Chapter 6
Lily
MAURICE RAVEL — PAVANE POUR UNE INFANTE DéFUNTE
Well, my day is shot.
Why do I say that? Oh, I don’t know. First, utter humiliation that I was caught playing on a paper piano, looking like a psycho. And then RYDER HAWTHORNE, stuntman and muscles extraordinaire, just scaled my tower, the place that was supposed to be untouchable.
Oh, I was so awkward and weird. Why was I so ridiculous with him? Why did I even say the word “cartwheel”?
Was I this awkward when I first talked to Tristan Jackson? Somehow, I know I wasn’t.
I met Tristan at a Hollywood party when I was seventeen. I had BEGGED Adam to take me with him. He reluctantly agreed, and when he got called away by some producer or something, I was alone for a few minutes…until Tristan Jackson approached and started a conversation.
I don’t think I was awkward then. But I wasn’t myself, either.
I had just enough self-awareness to make sure I pretended to be cool and collected, just like the other actresses and models who were there.
Not that anyone would mistake me for a model when I have the height of your average twelve-year-old.
So if my memory serves me correctly, I wasn’t weird enough for Tristan to be immediately put off. Of course, he had ulterior motives in mind that I didn’t know at the time—revenge against Adam.
It’s so stupid thinking about it now. He’s like a villain in a rom-com—not actually dangerous, just evil enough to be annoying. What’s he really going to do to me?
Get me locked in a tower for a year and a half.
Okay, that kind of sucks.
And being here in this tower has made me really lean into my quirky side. What do you expect after not having much social interaction for eighteen months? I have a hard time remembering which thoughts are supposed to stay inside.
But I have to give myself credit—I didn’t say anything to Ryder about his flirtatious muscles.
Oh, and then he PUT HIS HANDS ON MY WAIST. I’d have to be made of stone not to melt at his touch.
I’m proud of how well I hid my reaction, though. At least those thoughts stayed inside. I was quick to push him off and make him think I was annoyed with him instead of swooning.
Maybe not quite as quick as I should have been, but I think I had him fooled.
But now that he’s gone, I’m just left with my imagination. Sitting at my table, I put my chin in my hand and let myself drift off into my thoughts. And my imagination is nothing if not wild.
Because in my imagination, we have an instant romantic connection. Instead of pushing him off when he puts his hands on my hips, I lean into his embrace. He slides his hands to the small of my back, then uses one hand to brush the hair off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear, and then—
Buzz, buzz. My phone rings with a call from Bethany, my cousin/lawyer. Strange. Usually she contacts my brothers and father, who relay the messages to me. But her number is one of the few that isn’t blocked on my phone.
I’m like a little kid with a phone that’s under the heaviest restrictions possible, for emergencies only and no access to the Internet.
My family is convinced that Tristan will use a random number to contact me at some point, and therefore I’m only allowed contact from a few people: my family, my brothers’ fiancées, and Bethany.
I do have access to the Internet on my laptop, but I’m only supposed to use that for school or educational purposes, like fitness videos on YouTube. I’ve been blocked from any entertainment sites or popular culture channels that will remind me of the people who hurt me most.
“Hi, Bethany,” I say, picking up the phone.
“Hey, Lily.” Her voice is tinged with a British accent that’s just pronounced enough to sound fake. We’ve teased her about it over the years, but if anything, she’s leaned into the weirdness and turned it into her signature trademark. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Mm, no, I’m super busy,” I tease.
“Oh. Well, I guess…”
“I’m kidding! What else am I doing?” I laugh out loud.
But Bethany doesn’t seem as amused. “Yes, well, I’m hoping we’ll be able to amend that soon. You’ve been in there for…much longer than we expected.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Lily.”
“Oh, it’s fine. It’s for the best. At least, that’s what the consultant says. He’s the expert, right?”
She pauses. “Have you actually spoken to Mr. Calhoun yourself?”
“No, I haven’t met him. But Adam really trusts him.” I glance at the picture that now sits on my kitchen table, our happy family from fifteen years ago covered in broken glass.
“Mm-hmm.” She pauses again. “Well, I have some news. It seems that Tristan has effectively disappeared. He hasn’t responded to his lawyer in weeks, and we’re possibly able to shut the case down soon.
I wanted to tell you myself. I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high, but this could be good for you. ”
“Oh! That’s…great.”
“It really is. You’ll be able to go back to normal soon.”
I don’t say anything in reply. I’m not sure exactly what to say, not yet.
“Well, I think I’ll call your father now,” Bethany says. “It was nice hearing your voice.”
“Yeah, same. Thanks for the call, Bethany.”
As I hang up, I try to look inward and decipher my emotions.
I should be excited. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
When everything first happened, I thought I’d be out of the penthouse within a few weeks, maybe a month.
But one month turned to two, then seven, then I got moved here and…
well, before I knew it, this was my new normal.
It was easier to stay here than face the alternative.
Sure, I complain to Adam and Henry and Father about being stuck here. I whine about the Internet connection, and of course I complain about not having a piano.
But now that I’ve been isolated for so long…do I really want to go out?
That’s something I’ll have to chew on.
But it’s not a problem I have to solve today. Instead, I turn my attention to my assignment for English class. I pull up the prompt again: Write about a time when you were surprised.
I laugh out loud. Oh, do I have a story I can write now. And considering the fact that the instructor is the only person reading this, I don’t worry about writing the truth. Actually, he encouraged us to write anything, even fiction.
What seems more fictional than the life I’m living?
Believe me, I wish it were a fairytale.
I pull up a blank document and start typing away about Ryder climbing the tower and surprising me.
As I write, I find more vivid descriptions than usual about his physique, his gray eyes, my surprise at seeing him, and his surprise at finding me, as well.
I get those butterflies in my stomach, kicking my feet with the fuzzy slippers dangling from my toes.
My phone buzzes next to me—a phone call from Luna, my brother Henry’s fiancée. I answer the call. “Hey, Luna.”
“Hey, Lily. How’s it going?”
“Good. Just solving the eternal problem of world peace.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Luna knows how to humor me. Isabelle, my other brother’s fiancée, does too. It’s a good thing I like them both. “I wanted to see if you’re up for a visit tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Sure! I’d love to see you!” A big grin lights my face, just like it usually does at the thought of entertaining anyone in my small space.
“Great. Henry wants to come, too. We’ll be there around eleven.”
“Can you bring me some of Madeleine’s macarons?” I ask.
“Already planning on it.” I can hear the grin in her words, and I’m thankful she knows me so well. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you.” I hang up the phone, grateful I have my brother and Luna to come visit.
But then again, if Bethany is right, I might be able to leave this tower soon. Which would mean no need for visitors, because I’d be able to see them whenever I want.
The ambivalence fills my stomach again, and I push it away, focusing back on writing.
About Ryder.
Cue the heart-eyes.