5. Willow
5
WILLOW
“ V incent for the love of god, please!” I scream into my phone, waving a long cream satin dress with a strapless top and a daring slit just below my hip. The knee-high brown cowboy boots and denim jacket that complete the outfit lie in a heap on my bedroom floor.
Vincent's laughter flows through the phone line, warming my ears as I bite my lip to contain a smile at the sound of his smooth and melodic chuckle. “Princess, you know the rules.”
“Vincent! I am going to school, not a club and it’s not appropriate.” I huff throwing the dress on my bed and gripping my scalp in frustration.
Vincent’s voice drops an octave, turning to a deliciously dangerous growl that makes me press my thighs together as a wave of heat rushes through me. “You know what’s not appropriate, Princess? Breaking the rules we’ve so kindly laid out for you.”
I groan, pacing the length of my room. “Come on, Vincent. At least let me wear underwear— that slit is way too high.”
“No.”
“Vincent be reasonable this is-”
“Reasonable?” he echoes, the word dripping with amusement. “This is non-negotiable, Willow. Put on the dress, the boots, and the jacket, or…” He lets the threat hang in the air, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.
“Or what?” I challenge, even as my pulse quickens.
“Or you’ll find out just how inventive I can be when it comes to punishments.” A chuckle caresses the curve of my ear dripping into a sigh. “Or maybe I’ll tell Cast. See what his imagination can come up with.”
My stomach flips, a mix of dread and anticipation rushes through me. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, Princess,” he says, his voice like silk wrapped around steel. “This is what you signed up for. Now be a good girl and get dressed. And remember the inspection in the parking lot.”
“In the parking lot? Why?” I exclaim, staring at the phone like it had grown a second head. “I thought that was supposed to be during lunch.”
“Damien has practice during lunch, so be there in 35 minutes, Princess.” He simply says, followed by the swift click of the dial tone.
“Hello? Vincent!” I stare at my phone, half tempted to hurl it across the room.
Instead, I throw myself onto the bed face first and scream into the plush comforter. My body feels like it's on fire, my skin tingling from head to toe.
These outfits were manageable, pushing me out of my usual comfort zone, but this one is beyond that. I can’t possibly go to math class with my entire leg exposed, no matter how good it looks or the fact that Jasmine dragged me to get a painful full body wax just last weekend.
The thought alone makes me cringe, actually no— it makes me want to scream.
With a resigned sigh, I turn to the dress lying on the bed. It glimmers softly under the morning light streaming through my window, the cream satin as smooth as liquid gold. Even as I roll my eyes at the absurdity of wearing it to school, a tiny part of me can’t deny that Vincent has impeccable style even if it’s not my own.
I pick it up, the fabric cool against my skin as I step into it and shimmy it over my hips. The strapless top clings perfectly to my curves, the daring slit slicing up my leg in a way that feels both bold and scandalous. The silky material falls just right, hugging where it should and flowing effortlessly where it doesn’t. I tug at the top, trying to convince myself it’s too much, but the mirror reflects a truth I don’t want to admit.
I look good, and of course the dress is damn well tailored to my body so I don’t need a bra. Fucking Vincent.
I let out a frustrated groan and grab the knee-high cowboy boots from the floor, sliding them on one at a time. The worn brown leather contrasts perfectly with the elegance of the dress, giving the outfit a more casual fit despite the elegance of the strapless dress. Finally, I shrug into the denim jacket, the familiar weight grounding me in a way the rest of the ensemble doesn’t.
I stand in front of the mirror, turning slightly to the side to inspect myself. The slit reveals just enough leg to make my cheeks flush, but I can’t deny that the boots add a playful charm. The jacket softens the overall look, making it feel less like I’m heading to a red-carpet event and more like… me.
“Damn it Vincent,” I mutter as I twist and turn in the mirror because I don’t want to love it. In fact, I hate it. I do, because I look way too good to go to school.
My eyes land on the diamond necklace around my throat, and I pause staring at the three black diamonds. One for each of the Chessmen. I should feel trapped, disgusted but I can’t help the rush of warmth, something close to fullness or safety that rushes through me.
A sharp knock jolts me out of my thoughts, because no one is supposed to be here and there is no way Vincent has the key to my house, and if he stole Jasmine’s key I am going to rip him a new one. I glance at the clock—Vincent’s ten minutes aren’t even up yet.
“Willow? You in there?” Relief floods through me when I hear my dad’s voice calling from the other side of the door.
I scramble off the bed, my feet tangling in the hem of the offending dress as I rush to open the door. Dad stands there, his worn jacket slung over his arm and a tired but warm smile on his face. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks me over, and for a second, I forget about the chaos of my morning as I tumble into his arms.
“ Dad,” I breathe, wrapped in his arms. “Long time no see, stranger.”
