five
#1 at the Box Office:Kiss the Girls
Vivienne Delacroix
“Are they watching?” Chaz asks as he holds his frame rigidly, maneuvering me around the dance floor with precise but robotic steps.
“Yes,” I say, glancing over his shoulder at my parents. “But don’t worry, it’s not you. They’ll be watching every guy I dance with.”
“I took lessons for this,” he grumbles. “It better pay off.”
“Just keep dancing,” I say. “You know my parents approve of us.”
“I can’t wait for this part to be over.”
Chaz is not naturally an athlete, and that includes dancing, but attending the Founders Ball goes along with the territory when you date the daughter of one of the first families to settle the town. He’s been attending since well before dating me, though. The McGinty family always gets an invite, as do most of the well-off families in town, unless they do something to piss off one of the founding families, which is always a big scandal.
This our first year to attend together, though, so the pressure is on. Especially since last year, when we’d just started dating, he didn’t impress my parents with the limited steps he’d learned from Cotillion.
“It’s just one dance,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s supposed to be romantic. You don’t have to get every step perfect.”
“Did I miss a step?” His face goes even paler under his freckles, and sweat breaks out along his forehead.
“No, you’re perfect,” I assure him. “Relax. It’s almost over. Then you can go sit down while I have to dance with all fifteen founding sons.”
“Thank god Krissy is here,” he says. “Otherwise, I might die of boredom before you’re done.”
“Yes, thankfully she’s here to keep you company,” I say through a tight smile. “Though I only have seven more dances before dinner.”
The song ends, and Chaz gives a slight bow and backs away from me, passing my hand to Jacob Darling. Then he scurries off the dance floor like he can’t get away fast enough.
“Vivienne,” Jacob says, flashing me his usual flirty smile. “You look lovely tonight, as always.”
“Thank you,” I say, relaxing into the steps as he begins to move confidently forward, with all the grace of a natural, seasoned dancer. I feel a little bad that Chaz handed me off to a Darling, but then, their family includes half the founding sons in town, so it’s hard to avoid them. Chaz must have forgotten since last year that they’re all enviably graceful on their feet, and he’d look clumsy in comparison.
“I couldn’t help but notice you did the couples dance with Chaz McGinty,” Jacob says, effortlessly twirling me around to display me to my family as we pass their table. He brings me back into his arms and grips me confidently as we continue around the floor. “Isn’t he a little… Duckling to your swan?”
“There’s only so many founding families to marry into before we’re all related,” I remind him. “Gotta bring in new blood somehow.”
“If you want to find quality guys, you gotta come to Willow Heights,” he says. “Why aren’t you there again?”
“My dad is feuding with the headmaster,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So, we’re punishing y’all by withholding the illustriousness of our intelligence and athletic prowess.”
“Sounds about right,” Jacob says with a grin. “Pretty sure my dad’s about to take away JT’s inheritance for refusing to get married by the ancient age of twenty-five.”
I shake my head at the ridiculousness of our families. I know I miss out on a lot by not going to Willow Heights, but one of the things I miss most is the company of Faulkner’s other blue bloods. Not because they’re better than anyone, but because I grew up with all these kids, and they understand the insanity of our family traditions in a way that our Faulkner High peers just don’t.
The song ends, and I barely even notice Chaz and Krissy getting up to dance. I’m busy having fun being passed off to the next Darling son and then the next. By the time dinner rolls around, I’m flushed from the exertion and happy to have caught up with half the boys I grew up with before my parents sent us to FHS while the other founding heirs all went to WHPA.
“This is crazy,” Krissy says as we make our way out of the Hockington Hotel’s ballroom toward the dining room. This is her first year to attend the Founders Ball, since her family is more upwardly mobile than old money.
“Just wait until you see the food,” Chaz says. “We won’t get to sit with Vivienne, since she’s basically royalty, but you can sit with me.”
“We can still hang out after dinner,” I assure him, taking his hand and squeezing to show him that I’d rather be with them. It’s one of those moments when the family traditions that are supposed to show that our family is elevated in status just makes me feel isolated. I’m both awkward for having more than they do and left out because I have to partake in the traditions befitting a Delacroix.
