Chapter 18
I burst from my room, strangely vindicated that the weather tearing at the yacht matches my mood. Anger clears my thoughts, leaving my mind blissfully blank and worry-free. There is no room for anything else except thumping flat rage.
My feet pound on the stairs as I charge through the yacht, sparing a quick glance at the main level, pausing long enough to note Viv’s absence. I ignore the twins and Trey, who are staring curiously at me from the island, and race up to the top floor.
I’m greeted by a full view of the stormy sky, shrouded and tumultuous, through the sliding doors that lead to the roof deck. It’s darker up here, and dimly lit. The hallway splits, and I turn right, jogging, hoping it leads to Viv’s room.
When I reach the room at the end of the hall, it’s clear Viv isn’t here.
The room is disheveled and messy—there are beautiful designer clothes everywhere.
Shoes are flung across the room. More than a few empty bottles are scattered on the floor.
This room—which is much larger than mine, complete with a full floor-to-ceiling window—somehow feels as close and tiny as a cave.
There’s a smell too, like something is mildewing in a corner.
This must be Piper’s room. Do the stews not clean in here? Why is this place such a mess?
The door to the private en suite bathroom is closed, and I can faintly make out the sound of the shower running over the howl of the storm. And maybe… Is that…crying?
I step back quickly.
The others made it clear that Piper has been struggling lately, but no one wants to be disturbed when they’re naked and sobbing.
She’s probably freaked out about the hurricane, even though she acted unperturbed earlier.
Besides, I definitely don’t want Piper to catch me snooping around her room.
I quickly turn and leave, going the opposite direction down the hall, finally reaching the other bedroom.
It’s my first time in Viv’s room, and now I understand why she was so proud of the fact she has the VIP suite: It’s exquisite.
It looks like a hotel penthouse, one that I could never afford.
The headboard is a mosaic of a thousand tiny mirrors that must normally reflect the gorgeous natural lighting from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
But right now, darkened by the storm, the mirrors make the headboard look like a giant spider, kaleidoscope eyes watching me enter.
There’s an ivory-colored leather couch nestled against the footboard of the bed, an ash wardrobe leaning against one wall, and mirrored end tables holding vases of fresh roses.
But it’s the bathroom, visible from the doorway, that stands out the most. Its French doors are flung open to show how huge it is—almost as large as my room downstairs—and it’s all black cabinets, white tiles, and slick marble.
There’s a deep clawfoot tub next to a standing shower with glass walls and a waterfall showerhead.
A large circular mirror stretches over the sunken sink—I’m starting to think Viv might be a narcissist what with all the reflective surfaces everywhere.
My eyes snag on a mermaid, carved into the side of the tub, and Sage’s voice floats into my memory.
“What do your mermaids look like? Are you going sexy sirens or creepy creatures?” she asked during one of our brainstorming sessions on her boat, sun beating down as we sipped beers and jotted notes.
“A combination of both, I think,” I had replied, leaning on the hot leather of the pontoon seat, twirling a pen.
I was nearly ready to swim; I was tipsy and hot, eager for the cool kiss of Lake Michigan.
“They’re going to look like deep-sea creatures.
Black scaled tails, white eyes, bioluminescent algae in their hair.
But they’ll be hot, of course. It’s a romantasy, after all.
Like swimming Goth elves. It’s perfect, Sage!
” I exclaimed, getting more and more excited.
“Did you know that the deepest part of the sea is named after Hades? The hadal zone; it’s in those horrifying oceanic trenches.
So of course that’s where Hender and the other merpeople will live.
They’re the guardians of the underworld, so they live at the very bottom of the sea. ”
“That’s a great idea,” Sage replied, nodding at me and swigging from her drink. “After all, we don’t know what’s at the bottom of the ocean. It very well could be a portal to the afterlife.”
Later, the trade reviewers all complimented Sage’s “unique” take on mermaids, salivating over the “fresh depiction of a Greek myth.”
The memory feeds my anger, until my body is brimming with it.
I did so well the past two months—I worked hard to blot out Sage from my mind, taking a thick marker and scribbling over the memories, good and bad.
But being on Empress, being forced to talk about Sage and think about Sage and apparently post the truth about Sage was too much.
