leave with some dignity?”
Arielle’s eyes narrow on me, and she grabs her purse off the table. I think I am triumphant, but all she does is cross her arms and digs her heels in. Fuck. I look over, and Cora is at the tenth table. I don’t have much time.
“Where is she going to sit after they cut the cake if you’re in her place?” I ask.
Arielle shrugs her shoulders. “They can bring an extra chair to the table.”
The waiter stops at the table to take the drink order for coffee or tea. Arielle has the nerve to order a cup of coffee. I’ll never get her to leave. I don’t want another scene, and she knows it. I haven’t learned the fine art of making a scene without looking like the asshole.
I puff out a gasp in exasperation as the waiter serves the table. He asks if I want a drink, but I shake my head. I look over at the hotel event planner. She must know how to rid a party of unwanted guests, but before I can walk across the room to get her attention, Cora and Mancuso approach the first table.
“She’s still here?” Cora looks defeated.
I feel like the ass of the party. They can pin a tail on me. It’s my first party as a hostess for these people, and I can’t control the situation. I look around the room for guidance.
The boys opted not to come. Except for Mancuso, it’s girls only, and he’s set to leave after the cake is cut. The boys are waiting for him on the beach by a bar to celebrate his upcoming engagement.
Cora is calm as she approaches Arielle. “I’m sorry if I offended you by not inviting you, but we haven’t been close lately.” She’s so diplomatic that I want to scream. “I still need to ask you to leave.”
Arielle’s gaze flicks over me and then returns to Cora. “You’ve really gone down, Cora, when you started hanging out with trash. Are you really going to marry him? A boy with neither connections nor status? Is your family that hard up for cash?”
I motion towards the event planner, and she starts walking toward the table.
Cora’s face is flushed with anger. “Don’t you dare talk that way about Nicholas!” Cora’s almost shouting, but she shakes off my warning hand. “He wants to marry me. He proposed. I don’t want you here. I don’t need to look at your envious, hateful face.”
Arielle scoffs. “Envious? Of what? You?”
Arielle reaches for her cup of coffee and throws it. Time slows down as the hot liquid flies upward in an arc toward Cora, but Mancuso’s reflexes are faster. He grabs Cora, shielding her with his body and turning his back on the hot liquid. The steaming coffee runs down the back of his suit, and he gasps in pain from the scorching heat.
The planner is no longer walking and is running toward us. Cora is in tears as they help Mancuso take off his jacket
. Luckily, the liquid wasn’t scalding. Once again, we’re the center of attention for the worst reasons.
Etiquette. Public humiliation. The code. Fuck it all. I’ve had enough, and if Arielle doesn’t leave, I’m yanking the bitch out of here by her bleached roots. Does she even care that someone could have been hurt?
“If you don’t leave, Arielle,” I hiss, “then I’ll have the cops remove you for trespassing. Just leave, and stop ruining other people’s lives.”
There is no way Arielle can throw this catastrophe back onto me. Wide-eyed girls from our school are watching with their mouths open. Stiffly, Arielle stands up and starts to walk, avoiding eye contact. To prove my point, I walk behind her to the door. It’s as it should be—I’m finally taking out the trash.
On the threshold, Arielle spins on her heel and faces me, aiming in one last dig that only I can hear. “Don’t think this means anything. I’ve already found Cora’s replacement. Hanging with you has done nothing for her status, and marrying that boy is even worse.”
“Is being a stuck-up snob the only defense you have?” I reply coolly.
Arielle’s lips curl up cruelly. “I have him, and you won’t ever get him back.”
“Do you mean Anthony?” I smile. “You’re welcome to my leftovers.” It’s a mean thing to say, but it’s good enough to goad her.
Arielle twists up her face into a hateful scowl. I want to lean back, but I stand my ground. I can’t afford to be afraid anymore. Queens don’t back down.
“You should have held onto him,” she says, “because when I send you to hell, you’ll meet him there again.”
I want to slam the door in her face, but she’s baiting me to act. Arielle will turn my lash-out back on me and play the sympathy card with the people still watching. Yesterday, I learned my lesson, and I’ll be more cautious this time.
I make eye contact with the leader of the band and signal for him to play some music. Looking happier, Mancuso is holding Cora on his lap as the cake is rolled over to the first table. It’s the lopsided chocolate layer cake that I admired at Troy’s house. It might have been their wedding cake if things had been different. But I doubt it. The cake has lost its slant—the layers are stacked perfectly straight—but it’s still recognizable.
I smirk at Arielle’s openmouthed expression. I didn’t think she’d recognize the silly cake, but she does.
“That could have been your cake, Arielle,” I purr. “Maybe next time.”
She reaches for the doorknob and slams the door shut in my face. I smile, knowing that I win this round.
CHAPTER 12
Troy
I have a lot on my mind, so I’m looking forward to getting shitfaced on the beach during Mancuso’s party. Well, that doesn’t happen because the bartender decides to card all of us. Jacob and I look old enough to drink legally, but a few of the team don’t, and to make it worse, they start acting like dicks. Two of the hockey jocks horse around after one beer. Giggling, they wrestle in the corner and knock over a fake palm tree. Idiots.
