Chapter Eighteen
EIGHTEEN
In my old life, I didn’t read celebrity magazines.
I have my favorite stars, but I admire them for their work and leave them to their private lives.
So I’ve never watched an Oscar ceremony or followed the Met Gala coverage.
But I still know this scene: that moment when the fancy car pulls to the curb, and the occupants step out onto the red carpet.
Before the car reaches the front of the queue, Theo sends Polly photos of us in our gala costumes, so she can “break” the story ahead of everyone else. Then the car stops, and he’s getting out of his side, coming around to mine, and the cameras are flashing.
There’s also screaming from a cluster of tween girls who seem ready to faint. One has a sign reading “Theo, we love you!”
I look at those girls, nearly crying with excitement, and the cameras jostling for position, everyone desperately trying to get Theo’s attention.
My door opens before I know it, and I freeze. Theo leans in, whispering, “If it’s too much, smile and recite business stuff in your head.”
“Business stuff?”
He shrugs and smiles. “Don’t ask me. I’m an art guy.”
I laugh softly…and then I realize the cameras are already flashing, getting shots of us during a private moment that is not private at all. I take a deep breath and let him help me out. A breeze ripples my dress, and I bite my lip, praying it doesn’t flip up.
Theo leads me to the carpet and then lifts my hand high, turns to me, as if showing me off to the cameras…
and recites the whole damned poem. Right there.
He doesn’t whip through it like Maddox did.
He doesn’t say it softly, like he did in the hotel room.
He emotes it—every word, every inflection, every nuance perfect, having obviously practiced.
Cameras flash and people surge against the velvet ropes. When Theo finishes, he leans in to kiss my forehead—to the renewed screams of the tweens—before leading me up the carpet.
“You didn’t warn me you were going to do that,” I whisper.
“Because you’d have told me not to.”
I only hope my cheeks aren’t as red as this carpet. I’m pretty sure my eyes are glowing, though, as I float down that carpet, barely noticing the flashbulbs all around us.
—
We’ve been at the gala for nearly an hour. This is the part that terrified me, but it passes in too much of a blur to even register.
Any society people here don’t come over to greet the new Chamberlain heiress. On the one hand, that’s a relief, but on the other, I can’t help feeling snubbed.
If those people are here, they’re staying well away from me.
The guests we do see are Hollywood. Fifty percent are faces I recognize from the screen.
The other fifty are from behind those screens: directors, producers, studio execs.
They hug—or fist-bump—Theo, and he introduces me and I say hello and they say how lovely my outfit is and I find something to compliment on theirs, that being a trick Polly taught me, finding one specific thing rather than a general comment.
We’re moving across the floor when Theo pulls out his phone. “My parents are pulling up.”
I swallow, not daring to speak.
“We’ll give them time to get in,” he says. “Then we’ll catch up with Mom first.”
He catches my expression. “It’s just my mom, Lil.”
“Even if she was ‘just’ your mother, that wouldn’t make this easier. You know that, right?”
He squeezes my hand. “It’s my father who’s the asshole, but we’ll put off that introduction for now.”
—
Five minutes later, we’re walking up to Trinity Nilsen. The Trinity Nilsen.
She’s dressed in a stunning gown with pastel watercolors, subtly striped, and it reminds me of something that takes a moment to click. A sunset. It’s a gorgeous sunset over the water, her interpretation of the beauty theme.
She has Theo’s gold curls, a delicate face, and makeup so flawless that you question whether she’s actually wearing any. She’s in a side hall, checking one earring in a pocket mirror. Then she hears us and looks up, with hazel eyes that are the exact match of Theo’s.
My steps slow, and Theo’s arm firms around my waist, guiding me forward.
“Liliana.” Ms. Nilsen moves to take my hands in hers. “Theo has told me so much about you. May I?” She puts out her arms, and I can only nod dumbly as she pulls me into a hug.
Then she turns to Theo and beams, and it’s his smile, that spellbinding one. She pulls him into a tight hug and I hear her whisper, “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
She steps back and tugs me over to see us together. “You both look amazing. I saw a clip of your poetry recital, Theo.” She sighs. “I haven’t heard you do that in years. It was beautiful.” Another quick hug for her son. “I won’t keep either of you long. I just wanted to meet Liliana.”
“It—It’s good to meet you, Ms. Nilsen.”
Theo leans over and stage-whispers to his mom, “Lil’s a little nervous.”
