Chapter 6 Aurora
AURORA
The knock on my hotel door breaks my stare off with the unopened pregnancy test box on the bathroom counter.
Thankfully, too, because I was giving myself a headache from how hard I was frowning. It’s been three days since Brady reminded me to take it, and I still can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve held him off by saying the one I brought with was damaged in travel, and I’ve been unable to buy a new one.
It’s all lies, but the truth is worse.
I spit my toothpaste in the sink and tuck my toothbrush in my cheek as I make my way through the room. I ordered breakfast only ten minutes ago, but I guess promptness is a perk of traveling with celebrities.
I double-check to make sure my bathrobe is pulled tight so I don’t scandalize a poor hotel employee, then plaster a smile on my face as I swing the door open. The moment the person in the hall is revealed, my eyes go wide, and my mouth goes slack.
I’ve been in Mabel Rossi’s presence every day since arriving in Melbourne, but something about seeing her outside my hotel room at eight in the morning steals every thought from my brain.
“Minty fresh?”
She smirks at me with her head tilted to the side. It takes a minute to realize she’s talking about my toothbrush, which is currently hanging precariously from my gaping mouth. I grab it quickly and hide it behind my back.
“Hi. Hey.” I clear my throat. “What’s, um, up?”
“We’re doing family breakfast in Savvy’s suite.”
Her eyes drop down my body, surveying my pink fluffy robe covered in daisies, and the smirk grows into a grin.
“Sleeping Beauty. You can come in that if you want.”
I clear my throat again and attempt to act more confident than I feel, hoping like hell the inevitable blush stretching from my cheeks to my neck doesn’t give me away.
“Is everyone else stage-ready like you, or will casual suffice?”
“Is casual what you want?”
The flirtatious lilt to her voice causes a cool chill to dance over the back of my neck. My eyes fall to the plump pink smirk on her lips, and I blink. I search frantically for a witty response to a question I don’t understand before Mabel finally takes mercy on me with a laugh.
“Everyone else is probably still in pajamas, so wear whatever you want.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll be just a minute. You can come in if you want. Or I can just head down when I’m done?”
“I can wait.”
“Okay.” I open the door and wave her in. “Sure.”
Mabel steps into my room, and I move to my suitcase, suddenly very self-conscious of, well, everything, and trying my best not to let it show. I dig through my clothes to find an outfit while being hyper-vigilant not to drop any underwear on the floor. That would be mortifying.
I haven’t been alone with her since the day we landed, and we’ve only exchanged a handful of words since our encounter in the hallway. If I’m being honest, I’ve been avoiding her. Mabel Rossi makes me nervous, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself. Again.
It hasn’t stopped me from watching her, though. Usually through my periphery or from beneath lowered lashes, I watch her from the moment she enters a room to the moment she leaves. It’s almost impossible not to, and it makes being in this enclosed space with her that much more difficult.
Don’t be awkward, Aurora Jade. Just act normal.
“How’s the orchid? Does it approve of the room?”
I practically jump out of my skin when her question punctures my thoughts, and I whip around to find her smirking at me.
“Oh. Um. Yes? I mean, he can’t talk, because plants can’t talk, as you know. Well, not really, anyway...Though I do think they have ways of communicating without words. Drooping leaves and wilting and discoloration and....such....”
Her smirk grows into an amused grin, and my ears burn with embarrassment. I clear my throat, plaster on a plastic smile, and avert my eyes to the non-talking plant in question. So much for act normal. Good grief.
“The window placement is great. Thank you again.”
I hug my clothes to my chest and purse my lips as I survey the flower, my attention focused on the small bud I’ve managed to coax from him. Just one. Only ever one. A small frown pulls my brows inward.
“Now if he’ll just wake up.”
“He?”
“Arthur Orchidaceae.” I can’t help but smile as I say it. “I know it’s silly. My mom always had names for her plants.”
“Had?”
Her voice is softer around the word. I force a swallow, then nod.
“Yeah. She passed away a few years ago, so I got custody of Arthur.”
She’s quiet for a breath, and I brace myself for one of the many platitudes I get when people find out my parents are dead.
I hate it, but I’m used to it. I’ve realized in the last four years that people never say those things for my sake; they say them for themselves.