“We should hang out later,” Krissy says. “Maybe I can stay over like I did last month.”
I’m about to remind her that she’s never slept over at my house when I realize she’s not talking to me. Ice creeps into my veins, and I extract my hand from Chaz’s.
“You spent the night?” I ask.
“Don’t start this,” Chaz says, giving me a pleading look.
“You’re right,” I say. “Maybe I should end it instead.”
With as much dignity as I can muster, I sweep ahead of them out of the elevator. I hear Nana Delacroix’s voice echo in my ears as I step onto the red carpet with my cousin Blaise.
Head high. Shoulders back. Tummy in.
The red carpet leads into the dining room. Couples of all ages from the upper crust of Faulkner’s society make their way along it and into the dining room, where they’re seated by white-clad servers. I try to look as elegant and regal as Blaise, who looks so perfect even I have to remind myself that she’s real and not a doll.
“Vivienne,” Chaz says, rushing to catch up to me and intercepting one of the staff who was going to escort me to my table.
Blaise gives me an embarrassed, sympathetic smile and holds out her delicate hand to touch mine. “It’s time,” she says in her soft, musical voice.
“Go on,” I say, feeling the eyes of my family on me. It’s no wonder she’s the most beloved grandchild. She looks like a swan in human form. Next to her, I’m definitely the ugly duckling. I don’t need her to hear our argument on top of everything else.
As soon as she’s gone, Chaz starts in. “Listen, I told you that day Krissy was coming over. Remember? When her dad started dialysis. She was just having a hard time, and our parents are friends… My mom invited her to stay over, not me. I swear to you, nothing happened. It wasn’t even our idea.”
I sigh. “I’m not trying to be a jealous bitch, but come on, Chaz. How would you feel if I had guys sleeping over at my house?”
“You do,” he points out. “You have a brother. I know he has his football buddies over for parties. You can’t tell me none of them have crashed there. Even that asshole Sebastian has probably stayed over. You don’t see me getting jealous about that, even though you spend all that time with him at tutoring.”
“It’s tutoring,” I say, staring at him in disbelief. “It’s literally my job.”
“Yeah, well, most of us got a new partner after the first quarter. How come you’re still with him?”
“Because he doesn’t do his homework,” I say. “I help him up until the final product, but unless you want me to do his homework for him and hand it in, I can’t help what he does or doesn’t do outside our sessions.”
Chaz gives me a pleading look and takes my hand. “I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m just pointing out, it’s no different from when your brother has friends over. It’s not like we slept in the same bed.”
I turn to the room and touch my tightly coifed updo, collecting myself. Ambient lighting filters from the rafters, and candles flicker on each table. Most of the guests will sit at the round tables covered in white linen tablecloths. The founding families all sit together at the head of the room at rectangular tables with custom made tablecloths featuring our family crests. We’re usually escorted to our seats, but I ignore tradition and make my way to our table on my own. It gives me time to take few breaths before turning to Chaz, who hasn’t left my side.
“Did she sleep in your room?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said y’all didn’t sleep in the same bed. Did she sleep in your room?”
He hesitates before answering. “Yes, but I slept on the floor. I promise, Viv. We’re just friends.”
“Well, why don’t you go sit with your friend and have a nice meal,” I say, my smile brittle. “We can talk about this later. I have to sit with my family.”
“Wait,” he says, grabbing my hand again.
I sigh. “What is it?”
“Are we okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe nothing happened, but you knew it would upset me. You knew I wouldn’t be okay with it.”
“I didn’t know,” he insists, stepping closer and keeping his voice low as people settle into their seats. “I’ve told you we’re just friends. It’s no different than you and Jerome. You don’t see me flipping out about that, do you?”
“If we had sleepovers?” I ask. “Yeah, I’d say you have every right to be upset.”
He sighs. “You’re too smart for this, Viv. I assumed you were rational enough to put aside these silly feelings and recognize that I’m telling the truth.”
“Actually, you didn’t tell the truth. You hid it from me for months.”
“I never lied,” he insists.
I pull my hand from his. “A lie of omission is still a lie.”
