22. Liv
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LIV
I t takes three weeks for him to say it, as he helps me unpack more clothes and some of my schoolbooks.
“You could just move in, you know.”
In all honesty, I have to commend his restraint, because I’m fairly certain the words have been on the tip of his tongue for days.
“I mean,” he adds casually, “I have the room. You can have a walk-in closet. Half of the office. Or your own office, for the sake of both of our productivity.”
“No, Cal, I can’t.” I roll my eyes. “We’ve been together for a month and known each other for two. That would be insanity. We’re not insane.”
“Aren’t we?” He shoots me a grin that highlights those cheekbones. “We’re not the definition of sane either.”
“True. But I’m not going to move in with you. What if you grow tired of me? Where would I live?”
He exhales loudly. “Does it seem to you like I’d get tired, darling?”
It doesn’t; but that doesn’t mean he won’t. The thing with Callum is, he’s a little obsessive around the edges. That’s why we ended up here. I don’t have a high enough opinion of myself to think I’ll be his sole, and last obsession. He has me now. Someday, he’ll likely move onto the next shiny thing. And there’s nothing wrong with that. People get together, have fun and break up all the time. I just have to make sure I come out on the other side with a life. And a place to live.
I’m trying to work out how to say all of that without making it sound like I don’t trust him—I do. I trust that he likes me and is enjoying my company. I just don’t think it’ll be forever. And who would think they’d spend forever with their boyfriend after one month? Especially given how we started.
“Look, Cal?—”
“I’ll drop it for now,” he announces, surprising me.
I cock an eyebrow. “Really?”
That’s not like him at all to give up so easily.
“Yep. You’re about to say no, along with a lot of other words that won’t please me. Let’s skip that. You’re not ready. Consider the subject dropped.”
Well, that was easy. He mustn’t have been as keen on the idea as I thought. Or at least, he understands my point. I smile and keep packing, firmly intent on not analyzing the degree of disappointment I feel because he gave up so easily.
So much for not being insane.
My phone buzzes, and I check my messages, frowning, at first, because there’s a new text from an unknown number.
They pop up every other day, increasingly threatening, all of them with the same message: I’m a bad daughter, I’ll get what’s coming to me, I should share my wealth after all the years he spent supporting me, blah, blah, blah.
The thing with my father is, he never lifted a finger to help in any way shape or form. I had to learn to do my laundry, the shopping—using the food stamps the government sent every month, ’cause he sure as fuck wasn’t giving me any money. I’ve had part time jobs since I was seven, babysitting or cleaning for the neighbors, just to pay for basic necessities. I packed my own lunch, signed my own school forms. The only thing he provided me with was a roof, and even that wasn’t always safe, with his dodgy friends around.
My salvation was having Tricks and Jinx in the building. Their mom let me attend her ballet school for free, invited me to eat all of the homemade dinners I ever had in my childhood, and never said a word when I’d sneak into the house late at night to escape the apartment.
He ignored me my entire life, treating me like an inconvenience, because the government was going to make him pay for me any time he had a job if he didn’t keep me around. Now, it’s my turn to pretend he doesn’t exist.
I block that number, too, and open the actual text that caused the notification: a message from Annalise.
“I have to pop into town to grab the stuff I ordered for Halloween. Do you need anything?” I check with Callum.
“Only your cute ass in a slutty costume tonight,” he replies. “Do you need another drawer?”
I really do. But I have two, and three is far too much for someone who’s definitely not living here. “No, thank you. Who said my costume was slutty?”
“Me. Because you’re a slut.”
It occurs to me that I should be at least pretending to be offended, rather than giggle as he draws me into his arms.
He’s right though: I am an eager slut for him. Whatever game he has in mind, I’m happy to play along.
Over the last weeks, he’s fucked me in every position I’ve ever heard of and some I haven’t, covering every surface in his place with body fluids. Good thing he has an excellent, discreet cleaning staff.
After the way we started, I expected that he’d invite half of his friends to jump me daily but he seems quite happy to keep me to himself, too. And I can’t say I mind, though I also liked having an audience.
Tonight’s the first time we have plans with his friend since the steakhouse, when he introduced me to them. We’re supposed to attend the Halloween parade thrown by the crown every year, followed by a party here.
Or rather, an orgy here.
Every floor will be open except for the penthouse.
I can’t deny I’ve been looking forward to tonight for days—even more so after Annalise managed to find the perfect outfit for me. It was hard to explain to her what I needed: something I could wear in public at the parade, where we’ll no doubt be photographed by the paparazzi always eager to write about Callum’s life—which right now, extends to me—and also appropriate for after.
I fumbled my way through an explanation, saying we’d go to a nightclub afterwards. But she got the memo. She had to order the dress from abroad, but promised she’d move heaven and earth to get it to me in time.
We picked a secondary choice she kept in store just in case stars weren’t aligning, but according to this text, I’m getting my dress.
Two hours later, I gasp as I try it on.
It’s long, tight and sexy—something that Morticia Addams could wear—but the dress is made of various layers, many of which are removable.
The first combination, that I’m wearing at the parade, has long, sheer bell sleeves, but underneath, there’s a boned top, and that top can also be unhooked into two parts, leaving only an underbust corset.
The skirt’s similar: there’s a leather overskirt, and a mesh one underneath. So, I can look like a sexy, classy witch, or an emo porn star, depending on the mood.
“I also found a headpiece for you,” Annalise says, handing me the most adorable little fascinator, with spiderwebs instead of normal mesh and a tiny pointy hat in the middle.
“Oh, my god, it’s adorable .”
“On the house,” she tells me with a smile. “You’re going to put my future kids through college, anyway.”
It’s true: I haven’t gone anywhere else since finding the little shop that I now know belongs to her. I haven’t had any reason to. She has most of what I need and when she doesn’t, she knows how to get a hold of it. She’s also less expensive than the big luxury stores out there, carrying only the most obvious brands. Annalise works with little, but high-quality designers.
“Are you going to the parade?” I ask.
Annalise seems to know everything going on in town—and what to wear for it—so I’m assuming her social calendar is pretty packed outside of the shop.
“Sort of. My family watches it from the castle,” she replies without fuss.
“The castle?” I blink.
“Yes.” She smiles. “I don’t go often, but Halloween is my favorite holiday to spend there. The cook makes the most delicious little cupcakes with pumpkin icing.”
Watching my expression, the shop owner chuckles. “I’m the queen’s niece. Not that it matters, as I’m technically disowned by my parents, but my aunt doesn’t care.”
“That sucks. Why were you disowned, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She shrugs. “I like simple things. Such as owning my shop. Making my own money. Not marrying some old guy on command for a title.”
I’ve spent enough time in her world to know that’s not unusual. “I’m so sorry.”
She snorts. “Don’t be. I do really well. Before I put my foot down, I was a stylist for the elder royals, and trust me, I much prefer the lanes. At least here, I get to play with wonderful dresses such as this one. I do have a wonderful lingerie set you might want to try with it, by the way.”
Her store doesn’t carry much lingerie—just a few iconic pieces—but she pulls it out of the back.
A cupless bra attached to what looks like a collar. Matching panties—or, rather, strings attached together.
I swallow.
She definitely gets the vibe of the royals, doesn’t she?
It turns out, I likely didn’t need to spend that much time trying to explain what I was after for Callum’s orgy, after all. I wonder if she has an invite. Probably.
“Does it come in red?”