Dad and I haven’t really seen each other for three weeks. He leaves every morning at 4 am and returns at 9 pm, exhausted and not in the mood for more than a quick hug, microwave burrito combo before falling asleep with the game on in his bedroom.
Sometimes he is too exhausted to make it home and he’ll sleep at a motel or one of the trailers on the construction site. Seeing him, and I mean really being able to see him is rare and I cherish these moments more than any other.
“Hey, the early mornings and the late nights pay the bills.” He sighs, squeezing me tighter as he places a tight kiss on my forehead.
I pull away slightly, looking into his soft brown eyes. “I thought the mystery check helped.”
“It did. Still does, but rent is due every first, buttercup.” He winks letting me go as he looks down at my outfit.
“Wow,” he says, his gaze lingering on the dress draped over me. “That’s… different. Got a date or something?”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I turn back into my room and he follows. “Not exactly. It’s a long story.”
“Well, you look nice,” he says, his voice softening. “Really nice, Willow.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. He sets his jacket on the back of my desk chair and takes a moment to glance around my room like he always does, as if committing every detail to memory.
“You’re not too busy, are you?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Never too busy for you, Dad.” I motion for him to sit on the edge of the bed while I perch beside him, the awkward slit of the dress shifting in a way that has me tugging at the fabric.
He notices, his brow furrowing. “How’s school, buttercup?”
I hesitate, my fingers toying with the hem of the dress. “School is school.”
“Any news from that Rhode Island Art school?”
“You mean the Rhode Island School of Design?” I snort.
“Yup, any word for my little artist?”
I look over at the empty canvas across from my bed and shrug. “No, but it’s only the beginning of March. I should hear something soon.”
“You’ll hear that you got in.”
As much as I want to believe that, I can't deny the truth. Ever since I made that deal with the boys, my art has taken a backseat. I spend all my time trying not to be where they will find me, and all my nerves keep me from confiding in my art.
I’m afraid it will expose me, and whatever I paint will show my true feelings, which I can’t confront right. My mind is scattered and I can't seem to find any inspiration that isn’t there, which is why Miss Robinson demanded I come to art room to talk to her since I haven’t been in her room to work on my senior project in over three weeks.
“Maybe, but 17%, and I need a scholarship.” I whisper.
“If you get in, I will make it work.”
“Dad-” I sigh.
“Willow. Your only job is to finish school, and to go follow your dreams. You can’t work away all your creative genius.” His hand caresses my cheek and I turn from him not to see the tears of frustration in my eyes.
I nod and he shifts his focus, his voice taking on a lighter tone. “Well, I just came by to say thank you. For… you know.” He clears his throat, looking down at his hands.
“For what?” I ask, though I already know what he means. My stomach twists as I watch him, his weathered face etched with gratitude and something else—uncertainty.
He exhales slowly. “For the money, Willow. I don’t know how you managed it, but I’m pretty sure it was you. That deposit came right when we needed it most. Very convenient…” He trails off, shaking his head.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. “Dad, I?—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off gently. “You don’t have to explain. I just wanted you to know it meant everything. We’re getting by, Willow. Because of you.”
The weight of his words settles over me, and I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Just promise me you didn’t kill someone, or hurt yourself to get it,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
“I didn't, I promise.” I nod and he follows, nodding tightly.
He reaches out, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on with school or anything else, but if you ever need me?—”
“I know,” I say quickly, my voice barely a whisper. “I know, Dad.”
He pulls me into a hug, his arms strong and familiar. I melt into his embrace, not wanting this moment to end, because that means I have to deal with the Chessmen and he has to go back to work. I can see in the wrinkles along his eyes that he can’t keep working like this. I can’t let him. I won’t.
When he pulls back, he gives me a small smile, his eyes lingering on my dress again. “Seriously, though. You might want to throw on some leggings or something. That slit’s a little high.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but real. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
As he stands and heads for the door, I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of him leaving again.
“You’re tougher, smarter and more beautiful than you think, Willow. Don’t forget that.”
The sound of his truck pulling out of the driveway snaps me back to reality. I glance at my phone, and my heart sinks when I see a new message from Jasmine:
I’m outside!
Jasmine is only picking me up because the guys have a meeting with Cast’s father this morning and they allowed, her to. Fucking controlling assholes.
I groan, staring at the dress like it’s a prison sentence, and like the perfect prom dress all in one. With Dad’s words echoing in my mind, I square my shoulders and grab my denim jacket, backpack, and phone. If I’m going to face the Chessmen in this dress—and the day ahead—I’ll need all the strength I can muster.
I step outside, shielding my eyes from the morning sun, and spot Jasmine’s car idling at the curb. She waves excitedly, her face a mix of amusement and curiosity. As I walk toward her, the slit in the dress feels more pronounced with each step, the cool breeze brushing against my legs. I tug at the hem of my denim jacket, hoping it’ll somehow make the outfit feel less… revealing. It doesn’t.
