I IGNORE my father the best I can for the rest of the week, which is…awful. It’s almost Christmas and my birthday, and I should be happy. Eager to spend time with my family and friends—well, Maggie—and creating new memories.
And while I am happy with certain aspects of my life, my relationship with my father is not one of them.
He cancelled the trip to Aruba with Mother’s encouragement. Instead of taking the next two weeks off as he originally planned, he’s back at the office, which means I don’t have to sneak out of the house when I want to leave, which is a relief. And I’m not just seeing Crew either. I also got together with Maggie on Tuesday. We met for lunch and she told me how she ended up having a miscarriage, tears streaking down her face when she told me.
My heart broke for her, but deep down, I wonder if she was relieved. At least she’s not forever tied to the man who manipulated and molested her.
If I’m not sleeping, or spending time with Mom or Maggie, I’m with Crew. Which means I’m with him almost every single day, and it’s wonderful. Perfect. We already used up all the film that came with my instant camera. I have a ton of photos of Crew with lipstick prints all over his chest and back. I took a couple of selfies with him of me kissing his cheek, my lips vibrant with color. He’s sent me a Chanel lipstick every day this week. My mother has enjoyed the gifts too, bringing them to me each time with anticipation dancing in her eyes. Pretty sure she thinks he’s worth keeping.
I feel the same way.
I’m with him now, and we’re shopping in midtown, strolling past the luxury designer shops, me having to stop and look in every single window, marveling at the gorgeous Christmas displays. Some of the stores are even worthy enough for me to walk into, though I really don’t want anything.
“Let’s go in here.” Crew steers me into the Cartier store. “I need to buy my mother something.”
“In Cartier?” I stop in the entryway and tilt my head back, taking in the cream-colored interior. The hushed quality of the room. The giant, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
I’ve been in high-end shops before. Plenty of times, mostly thanks to my mother. But there are shops that are on a whole other level, and Cartier is one of them.
I feel like I’m in a sacred place. Like church.
“Yeah. This is one of her favorite stores.” He’s strolling slowly by the glass cases, the glittering jewelry beckoning. A salesperson says hello to him, using his last name and I’m impressed.
He walks into a store on Fifth Avenue and they automatically know who he is. What’s that like?
I help him pick out a necklace for her and we wait as they gift wrap it for him, me dawdling over the glass cases full of diamond rings. They glitter and sparkle, mostly simple bands paved in diamonds, though there are some larger rings included in the display.
Crew slides in next to me, his shoulder pressed into mine. “You like?”
“They’re beautiful,” I admit, wondering if I’m throwing him into a panic. What eighteen- -year-old boy wants the girl he’s spending all of his time with looking at diamonds?
“Not as pretty as you.” He nudges me. “You haven’t seen yourself naked in my bed only wearing lipstick. Now that’s beautiful.”
My cheeks warm and I duck my head. He took a photo of me the last time we were alone in his room. The sheet draped over my lower half, my hair covering my breasts, the bright pink lipstick coating my lips as I posed for the camera without smiling. Completely natural. He convinced me I was the prettiest he’d ever seen me in that moment, and I believed him, trusting him enough to let him take that photo, nerves jangling deep inside me the entire time.
He studied the photo once it developed, an undecipherable look on his face. When he finally lifted his head, his gaze finding mine, I saw so much—emotion in his eyes.
It was almost scary.
Then he attacked me and I sort of forgot all about it.
Until right now.
“Want to go to Chanel?” he asks, once the salesperson hands him his shopping bag.
“Do you want to go to Chanel?”
“I want to watch you walk around Chanel if it makes you happy,” he says.
“Are you my dream man?” I rest my hand against my chest and bat my eyelashes, making him laugh.
“Fine. I’m partial to their lipsticks. And the girl who wears them.” He kisses me and takes my hand, leading me out of Cartier.
We’re entering the store minutes later, the imposing security guards standing at the entrance watching us as we walk by them.
“Do you own a Chanel bag?” Crew asks me.
“I have a black wallet on a chain I got for my sixteenth birthday. My mother owns a few and I want them, but she won’t give them to me.” I laugh. “I don’t blame her.”
“I’m surprised your father hasn’t bought you a bag,” he murmurs as we stop in front of the counter, staring at the various bags on display. “If you could have one, what color would it be?”
“Pink,” I say without hesitation. “A mini flap, I think. I don’t want it to be too large.”
“You’ve been thinking about this.” Crew sounds amused, and I smile at him.
“Every girl at prep school dreams of a Chanel bag at one point or another, don’t you think?” I make a face. “I sound like a rich snot.”
“You are one,” he teases, his expression turning serious when the salesperson approaches us.
“May I help you?” She’s a tall, reed thin blonde with deep red lips and a French accent.
“Do you have any pink bags? Specifically, the mini flap?” Crew asks, like he shops for Chanel bags every day.
“Let me check.” She turns her back to us as she slides open the compartment that holds an exorbitant amount of Chanel bags.