I turn to my table, where my whole family is already seated. My throat aches, but I swallow hard and step up to my seat. A waiter in white pulls out my chair and gestures grandly. I slide into it and let him scoot me in. Chaz will just have to wait. I know he won’t make a scene in the middle of the Founders Banquet—he’s far too refined for that. But he’ll be over there stewing the whole meal, which gives me a bit of spiteful satisfaction.
How dare he patronize me and say I’m irrational for not liking that a girl slept over at his house?
Warm fingertips graze the bare skin between my shoulder blades, and a low voice murmurs in my ear. “Everything okay?”
I gasp and lean away when a rush of hot electricity races over my body. Sebastian Swift stands over me, a knowing grin on his face.
“Oh—my god,” I blurt out. “Sebastian. I didn’t—What are you doing here?”
I glance around, sure I would have noticed him before now. Robert sits across the table, a suspicious frown darkening his brow as he watches us. No other waiters are nearby. Sebastian must have seated me, but I was too busy fighting with Chaz to notice, especially because I wasn’t expecting to see him in a waiter’s uniform.
“Some of the football team volunteered to work the event,” Sebastian says with an easy shrug. “You know, show our appreciation for Faulkner’s founders. Since Robert is my best friend, I figured I’d ask for y’all’s table.”
I take a look at the other servers, who I didn’t pay much attention to when I walked in. I spot Billy, Randy, and a couple other guys from the team, though I don’t really know them. None of the guys working the event are close with my brother except Sebastian.
“Hi, then,” I say, suddenly acutely aware of our different positions at this dinner.
“I’ll get you some water,” Sebastian says with a sunshiny smile.
He disappears, and I take a breath and smooth the skirt of my satin halter dress over my flat stomach, glancing around to make sure no one else noticed my state of distress. Nana will scold me if I have bad posture and look frumpy, so I sit up straight and pretend I’m elegant and poised like Blaise. Even though Sebastian’s my brother’s best friend and has been over to our house dozens of times, I don’t really know anything about him. I assumed he was from a good family like everyone else we hang out with, even if he’s not a founding son. It strikes me that I’ve never seen him at a Founders Ball before, though, not even as an invite like Chaz or Krissy.
I wince at the thought of what he’ll have to say about this later. I’m sure he’ll find a way to torment me about it, like he does my intelligence. After all, we’re the ones throwing a party and dressing up in fancy clothes and making a big deal of ourselves. The Founders Ball is basically an excuse for the founders to show off how rich and important we are. If we stopped reminding the town, they might forget, and we can’t have that.
“So, Chaz McGinty,” says Nana Delacroix, who sits on my left side. “That’s an interesting choice for a high school boyfriend.”
“He’s brilliant,” I say, raising my chin. “Mom and Dad both approve of him.”
“Do they?” she asks, arching a penciled-in brow.
“Yes,” I say carefully. Nana is intimidating and shrewd, and she loves tradition. I just know she’s going to tell me that one of the Darling boys would make a better match. They’ve already chosen one for Blaise to marry.
“As long as it’s not too serious,” she says, not giving an inch so Sebastian can place her goblet of ice water beside her plate. I lean away slightly so he can fit his broad shoulders between us and set both our glasses down. I feel bad for him, since my grandmother is especially hard on staff and will probably yell at him and make him cry by the end of the night.
“We’ve been together for a year now,” I say as Sebastian retreats to the other side of the table. He has four place settings to attend to, while Billy gets my parents and two of my cousins.
“That seems like quite enough,” Nana Delacroix says. It takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me, not giving instruction to our waiter.
“What?” I ask.
“A year is a long time in high school relationships, isn’t it?” she asks. “That seems pretty serious to me.”
“It is serious. We’re in love,” I say, glancing at Robert for help. He’s busy talking to Papa Delacroix, though.
“Just remember, as the oldest child of a Delacroix family, you represent the next generation,” Nana says. “You’ll need to marry accordingly.”
“I didn’t say I was going to marry him,” I say. “But even so, he’s perfectly suitable if I wanted to.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” Nana reminds me. “You know our family decides that together.”
