20. PRESENT DAY – February
London, England
WILLOW HALE
I glance quickly at my cellphone, regretting popping up the internet notification—or even setting notifications for entertainment headlines. Keeping up with fandoms isn’t as fun when my name appears and sends a jolt of anxiety coursing through me.
Only one day has passed since Valentine’s, and already, people are speculating that Garrison and I have broken up.
A random poll on a fan site has accumulated thousands of entries, and an overwhelming 84% of fans agree that my relationship has failed. And I’m not really surprised a credible magazine linked this fan site as a newsworthy source.
I think back, and I know I used to be the one clicking into polls about the Calloway sisters. Eagerly feeding this machine and rumor mill. Some are fun and harmless. Others cut too deep. And until I was on the receiving end, I never really understood the gravity of those cuts.
Jokes on all of them, though. Garrison and I are 100% still a couple.
But I’m not winning any Best Girlfriend awards this morning. “Maybe the time zones mixed up everything? Are you sure they delivered?” I ask Garrison on the phone while I frantically search the messy common area.
Wine glasses and empty bottles of Sauvignon Blanc make sticky rings on the coffee table, and I toss pillows off a purple thrift store couch, then peek behind the small TV.
I already received an un-rate-able, out-of-this-world box of chocolates for Valentine’s from Daisy—(half the tin was espresso flavored)—so I don’t know why Garrison’s gift is missing.
“Nah,” he says. “I’m pretty sure they were already sent to your apartment last night—your time. I got an email confirmation, and someone signed off on the delivery. So they have to be there.”
I woke up in a cold sweat at 7 a.m. to his text message.
Garrison: did u like the roses? You never said anything about em
My heart sunk to my knees, and I texted back: what roses?
And then he called me.
Now I’m sweeping the tiny kitchen for a dozen pink roses and wondering if I should’ve taken Lo and Ryke’s handout.
The offer came early this month.
My brothers flew out to London ASAP—sooner than the visit they planned and booked—after Garrison made an off-handed comment about my flat being unsafe.
I don’t blame him for the loose lips. He lives with Lo, and he said it just slipped out.
When my famous brothers arrived, the internet went wild.
SPOTTED! Loren Hale 3 3 3
I smile so much that tears brim.
Garrison might not know it, but his love is keeping me afloat here. Every time I think of him and talk to him.
“Sorry,” Salvatore says, seeing my reaction and realizing the flowers were mine. “I didn’t know.” He sounds sincere.
I nod, accepting the apology. Maybe easier than most would, but I’m not here to cause more friction. I just want to survive this semester.
Salvatore sits up, ruffling his hair. “Can I buy you more?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, let me. It’s the least I can do.” He glances at the sleeping girl, and then he slips out of bed. He’s buck-naked.
Oh my God.
I spin on my heels. My back to the naked man.
I saw…I saw his dick.
Salvatore grabs boxer-briefs off the ground.
“Really, Salvatore, I don’t need more flowers—”
“It’s not a problem, Willow.” Before he comes closer, I shuffle out of his room. Putting more distance between us, and for the third time, I tell him firmly that I’m okay and do not need more roses. And I quickly dial Garrison and find solace in my bedroom, sinking on the edge of the mattress.
My face is burning in embarrassment.
I’m dead.
I’ve died. I put a hand to my forehead.
“So what happened?” Garrison asks.
“Uh…I think…” I inhale. “So I kind of saw Salvatore naked and—”
“ What? ” His voice is hot and confused. “How?”
I rehash everything and thank him for the card, but Garrison is understandably stuck on the Salvatore part.
“He’s a fucking douchebag, trying to buy you flowers when he knows you have a boyfriend. I don’t even care if they’re replacement flowers—”
“I know,” I cut him off in agreement.
Garrison is quiet.
I swallow my mortification. “Garrison?”
“As long as you know that his intentions are fucked…”
“I do.” I exhale a deep breath.
He pauses, then asks, “I have the better-looking dick, right?” His serious tone makes me smile.
“Definitely, always.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I lower my phone at the sound of another incoming call. “My dad is calling.”
“Right now? It’s two a.m. here.”
“Sometimes he calls late. I think he’s lonely and has trouble sleeping.”
Garrison sighs, concerned. “You gonna answer?”
“Not right now.” I let the call ring out. My dad has still been on my case about an internship. Especially as my second year is coming to an end and the summer is in sight.
I’m afraid unless I follow the path he wants, he’ll stop helping me with tuition. He hasn’t made that threat yet, but it feels like this underlying truth shoved beneath the rug. He has power over me.
Power that I can’t seem to get back.