I promptly forget about the bag as I finish getting ready, swiping several layers of dark mascara on my eyes, contouring my cheeks with blush and bronzer. I’m not generally a fan of heavy makeup, but I figure this occasion calls for it. Francesca assures me the place will be crawling with press. Route 66 has been promoting the album like crazy in anticipation of the digital release tomorrow.
Makeup done, I examine myself in the full length mirror.
Not too shabby for a girl who grew up in a double-wide,I think, grinning at my reflection.
The blue dress is a knockout — a grown-up, designer version of one of my flowy sundresses. The sheer panels drape artistically from my shoulders in a faux-cape style, but the bodice is fitted and far more daring than anything I’m accustomed to wearing.
My hair is pulled back in a high-fashion ponytail that cascades halfway down my back, with two dark tendrils framing my face to add some definition. My irises look pure gold against the shimmery eyeshadow I’ve applied, especially in combination with the dark black mascara and eyeliner. My cheeks and brows are accentuated by the bronzer and blush; my mouth looks fuller than ever thanks to a generous coating of lipstick — bright red, of course, in honor of Gran’s signature shade.
The effect is a sharper, sleeker version of myself I’ve never seen before.
I look older. I look sexier.
I don’t necessarily look like myself.
“Damn,” a warm male voice says from behind me. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
I turn to find Ryder standing in the doorway. My breath catches. I’ve never seen him in a suit before and, I must say, it’s a great look on him. His jaw, clean-shaven for the first time in over a month, is so defined it could cut glass. His eyes are simmering with heat as they slide up and down my body, taking in the sight of me in return.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, walking over to him and throwing my arms around his neck. “No tie?”
“Not really a tie guy, baby.” He lowers his head and brushes his mouth against mine. Soft. Sweet. “You just about ready?”
“Just have to pull on my heels and I’m good to go. Are the boys dressed?”
My question goes unanswered. Ryder’s body feels suddenly tense against mine. When I look up into his face, I’m stunned to see his expression is dark with anger and suspicion. It’s such a swift change from the warm look he was just wearing, I can hardly fathom what inspired it.
“Ryder, what’s wrong?”
“Have you been going through my stuff?”
“What?” I flinch back at the anger suffusing his tone. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes drop to my face. One blue, one brown, both unreadable. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been charming, almost boyish. Now… I swear, it’s like looking at a total stranger.
“I’m talking about my bag, Felicity.” He pushes past me and grabs the toiletry bag off the vanity, where I left it earlier. “This. What were you doing with this?”
“I found it under the sink,” I say, feeling my hackles start to rise. I can’t believe he’s yelling at me over some random toiletry bag. We’ve never even had a fight before. It makes no sense at all.
Swallowing hard, I try to stay calm. He’s probably stressed about the launch party. It’s been a crazy few weeks — nonstop interviews, meetings with Francesca leading up to the album release… Plus, Aiden and Linc dragged him out at least three times. They’ve all been looking a bit worse for wear, lately — bloodshot and bleary, stumbling around here like zombies. If I didn’t know better…
No.
I shut down that thought before it can fully enter my brain. This is nothing like what happened with my parents. I’d know if I were living with junkies again. I’d recognize the signs — I know them by heart.
You mean like hiding things?a small voice at the back of my mind submits for consideration.Like being secretive? Staying out all night? Reacting with an inappropriate amount of rage over little things that shouldn’t matter?
I gulp in air, suddenly feeling like I’m ten feet beneath the surface of a vast ocean of fear. My tone is surprisingly level when I speak, for all that my mind is racing in circles.
“I thought you must’ve dropped it, so I moved it onto the vanity. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? Jesus, Felicity, just because we live together doesn’t mean everything is fair game.” His hand curls around the bag so tight, his knuckles go white. His face is a mask of cold fury. Unrecognizable.
“What’s in the bag, Ryder?” I ask, taking a step toward him.
His jaw clenches. “Nothing.”
“Open it.”