Because they feel uncomfortable sharing space with my grief, and they want to feel helpful.
They want to believe they’ve comforted me in some way.
I don’t like it, but I understand it.
When Mabel does speak, I’m surprised to hear no pity in her tone. No fake positivity or cliché hope. Just that playful lilt that makes my stomach tighten and a welcome subject change.
“Sounds like Arthur is in recovery mode.”
“Yeah.”
Recovery mode. Him and me both. I sigh and frown harder, eyes sticking on the single bud.
“I didn’t think he’d be this temperamental, but Arthur has been a bit of a diva lately. Honestly, I took a gamble even bringing him with me, but I don’t feel comfortable entrusting him to anyone else.”
“How long has he been resting?”
When I finally glance at Mabel, I find her thankfully studying the plant, not me. I scrunch my nose.
“I don’t know if I want to tell you. Your guardian would think less of me.”
“She would never.”
I huff a laugh then walk to stand next to her. We’re the same height, and I glance down at her shoes to find that while she’s still wearing platform boots, they’re not as high as the pair from yesterday.
I try my best to ignore the way she smells, but I fail.
Gardenia and something sweeter. Something fruity.
I’d normally associate gardenia with the older ladies at church, but not this scent.
Whatever she’s wearing, it’s fresh and playful, like her.
I want to drown myself in it. Growing up around flowers has given me a pretty keen sense of smell.
Usually, I like it. Right now, I do not.
I widen the distance between us and give my head a shake before forcing myself back on topic.
“Moth orchids don’t really go through periods of true dormancy, so that makes this extra weird, but Arthur has been resting for well over a year. I can get him to bud but not bloom. I think I’ve made him angry.”
Mabel hums. “Not too angry. He’s still alive.”
I laugh again. “True. He’s just throwing a tantrum, and I can’t figure out why.” I release a sigh. “Anyway. I’ll get dressed.”
I turn toward the bathroom, but I only get two steps before Mabel stops me.
“Aurora, you forgot something.”
I look back at her. “What?”
I can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheek, no doubt trying not to laugh at me, as she nods to the floor beside my suitcase. I can actually feel the color leech from my face before it flames back to bright red. Warm, to cold, to burning hot.
I already know what I’ll find when I turn around, but I still have to choke back a shriek of horror when I see my granniest pair of cotton underwear splayed out on the hotel carpet.
Of course it’s the period underwear. It couldn’t at least be the cute little hipsters or the new silk bikinis. Nope. Of all the things to fall out of my suitcase in the presence of a rock and roll goddess, it’s my high-waisted, greyish-white, old-as-hell pair of cotton briefs.
Oh, God.
Now she’s going to think I’m dirty and disgusting.
I almost trip over my feet as I dive to pick them up and shove them back into the suitcase. I turn to her and shake my head.
“I own newer ones...nicer...better...I mean, these aren’t my only...They’re clean, I swear. And I do have other pairs...cuter...I just...They’re just...”
Mabel’s expression softens, and she gives me a one-shouldered shrug.
“They’re just really fucking comfortable when you’re on your period and feel like your uterus is being stabbed from the inside out by a drunk Gremlin holding a fist full of dull knives?”
My brows jump in surprise. “Yeah.”
She pats her stomach. “I own a uterus, too, babe. I understand the luxury of a comfy pair of period underwear.”
I stare at her for a few breaths as my brain labors to process the interaction.
I feel like I’ve just run a mile in a pair of flip flops while spinning in circles, so it takes several moments before I’m finally able to form a coherent thought, but when my body finally transitions out of panic-mode, I laugh.
“Right. Of course. I’ll just...”
I gesture to the bathroom once more, then duck inside quickly. As soon as the door shuts behind me, the scene replays in my head, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud again. I think about it over and over the whole time I’m changing out of my pajamas.
I own a uterus too, she’d said.
I don’t know why I thought she’d judge me over something as trivial as underwear.
She’s not Brady. Just because he thinks they’re gross doesn’t mean Mabel would.
Maybe I’d have known that if I had any female friends.
The thought brings a frown to my face as I finish pulling on my clothes.
It makes me wonder what other views of mine have been unfairly skewed.
I really need to get some friends.