It was bringing up stuff I didn’t want to think about. Stuff I buried for a reason.
“Viv,” I call out, knowing she must be in here somewhere.
Her dark head pops up from the belly of the clawfoot tub. “Char? What are you doing up here?”
I walk to the doorway of the bathroom, ignoring the stupid mermaid.
Viv is sprawled out in the dry, empty tub, which is so deep she’s not visible unless she’s sitting up.
She’s got a glass of red wine in her hand and she’s wearing a silk robe, tanned legs stretched out on the bottom of the tub.
Viv sinks back, her head coming to rest on a white inflatable pillow suctioned to the inside of the bathtub.
“I guess you saw it?” she asks, swirling her wine and sighing loudly, like I’m interrupting something important. She sips from her glass.
Viv’s phone is at the bottom of the tub, near her left knee. I want to grab it and smash it to pieces. The tub is so large I could easily climb in there with her and we wouldn’t even touch.
My voice is sandpaper. “Why? Why would you sabotage me like that? I thought you wanted to help.”
Viv sits up again. A drop of red wine clings to the bottom of her lip, quivering indignantly. Viv’s pink tongue snakes out and licks the drop of wine away like a frog catching a fly. “Oh my God, Char, I would never sabotage you!”
“What the hell would you call this then?” I ask, shaking my phone at her. “The Wi-Fi is out; you won’t be able to delete it now.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
Viv rolls her eyes. “Relax, take a deep breath. You should be thanking me. How many new followers have you gotten since that post went live? A thousand? Three thousand? Being associated with us brings attention.”
“You know damn well I didn’t get attention because of Empress.”
“Well, no, not just because of Empress,” Viv concedes, sipping again from her glass and then leaning forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the tub. She stares at me with hooded eyes. “Because you were vulnerable. Because you were honest.”
“Well, you sure weren’t! You recorded me without my permission. And you fucking posted it online!” My chest heaves. “Viv, what if they come after me? Sage’s publisher or family? Try to sue me for libel or slander or something?”
“They won’t,” she insists. “Because it’s not either of those things. Right?”
“Vivienne,” I warn.
“Charlie,” she mocks, using my preferred name for once. “I know you’re mad, but you have to realize that I did you a favor. Stop whining.” This is the real Viv. The breathy friendly voice is gone.
I step closer, my shoulders tight and loaded. “I didn’t want to share that with the world! It was private.”
“I did you a favor,” she repeats. “You want to know why your account is stagnant? Because you’re not polarizing enough.
I studied your page last night. You’re too middle of the road.
People have strong feelings about influencers and strong feelings about Empress.
This is how you capitalize on engagement. ”
A little scream of frustration breaks free from my lips. “There are going to be consequences! Who knows what might happen now that the truth is out there?”
Viv picks up her phone from the bottom of the tub and shakes it at me. “Did you look at the comments, Char? Yeah, there are some losers who are upset that their new favorite author turned out to be a fraud, but most of them are on your side.”
“Not from what I saw.”
“Then you didn’t look hard enough,” Viv spits.
“God, you were so pathetic in that video. Sad and betrayed. And a class act. Humble.” She smiles at me, knowing and sly.
“It was perfect. Refusing to point the finger at Sage after what she did to you—that’s the part that really swayed people over to your side, you know.
You saying it would look ‘petty’ to come forward after her death.
Not wanting to stir up drama out of respect to her family.
People think that was a real classy move. After all, Sage can’t defend herself.”
“I’m going to get slammed,” I mutter.
“In a good way,” Viv corrects. “You’ll have reporters in your DMs; you’ll have readers asking you to write your own book.
I gave you an opportunity. And seriously, you should have told the truth a while ago.
But this is even better because you get to look genuine and unassuming.
Hell, if you want, I’ll update the caption to make it clear that you didn’t know you were being recorded.
” She strokes her chin, lowering her voice as if talking to herself.
“That might work even better. Make you look even more likable since you weren’t performing for the camera.”
I gawk at her. “This is psychotic.”
“No,” Viv snaps, slurping from her glass, and then glaring at me.
“This is social media. Everyone is selling something to someone, and when you signed your contract, you agreed to sell yourself. Oh, don’t look at me like that.
It’s not so bad. You’re going to get tons of opportunities from this. I promise.”