Kiss the Sky (19 page)

People believe I have some sort of
magic
hold over others. That I can cause crowds to part without
asking. All I have to do is stand at the edge of a mass and they’ll slowly,
effortlessly make a path for me. I can calm the most restless soul if I choose
to, and it’s not because I’m gifted with some inane supernatural ability.

My power is in my confidence.

It’s that simple.
  

Their belief that it’s something more—that it’s something
greater—is what makes the effect so strong. They need me to be their sturdy unbending
fortress.

So here I am.

“Let me watch the commercial,” I say.
And then we can decide whether Scott deserves a heel to the fucking
face.

I pick up Rose’s shoes while Lily retrieves the remote. Rose
reaches out for them, her nose scrunching at the hardwood that’s most likely
clean. But to Rose—it’s not clean enough.

There’s such malice in her features. I envision her impaling
him in the eye. As much as I hate Scott—I don’t want her to blind him. So I
retract my arm, keeping the heels in a firm hand. “I changed my mind.”

She gapes. “Give those back, Richard!” She doesn’t want to
walk barefoot around the townhouse. Fine. I lift her easily in my arms,
cradling her body, and she inhales sharply. But instead of arguing with me, she
holds onto my bicep. My eyes fall to her breasts that rise with her heavy
breath, and I internally smile.

I have the girl.

In my arms. Dizzy at my touch. I could have walked into
something so much worse.

I carry her to the couch and set her down long-ways. She
tucks her legs to the side, her dress rising to her thighs, despite her efforts
to keep the hem to her knees. When I should be focused on the television, I
ache to see
all
of her again. The
curve of her waist, her erect pink nipples, her bare ass and her mouth wide and
full of my cock.

She meets my gaze for a second, and we don’t have to say a
single word. She knows what’s on my mind. She can see the longing in my eyes,
even if everyone else can’t. She glances at my belt, and my lips rise as I take
a seat next to her.

I sit so close that I can practically hear her heart
pounding out of her chest. I lean over to grab the remote from Lily, and as I
do so, my mouth nears Rose’s ear. And I whisper, “I’m going to tie you up
again.” I smile at Lily. “Thank you.”

Her sister goes back to Lo, who’s on a chair, and she
lounges against his body.

Rose is stiff, but it’s not out of fear. Her thighs press tightly
together, and I rest my arm across her lap, my hand on the bareness of her leg.
As I switch on the television, she scoots closer and leans her head on my
shoulder, trying to relax, but I know she’s imagining my belt, her wrists, our
bed.

I want to make her so wet that she begs for me—that my name
is the only one on her mind, the only thing she can possibly utter. I want to
hear her scream in wild, crazed ecstasy. I want her to see how perfect we are
for each other—mind, body, soul. No words this time. Just actions.

“You have to rewind,” Rose tells me. She tries to reach out
for the remote, but I pull it away from her grasp.

She glares. “
Vous
devez
toujours
avoir
le control.”
You
always have to be in control.

I try to contain a larger grin. “
Vous
aimez
quand
j’ai
le control.”
You
love when I’m in control.

Her lips tighten, but she watches me carefully the way I do
her. “
C’est
encore à
prouver
.”
That has yet to be proven.

I rub the smoothness of her silky leg. “Ne
t’inquites
pas.
Bientot
ca
sera un
fait
.”
Don’t worry. I’ll make it a fact soon.

“Hey,”
Ryke
cuts in. “No fucking
French.”

“Yeah,” Lo says, “Lily wants to hear you guys talk dirty in
English.” He adds a smile to his girlfriend.

She turns beet-red at his admission. “You weren’t supposed
to tell them that,” she whispers, still loud enough for us to hear. But she
doesn’t seem to know that. “It was a secret.”

“Aw, love, it was too good to keep.” He kisses her on the
lips, and he eyes the camera for a second while his hand slips up her muscle
shirt, no bra underneath. Not that she’s particularly top-heavy. Rose has the
biggest breasts of her sisters and a fuller ass, wider hips. I could stare at
her all day and have no problem getting hard.