I’ve never been so relieved to see Sebastian Swift in my life. He sets our arugula salads in front of us delicately, giving the plates a little twirl, playing up the chance to serve us.
“Thanks,” I say, shooting him an awkward smile.
“Excuse me,” Nana says, raising her voice a notch.
My heart sinks, and I duck my head, ready for her to humiliate my brother’s friend in front of the whole family.
“Yes, ma’am?” Sebastian says, standing straight as a soldier and clasping his hands behind his back.
“Where are your gloves?” Nana asks.
“Right here,” Sebastian says, pulling the white gloves from his back pocket.
“And why aren’t they on your hands?”
“I get a better grip without them,” he says, then flashes a grin and wiggles his fingers. “Besides, my hands are my best features. Wouldn’t you rather look at these puppies than a pair of stuffy old white gloves?”
The corner of my grandmother’s lips twitch, and I think she might actually laugh at his charming argument. But then she sits up straight, giving him an imperious look. “I’d rather know my food is being served by someone with clean hands.”
“Clean as a whistle,” he says, pulling on the gloves one at a time. He really does have nice hands, big and strong with thick veins on the back. “But if you’d feel more comfortable if I wore them, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m here to serve you, Madam Delacroix. Whatever your heart desires.”
He finishes pulling on his gloves and bows, making a flourishing gesture with one gloved hand.
“That’s quite enough,” Nana says with a sniff, but her eyes are sparkling with humor as they linger on him. He flashes us a flirty smile before ducking away from the table.
I start on my salad, thankful for the interruption.
“Now, where were we?” Nana asks, and my heart deflates. So much for her being distracted and not remembering what we were talking about.
“Mapping out my whole life,” I say, an edge of resignation in my voice. “Nana, I already know every step by heart. Graduate top of the class. Have a well-rounded portfolio of extracurriculars to go with a flawless transcript when we apply to all the Ivy League schools. Graduate summa cum laude, get a master’s, and come home to marry one of the founding sons.”
“You have more opportunities than we had in my day,” she says, giving me a hard look. “You’d do well to remember that. Maybe have a little gratitude.”
“I am grateful,” I say. “But it’s the nineties, Nana. People marry for love now.”
“Some people,” she corrects. “This family has protected its legacy for generations. There’s no need to squander it by being a lovestruck fool.”
“I think the McGinty’s are on the list of acceptable, if not preferable, families you and Papa Delacroix approved.”
“For you to marry,” she says. “That’s why I expected you to be a little more adventurous before then.”
“What?” I ask, drawing back with my forkful of salad halfway to my mouth. “You were just telling me not to squander our wealth by marrying someone below me.”
“I’m not talking about marriage,” she says, taking a sip of the wine Sebastian just poured into our glasses. “Like you said, that will happen after you’ve completed your education. That’s six years away, Vivienne. We don’t want to see you tying yourself down to one boy, getting too serious so young. You only live once. So live a little.”
She gives me a conspiratorial smile, but I just gape at her. “Are you telling me to break up with Chaz?”
“I’m telling you to enjoy yourself,” she says. “I know it’s not the conventional wisdom, but I’m of the belief that if you enjoy yourself before you’re married, get all those wild hairs out of your system, you’ll be more likely to be content with your husband when the time comes. That way you won’t resent him or feel like you’ve missed out.”
“That’s… Very progressive of you, Nana.”
“What about that one?” she asks, squeezing my hand and nodding at Sebastian as he emerges from the kitchen with a tray.
I snort out a laugh. “You were just lecturing me not to settle for Chaz, and now you want me to hook up with our waiter?”
“He seems fun,” she says. “And he’s got lovely hands.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Now, you don’t marry that type,” she says. “But I’d bet he could show you a thing or two. You know, before I married your grandfather, I had a dalliance with a boy from the other side of the tracks.”
“Nana, stop,” I say, laughing uncomfortably. “I tutor the guy. It would be awkward. And anyway, he’s not my type.”
“If you say so,” she says, arching her brows and going back to her food, where she picks up a toasted pecan with her fork and looks at it like it’s a cockroach. “What in god’s name is this doing on my salad?”