Jasmine lowers her sunglasses, her new pink zebra stripes vibrant against her platinum blonde buzz cut. I slide into the passenger seat, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Wow. Look at you,” she teases. “You’re, like, a country music video come to life.”
“Don’t start,” I groan, buckling my seatbelt.
She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What? It’s your outfit ain’t it?”
“No, it’s Vincent’s.” I mutter, crossing my arms. “He’s determined to turn me into some kind of Barbie doll.”
Jasmine doesn’t know about my agreement with theChessmen; she thinks I got caught stealing and I am paying off the debt, by parading around in cute little outfits, nothing more than male horniness. I don’t know why I don’t want to tell her, but how do you tell your bestie, I sold the last four months of our senior year away. I mean would she understand, sure. Would she yell at me? Definitely.
Jasmine laughs as she pulls away from the curb, her tone light but her eyes flicking toward me with concern. “Well, if it helps, you look amazing. But... uh, have you checked your phone today?”
I frown, pulling it out of my jacket pocket. “Why?”
She hesitates, her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. “There are… rumors. About you. At school.”
My stomach twists as I open my messages, scrolling through notifications from social media. My name is plastered everywhere, accompanied by words like “gold-digger,” “harlot,” and worse. Heat rises to my cheeks, my grip tightening on the phone.
“What the hell?” I whisper, the words burning in my throat.
Jasmine sighs. “I don’t know who started it, but people are talking. You’ve been caught with all the Chessmen, even Damien, and he has a girlfriend..”
I slam my phone down, my heart pounding. “Why does everyone care so much? I didn’t do anything. It’s just lunch, that’s all anyone knows.”
“Yeah, but you went from persona non grata to literally being around them every second of every day. People love to talk about anything Chessmen related. And you, walking around in that dress, hanging out with them —” she glances at me, her voice softening—“you’re like the Chessmen’s queen.”
“Fuck that. I am more of a pawn, or the board or like not even relevant.”
“I doubt that, baby boo. You’re totally on the board at least.”
I stare out the window, biting the inside of my cheek. My dad’s words echo in my head: You’re tougher, smarter, and more beautiful than you think. I square my shoulders, forcing the anger and embarrassment down. “Let them talk,” I say finally. “I’m not doing anything and I am not going to hide like I am, but I am definitely making the guys clear my name.”
Jasmine smiles, her admiration clear. “Oh please, tell me I can be there when you curse them out.”
“I am not going to curse them out. I am going to have a casual, stern conversation.” I smile tightly, but Jasmine just snorts.
“Yeah, because all those boys need is a firm hand, and your even firmer ass.” Jasmine winks, and I groan, leaning my head against the cool window.
By the time we pull into the school parking lot, my nerves are back in full force. The Chessmen are impossible to miss, lounging near Vincent’s sleek black car like they own the place. Which, knowing them, they probably do. At least I know for a fact Vncent and Cast do.
Jasmine gives me a reassuring nod as I step out of the car, the slit in my dress catching the light and drawing a few stares. I tug at my jacket again, determined to make it to the guys without tripping over my own feet.
As I approach, Vincent is the first to notice me, his grin widening. “Well, well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look who decided to listen to instructions.”
“We should give her a cookie for it.” Damien snorts.
I glare at him, “Bite me, Sterling, and what are these rumors about me being a whore?”
Damien’s eyes flare like an inferno, but Cast quickly stands between us laughing. “I will gladly bite you, pawn, but first give us a little spin.”
“Cast, the rumors.” I pout.
“Spin first.” He commands.
I stop a few feet away, forcing a smile as I do a slow twirl. “What do you think?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Do I meet your ridiculous standards?”
Damien rolls his eyes, and growls. “It’s fine. I’ll handle the rumors.”
Vincent steps closer, his eyes raking over me in a way that makes my skin heat. “More than fine,” he murmurs, his voice low and flirty. “You’re stunning, Princess. Absolutely stunning.”
I roll my eyes, pretending his words don’t affect me as I will my cheeks not to blush. “Don’t get used to it, and thank you.”
Cast, however, is the one who catches me off guard. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “You look good enough to eat, carino . I can’t wait to ruin that dress.”
My face flushes, and I take a quick step back, glaring at him. “You’re disgusting,” I hiss, though my voice lacks conviction.
He smirks, unbothered, and leans casually against the car. “Only for you, sweetheart.”
Ignoring the heat spreading across my cheeks, I turn on my heel and march toward the school, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Behind me, I hear Vincent chuckle and Cast mutter something under his breath, but I don’t look back.
Jasmine catches up to me just inside the doors, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “What did he say?”
“Nothing worth repeating,” I mutter, my face still warm.
She giggles, sliding her arm over my shoulders. “Ooo that nasty, huh?”