I rewind to the beginning of the promo spot and press play.
Everyone goes quiet as the commercial begins with all of us standing in front
of a white backdrop. We shot the footage at a studio in Philly not long ago.

We were told to just act like ourselves while the cameras
were rolling, and after thirty minutes of being ignored by makeup artists and
gaffers, we all naturally fell into our roles. No acting required. It was
real—even from me.

The commercial starts
by panning down the row of seven, Scott on the end. The footage cuts to
close-ups, starting from the furthest person on the right.

On screen, Daisy does
a handstand, her white T-shirt falling down to reveal her bare stomach and
green lacy bra. She sticks out her tongue with a playful smile. A caption
appears right over her breasts.

Daredevil
.

And then
Ryke
pushes her legs from behind, and she falls over with a
laugh. On his chest, the caption scrolls the word:
Jackass
.

So they’re labeling us.

The thought is silenced as the promo moves quickly.
Next in line are Lo and Lily. He has her
tangled in his arms, and his mouth meshes against hers as they kiss hungrily,
passionately, a desire so intense that it’s almost hard to watch. It seems too
intimate and too personal.

At the same time, the
words
Sex Addict
and
Alcoholic
float across their bodies.

And then here comes
me, Rose, and Scott. Rose looks mildly pissed off, her eyes ablaze—which is
normal. But she’s turned towards me, our bodies pulled together by something
magnetically strong, and as I lean in to whisper in her ear, her face ignites.

I can’t even remember what I said. I could have easily
disagreed with one of her favorite feminists or I could have told her that her
hair was pretty.

In the video, she
shoves my arm. Twice. Waiting for me to get angry like her. Wanting to provoke
me.

I just grin.

The word
Smartass
quickly hits my body onscreen.

On the couch, right here, I hold in a laugh that no one will
appreciate. But I find this so fucking amusing. And what are they going to call
Scott—a womanizer? No, that’s far too kind. Maybe something like—Scumbag
Motherfucking Producer (see also: Liar).

Beside her, in the
commercial, Scott’s eyes fall to her breasts.

I didn’t notice that before, and any sort of amusement I
felt suddenly flits away. How could I have missed that? I also didn’t notice
Rose…

She glances at Scott,
ever so briefly. The attention is enough for him to tilt his head and sigh.

Please, this is a load of—

And then his caption
appears.
Heartthrob
.

I choke on a laugh. That’s five levels of ridiculous. So
he’s the white knight knocking on her tower. The hero. And I’m what the one who
locked her there. It’s wrong. But it’s not necessarily backwards—I’m not the
hero.

I’m the king to Rose’s queen.

And then the camera
begins to slowly zoom in on Rose while both Scott and I stare down at her,
painting the love triangle he so desperately wanted.

Her caption pops up in
big bold letters on her body.

Virgin
.

I frown. Why would this upset her? Since we were fourteen,
she’s never been ashamed of being a virgin. She’s never wanted other women to
feel as though they
have
to lose it
in their twenties—that holding onto your virginity post-college makes you
unwanted. She’s been proud of the fact that she’s waited. Being ashamed of this
now makes no sense to me. Unless she’s more pissed by being labeled something
at all.

That seems right.

The promo ends with
the title logo for Princesses of Philly, and below, a tagline scrolls:

Get inside the Calloway sisters this February
.

It was short. Only thirty-seconds. And it’s enough to
resurface hostile emotions. So I stand calmly before anyone starts screaming.

Lily shifts on Loren’s lap and says, “I wasn’t the only one
who thought the tagline was dirty, right?”

She’s completely serious. And it almost lightens the mood.

Lo nods to Rose. “Good thing you don’t give two shits about
being a twenty-three-year-old virgin.”