“Then don’t tease her,” she says to him. Then to me. “Call me Trinity. Anyone who makes my son this happy is on a first-name basis.” She eases back, her smile fading a little. “Did I hear you’re both going for that Optimus title?”
“Optima,” he says, with the sigh of any teenager whose mother gets the lingo wrong. “Lil and I are running neck and neck.”
Her smile falters more. “Just…be careful. Both of you. Sometimes, in a relationship…” She trails off, sadness shadowing those beautiful eyes. Then she tosses it off, looking like Theo when he shoves away a troubling thought. “It can be complicated. That’s all.”
“My ego will fully survive being beaten by a girl,” he says. “I have this mom who’d kick my ass if I sulked.”
They exchange a look of such genuine fondness that something in me settles. After Theo called his dad an asshole, I’d been worried, but this relationship is obviously a good one.
“Just be careful,” she murmurs. “Don’t let friendly competition get in the way.”
“I know,” he says. “For now, Lil and I are having fun running against each other. If that changes, I’ll reassess. You know how I feel about competing with people I care about.”
“I do.” That shadow again. “And how is Maddox? Are you two talking?”
He pats her arm. “We’ll work it out. Stop worrying.”
Trinity looks at me. “Do you know Maddox?”
I smile. “I do. He’s been great, helping me adjust. Though I probably shouldn’t say that. Ruin his rep.”
Her smile returns, warm and genuine. “You’re right. He’d hate it. But he’s a lovely boy with the best heart.” A glance back at Theo, who lifts his hands.
“Yes, Mom, Mads and I will work it out. Just give us time.” He leans to kiss her cheek. “Now I’m going to drag Lil out for more meet and greets.”
“Your dad will expect to see you,” she says, her voice low.
“I know. We’ll do a drive-by.”
—
Things get rocky after that. The booze is flowing, and from the looks of a few people who corner us, the drugs are flowing, too.
Two people make a point of saying they’ve heard Theo turned eighteen in January.
It seems strange that they want him to confirm that, until Theo grumbles about older guys checking me out and wanting to hang a “She’s seventeen, assholes” sign on me.
Then I understand the comments about him being eighteen, which are super-creepy considering that both people who pressed for confirmation were on the far side of thirty.
When a guy I definitely recognize from TV starts cajoling us to come party with him—while bragging about how soundproof his hotel suite is—Theo decides it’s time to pay that duty visit to his dad.
First, though, he’s flagged down by a studio exec eager to talk about Theo’s future film plans, and I know Theo will want to have that conversation, especially since the exec is sober. I spot the restrooms and whisper that I’ll slip off. Theo hesitates, but the hall is right beside us.
I find the restroom, where two young actors are doing coke at the sinks, and I get in and out as fast as I can.
Heading back, I turn too soon and don’t realize it until I find myself in a service hall.
I circle back, and by that point, I’m worrying that I’ve been gone too long and Theo will be looking for me.
I’m also worried that stepping away from his conversation with the studio exec might have looked as if I was bored rather than being respectful.
Yes, I’m out of my element and overthinking everything.
The absolute last thing I want to do is embarrass Theo. I need to get back to him…
A door shuts behind me. Startled, I wheel and stare in confusion at a door that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. I’d been walking down a hall, so why is there a closed door behind me, blocking where I just came from.
I quickly see my mistake. The hall has a fire door that can be closed in an emergency, and it somehow swung shut after I went through.
Apparently, I took another wrong turn. Great.
I head back. I need to get past the fire door and then make a left. That should take me to the restroom, and I can find the way back from there.
Now I really do need to worry about Theo worrying. I reach for my phone and…
And it’s with Theo, because I don’t have pockets. I really need to talk to Allegra about that. Dresses need phone pockets.
I reach the fire door and push—
Nothing happens. I push harder, and it doesn’t budge.
A tiny seed of panic sprouts deep in my gut. I’m locked in. The fire door somehow shut behind me and locked me in, just like when I was locked in the basement and—
And what? That was Jayden, who absolutely could not get access to the Quartz Gala. I just walked through a door I shouldn’t have, which triggered something to shut it.
I take deep breaths, and then I push on the door again. When it doesn’t budge, I resist the urge to bang on it. I am not causing a scene while I’m here as Theo Dubois’s guest. If I do, I’ll wake up tomorrow to online stories that I got drunk and locked myself in a back hall.
I turn around and head the other way. There’s a corner up ahead, and I can hear the distant voices of the gala.