The waitress glares at us and then exchanges a look with the bartender. I know then that we’re going to get kicked out. I look around for Lucas to take control of his guys, but he’s probably off somewhere dealing with Arielle drama.
“I can’t serve any of you without proper ID, son.” The bartender spreads his hand in mock apology.
Jacob scowls back at the guy, but what can he do?
“I’ve been in trouble with the police before because of kids like you,” the man continues. “You need to either drink soda, or leave.”
“Soda?” asks Jacob. “What am I, twelve?”
“Nope,” the bartender replies, “but without proof, you’re underage.”
We leave the bar and walk along the beach back toward the hotel. Lucas is in the distance, and he waves to get our attention. Jacob and I take off running. It’s stupid, but we’re actually trying to beat each other. I barely beat him, and leaning over, I brace my hands on my knees and gasp for air. Jacob collapses on the sand at Lucas’ bare feet.
“You always have to win. Motherfucker.” says Jacob.
“Not my fault you always want to compete,” I reply.
Though Jacob, Lucas, and I have had problems in the past, we’ll always stick together when the world threatens to come down around us. We compete for petty shit to test ourselves without consequences. It’s what we do to prepare for the world outside of Montlake’s gates. Since birth, we have been wired to compete. But is my interest in Natalie real or another competition?
Lucas drops to the sand beside Jacob and tosses his shoes to the side. He doesn’t seem to care about his pressed suit. Lucas is picky about his appearance, but now, his world is on the verge of crumbling.
“Mancuso wants us at Cora’s party,” Lucas sighs. “He doesn’t want to leave her alone with Arielle lurking around.”
Jacob lifts his head up off the sand. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t there for it,” he continues. “Lexi told me that Arielle tried to throw hot coffee on Cora, and it hit Mancuso.”
I stand upright. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”
Lucas looks off toward the ocean and shrugs his shoulders. “She’s not used to having competition, and she’s a bad loser.”
“This is serious,” replies Jacob. “We’ve got to dismantle your monster, Dr. Frankenstein.”
Lucas smirks and then nods. “That we do.” He stands up and brushes the sand off the back of his trousers. “Lexi and I took her back upstairs to the room. Arielle told me to go back downstairs to the party while she went to bed.”
We slip deep into silent thought. Arielle’s encouraging Lucas to attend a party where Natalie is present?
“Something’s wrong.” Jacob gets to his feet.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I reply. “You don’t think Arielle is planning something?”
“Like blowing up the ballroom?” Lucas shakes his head. “Not with me in it. I think killing me makes the marriage contract null and void.” He rubs his thumb against his fingers. “No Lucas. No inheritance.”
I place my hand on Lucas’ shoulder as we walk back to the hotel ballroom, and the rest of the boys catch up and tag along behind us.
“For what it’s worth.” Jacob sighs. “At least they’ll serve us in there.”
***
Excited girls holler like banshees as we walk into the ballroom: the conquering heroes ready to rescue their dainty-ass party. Mancuso looks relieved as we circle around him, roughing up his hairdo and making fun of his prissy suit. Natalie speaks quietly to the event manager, and the frazzled woman hurries toward the band at the opposite side of the room. She whispers in the leader’s ear, and he nods. They lose their acoustic instruments and plug in their amps. After testing the sound, the ballroom fills with fast-moving dance music.
For a tense second, Cora frowns at our beach apparel. Almost all the guys are in graphic T-shirts and board shorts, which contrast sharply with the girls’ expensive evening gowns. It’s Volcom and Hurley beside Prada and Givenchy when the party moves onto the dance floor. Cora smiles with relief when her party gets a second wind, and laughing, she runs out onto the floor with Mancuso.
The rule is not to post anything from an invite-only, but people have their phones out and take selfies on the dance floor. I push past a couple of freshmen that somehow managed to get invited and look around for Natalie. She’s across the room, looking beautiful in a white gown that accentuates her amazing curves. But it’s her smile that slays me. Her eyes sparkle like starlight on the ocean outside as she tilts her head and laughs with ease. I realize right there and then that my feelings for her aren’t about competing with my two closest friends. My feelings for Natalie are real since I’ve gotten to know her, and each day they dive a little deeper.
Natalie catches me staring at her, and watches me. There was a time when she would have scowled at me. And I would’ve sneered down my nose at her. But tonight, Natalie
smiles back at me. A genuine smile, as if she’s glad that I’m here. She stands beside Cora, and they watch Mancuso trying to dance to a ridiculously fast song. Natalie looks like she belongs with us, and she does belong. Natalie lifts her hand in a subtle wave, and I wink in response.
I turn to check out the rest of the partygoers. Jacob, Lucas, and I decide that we are the unofficial party security to make sure that no shit goes down. Every guy is on alert that if he sees trouble, he is to tell us immediately. No horseplay. No bullshit.
“Troy.” Beth tugs my shirtsleeve. “Anthony is here. I don’t want to stress Natalie out, but ...”
“No, you’re right.” The ambient lights are on in the ballroom, and with all the additional people dancing around, it’s hard to spot him. “Where is he?”