Kimber notices, I know she does, and throws me this look that promises she and I are not done—not even if Parrish is home yet. It’s annoying, and quite regressive, but I’ll deal with her later. For now, I’m focused on making this shopping trip with Tess an enjoyable one.
“Let’s speed things up or you’ll be late,” Tess says, frantically sipping her flat white as her phone buzzes and she glances at the screen. “Looks like we’re getting a delivery. It better be my new typewriter.” She says this absently, but the boys and I all go completely still and exchange knowing looks.
Fuck.
That move is going to haunt me for some time which, I know, is sort of Justin’s point.
What I’m worried about is what the next phase of this nightmare will be. Is Maxine going to suffer like Parrish did? What am I going to have to do to get her back? My first tasks were alienating but menial; the next set of tasks were gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.
Now that exams are over, we’re ready to move into the next phase of this bullshit, and I have a bad feeling that it’s going to make everything that came before it look like cakewalk.
“Dakota, can you get the door?” Tess asks as Kimber tries to get her attention, something about a friend’s sleepover, I think. She’s being told a hard no which doesn’t surprise me one bit.
“Sure.” I stand up and walk over to the door in my mismatched Chucks, checking out the window to confirm it’s the delivery guy and not a crazy reporter. It is, thank god. The paparazzi situation has reached nightmare proportions. I open the door and my smile slips slightly as the delivery guy checks the names on the packages and looks up at me.
“Dakota Prior?” he asks, and that’s when I just know I’m going to hate whatever is inside of them.
“That’s … me,” I reply, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. Justin will be watching me right now, no doubts about that. I sign the delivery dude’s iPad and then accept a mountain of fancy boxes not unlike the other mountain of fancy boxes I just received for the launch party.
I consider making a run for my room in an attempt to hide the packages from Tess, but it’s too late. She’s spotted me.
“What’s all that?” she asks with a frown as I turn toward her, and she steps forward to take some of the packages from me. She leads the way into the kitchen and sets them on the counter, picking one of the boxes up and staring at the name on the shipping label. “Dakota Prior?”
Her voice is wicked cold as she flicks a look my way.
“No clue,” I respond honestly as Kimber and all three guys make their way over to see what’s going on.
“These are from Justin?” Maxx confirms dryly, and I nod, my chest tight, my heart thumping.
I take the largest box first and lift the lid off, setting it aside. There’s a small pink envelope nestled in the tissue paper that makes my pulse race as I pick it up and slide the tiny card out of it.
I’ve taken the liberty of sending everything you need for prom tonight. I know you’ve been busy with your studies and haven’t had the time to go shopping. But don’t worry: Daddy’s got your back. I’ve volunteered as a chaperone as well. See you tonight!
P.S. I have the girls coming over to do your hair and makeup again. Be ready for them by six.
My blood goes cold as I pass the card over to Tess’ outstretched hand.
“This son of a bitch,” she snarls, surprising every person in that kitchen at the same time. Her eyes lift up to mine. “Dakota, you don’t have to wear any of these things.” I just keep staring at her, once again feeling that awful, sickening sinking feeling take over me. Don’t I, though? I want to ask, wishing I could tell her the whole truth about Justin, tell her that she’s right, that even if he’s a hundred times more likable than she is, he’s fucking crazy. I asked him not to order me food at a restaurant, and that darkness lingering behind his casual affability rose to the surface like cream. “I can take you out, wherever you want to go. We have all day to shop and get ready for this.” She sets the card down as I unfold the pink tissue paper in the box, revealing a glittering golden gown.
The theme for Whitehall’s prom is—unsurprisingly—all that glitters is gold. According to the boys, last year’s was platinum party. The year before that? Diamonds in the rough. I mean, come on. Do these people care about anything other than money?
When I asked Chas why he allowed such an awful theme, his response was a caustic, “I’m the student body president, not the head of prom committee, naekkeo,” mumbled around a cigarette. But he was hot as hell when he said it, so there’s that.