Picking up my pace, I hurry toward that corner. My sandals clack loud enough that I’m sure everyone at the party can hear them, and I slow just in time to hear a footstep behind me. I start to wheel—
Hands grab me from behind, one going over my mouth. The shock of it has me reeling back. The person starts to drag me, and I snap out of my shock and flail, kicking backward.
My kick hits empty air. I grab at the hand, yanking, but it’s a viselike grip, and they’re dragging me toward an open door—a door that had not been open earlier.
Then there’s a loud boom behind us, and the person dragging me goes still.
“Hey!” a woman’s voice calls. “Who shut this?”
She pounds on the fire door. The person holding me loosens their grip, as if twisting to see what’s happening.
I bite down hard. My attacker yelps, and I’m free and flying along the hall, skidding around the corner. The voices ahead come clearer now, and I hope that means this hall opens into the party. I can’t hear whether my pursuer is following—my heart pounds too hard to catch footfalls.
I turn left at the next corner, only to hit a dead end. I spin around and—
“Rosie?”
I shrink back. The hall is dimly lit, and the man stands at the junction I just rounded. He’s in his mid-thirties with dark hair, and his face reminds me of someone, but I don’t have time to stop and wonder who. I back deeper into the shadows, my hands still lifted to ward him off.
He frowns, and his words slur. “Rosie? I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
He steps unsteadily toward me. His pupils are huge, as if he’s high.
“I heard you were…” He swallows. “Dead. Are you a ghost?”
Rosie. He called me Rosie.
I creak out the words, my voice as unsteady as his steps. “If you’re mistaking me for Rosalyn Chamberlain, sir, I’m her daughter, Liliana.”
He stops. Frowns. Sways. “Liliana.” He rubs a hand over his mouth. “You look so much like your mom.” His gaze moves over me. “God, you’re beautiful.”
I creep back more as my heart pounds. “I need to get b-back to the party, sir.”
“You look just like her.”
He keeps coming at me with a look that makes me feel as if bugs are crawling across my skin. Like I somehow lost the sheath of my dress, and I’m wearing only the sheer top layer.
“Sir?” I say. “You’ve mistaken me for my mother.”
“You’re so pretty, just like her.”
“P-please let me get back to the party. I won’t tell anyone you grabbed me. It was an accident. I know that.” I don’t think it was, but I need to give him an excuse.
He stops and frowns. “Grabbed you? I never touched you, Rosie. I just saw you run around the corner—”
“Whoa!” Theo comes running up behind the man. “What the hell?”
Theo is between us in a heartbeat, and that’s when I understand why the man looked familiar. His hair might be dark, but he has Theo’s facial shape and eyebrows.
Theo’s father? No, Bernard Dubois is in his fifties.
“Theo.” The man straightens. “I was just talking to—”
“You cornered her in a fucking hallway.” He turns to me. “This is Charles Dubois. My uncle. He’s sorry for scaring you, and he’d like to blame the fact he’s high as a kite, but he always is, so that’s no excuse.”
In a blink, Charles’s body language shifts, his face going hard as he advances on his nephew.
“You condescending little prick. Go run and hide behind Mommy. I’m talking to Rosie.”
“Fucking hell.” Theo gives him a push. “You’re even more wasted than usual. Back up and let us through.”
“This is your date?” Charles says.
“Yes, this is Liliana Chamberlain.” Theo’s arm goes firmly around me as he steers us past his uncle.
“You’re wasting your time, boy,” Charles calls after us. “She won’t stay with the likes of us. The first low-bred, half-illiterate nobody who smiles at her is getting between her legs. Just like her mom. A fancy whore but still a—”
It happens before I know it. Theo turned as his uncle started to speak, and it was a slow pivot until those final words, and then, suddenly, he has Charles against the wall. Theo is a couple of inches taller, and as his uncle squirms, it’s obvious Theo is a whole lot stronger, too.
“You will never speak about Liliana like that again,” Theo says, his words slow and measured. “You will never speak about her mother like that again. Is that clear?”
“You’re a child, Theo,” Charles spits. “Stop pretending you have one iota of power—”
“Should I tell my dad he really needs to conduct a full audit of his company, with special attention paid to…”
He whispers something in Charles’s ear, and his uncle pales.
Theo drops him and walks back to me. As Charles recovers, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms. From under his right cuff, a tattoo appears. A scorpion tail.
Charles scowls at me and adjust his cuffs to cover it. Then he turns and strides off.