“That’s not the problem,” she says. I know her well. She
meets my gaze while I stand in front of the television that’s mounted above the
fireplace. “
He
stereotyped all of us
with
one
word, as though we’re
caricatures.” She’s afraid of being made to look like a fool. But people have
been stereotyping the Calloway girls on gossip blogs for months. This isn’t any
different.

“So?” I say to her.

Her mouth falls. She thought I’d be on her side. When she’s
wrong, I’m not afraid to disagree.

“People label you the moment they meet you,” I tell her.
“You’re an ice cold bitch. You’re a man-hating prude, a rich stuck-up brat.
They only tell a fraction of the truth, and if you let them hurt you, you let
them win.”

Everyone settles down. No one wants to feed their stereotype
either, and I think they’re beginning to understand that if they throw
tantrums, they’re each going to look as two-dimensional as Scott wants them to
be. They’d each fill the “rich kid snobbery” part well. That image would hurt
many of them.

Rose’s lips tighten at the “man-hating” line. That one did
sting her. I almost regret adding it in my explanation. “You’re a conceited
asshole,” she tells me.

“You love me.”

She shakes her head but her lips lift. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Being right.” She groans and leans back against the couch
in a huff. “I hate that we’re all so worked up over it and you say a few words,
and now everything makes sense again.”

Lo rises with Lily in his arms. “He has a gift.”

“Given by
me
,” I
say. I forget the cameras are even in the room until I hear the zoom of
Savannah’s Canon as she focuses on me while Brett’s camera is on Scott. The
blond-haired producer remains by the wall, glaring.

I came in and did exactly what he didn’t want.

I calmed every single fucking person.

I flicked over his rook, his bishop, and protected my queen.

I mouth,
Don’t fuck
with me.
These five people mean more to me than words can express. I’ve
never once felt like I had a
real
family.

But with them—I know I do.

[ 17 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

My parents have rented out the loft to a ritzy
hotel in New York City, complete with thirty sprawling flat screens, hors
d'oeuvres and two hundred of their closest friends. They call it a screening
party for the first episode.

I call it a nightmare.

Let’s be clear. This is a
reality
show. We’re not going to look like proper, upstanding
ladies of Philadelphia. I reiterated these sentiments to my mother and she
waved me off. “I know what a reality show is, Rose,” she said. “But this way,
we’ll be laughing with you and not at
you.”

I’m not sure that’s much better.

4 months and 25 days
until the wedding
– Mom

I slip my phone into my clutch and snatch a champagne glass
from the nearest server, who wears a signature-fitted Calloway Couture black
pleated dress. Another reason why a hundred plus people are here to watch our
antics: they have big checkbooks. Ones that may want to invest or buy some of
the clothes that Lily, Daisy, and I wear on the show.

I scroll through my phone, checking for the millionth time
that the CC website is still online. God forbid it crashes during the show. That
would be my luck.

The largest flat screen at the front of the room has a
countdown before the show begins. 10 minutes.
10 fucking minutes
.

Where the hell is Connor?

My nerves have spiked to new degrees, and I restrain myself
from pulling out my phone and checking the website again.

I scan the crowd quickly, and I spot Loren and Lily standing
off to the side, nearest a large potted plant. This is their first Calloway
hosted event since Lily’s sex addiction became public. Half the people in the
room stare at them with curious, admonishing gazes. The other half gossip in
whispers.

Lily and Loren look about as uncomfortable as they can be,
shifting and avoiding eye-contact. Lo has his arm around Lily’s shoulder,
touching her in comfort and rotating her body every time a camera edges too
close.

There are twelve cameramen here. Just to ensure that every
moment is captured for the show.

I’m about to walk over to Lily for moral support, but I
barely take a step before
Ryke
approaches the couple.
He hands Loren a can of Fizz Life and Lily his plate of Swedish meatballs.
Whatever
Ryke
says, it has Lo smiling for the first
time all night.
 

Two years ago, Lo and Lily would be standing miserable in a
corner. Addicted and enabling. A few months ago, no one could persuade my
sister to leave the house because of the gossip and ridicule.