I wander around the store while Crew waits, stopping at the various displays. The shoes and the jewelry and clothing. It’s all so beautiful, like little pieces of art. But if I’m going to invest my money, it’s going to be on items that are actual art, not designer clothing or accessories.
I can’t lie though. I do love the occasional designer item.
When I come back to stand beside Crew, I see that there are three pink bags sitting in front of him on the counter, the saleswoman hovering nearby.
“Which one do you like best?” he asks me.
The mini flap size is a deeper pink than I would like so that’s out. There’s a medium Boy bag that’s gorgeous, but it’s more of a hot pink, and I’m not a fan of the heavy chain strap.
There’s a medium flap bag in lambskin with silver hardware that is the most gorgeous pale pink. I pick it up, admiring it before I unlock it and peek inside.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe, setting the bag onto the counter.
“It’s a gorgeous color,” the saleswoman agrees.
“A little big though.” I press my lips together, glancing over at Crew.
He’s watching me carefully. “You like it?”
“Oh, I do. But it’s so expensive. I can’t imagine owning something like this. Not yet anyway.” I smile at the saleswoman who watches me with faint disdain. She takes the bag and slides it back toward her like I’m going to try and steal it. “Thank you for your help though.”
“Of course,” the woman says snippily.
“Let’s get out of here,” Crew mutters, taking my hand. He pulls me out of the store, the two of us laughing once we’ve escaped, though I can see faint scowl lines at the corners of his eyes.
“That bitch was rude to you.”
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand, dismissing her. “She just thinks we’re dumb teenagers wasting her time.”
“Maybe I wasn’t wasting her time. Did she see what I was carrying?” He holds up the Cartier bag. “I can buy out that entire store.”
“Oh stop, Mr. ‘I’m a Very Important Man’ Lancaster.” I push myself into him, sliding my arm around his back. “You sound like such a snob.”
“I am a snob.” He smiles down at me, some of the tension easing from his features. “I don’t like how she treated you.”
“It didn’t bother me.”
“It bothered me.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing me to do the same, and he cups the side of my face, kissing me gently. “Why are you so damn nice all the time?”
“Why are you so scowly all the time?” I lift up, pressing my mouth to his, and people dodge past us on the sidewalk, most of them grumbling under their breath. “Come on. Let’s go get a snack.”
“I’d rather snack on you,” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes. “We can’t go back to your place again.”
“Why not? No one is ever there.” He grabs my hand and we resume walking. “I can call Peter. He’d be here in ten.”
I’m hesitant, not because I don’t want to get him alone, but more that I’m worried that’s all he wants from me.
Sex.
His actions don’t say that, but I also need the words.
Desperately.
Crew lets go of my hand so he can tap away on his phone. Sending a text to Peter, I’m sure. Completely oblivious to the war that’s currently raging inside my head.
The doubt pops up every other day or so, when I wonder what exactly Crew is doing with me, and how serious his intentions are. I should be playing the cool girl. The one who doesn’t have a care in the world, who knows how to keep it casual and never be too demanding when it comes to a boy.
But I’m not that girl, and Crew knows it.
By the time we’re in the back seat of the car and Crew is trying to kiss me, I push him away, earning yet another scowl for my efforts.
“What’s wrong?”
I chance a look in Peter’s direction before I return my gaze to Crew’s. “Is this all we’re going to be? Each other’s hook-up partner?”
“Is that all you want it to be?” he asks carefully.
I don’t want it all put on me. I need input from him. I need to know how he feels about me. I can’t make this decision on my own. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this, and I’m completely clueless on how to handle it.
“I—”
He cuts me off. “Because it’s not what I want. You really think I want you to be a casual hookup when I’m sending you Chanel lipsticks every day?”
“I don’t know how any of this works.” I feel helpless. Worse?
I feel dumb.
“I’ll tell you how it works. At least with me.” He slips his arm around my shoulders, tucking me close to his side, so he can whisper in my ear. “There’s this girl, you see. She’s sweet. Beautiful. I don’t know how she tolerates an ass like me, but she seems to like me all right. And I really, really like her.”
Warmth spreads through my veins and my heart swells.
“This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to spend all of my time with a girl, and it’s leaving me feeling…consumed. I can’t stop thinking about her. All I want to do is make her smile. Make her laugh. Make her like me,” he continues.
I angle my head toward his and whisper, “I do like you.”
Crew kisses me, his lips clinging to mine. “I like you too. And I definitely don’t want you to be a casual hookup.”
Another kiss. This one deeper, with tongue.
“I want you to be mine. And no one else’s,” he whispers against my lips.
I reach for the neck of his sweater, tugging out the chain with my ring on it. I slip my finger into the ring and gently pull, staring up at him. “No one else has this.”
“I know. It means you belong to me. I already told you that.”
“I just feel…unsure sometimes,” I admit.
He gathers me closer, until I’m practically in his lap. I never did put on my seatbelt. “I never want you to feel unsure again.”
“You don’t?” I tilt my head back when he presses his mouth to my throat.
“No,” he murmurs against my skin. “You belong to me.”
He licks the length of my neck, making me shiver.
“And don’t ever forget it.”
