Tears came to Emily’s eyes. “Ben,” she whispered, pressing her legs together. “I’m not a dyke.”
“Then say you like it,” Ben growled. His hand squeezed her bare thigh.
Ben was getting closer and closer to her underwear. When they were dating, they hadn’t even gotten this far. Emily bit her lip so hard, she was certain she drew blood. She was about to give in and tell him she liked it, just so he’d stop, but fury slashed through her. Let Ben think what he wanted. Let him tell the whole school. No way could he do this to her.
She pressed her body up against the wall for leverage. Then she brought up her knee and angled it toward Ben’s crotch. Hard.
“Uff!” Ben stepped away, holding his groin. A tiny, babyish wail came out of his mouth. “What did you…?” he gasped.
Emily straightened her dress. “Stay away from me.” Anger coursed through her like a drug. “I swear to God.”
Ben staggered backward and hit the far wall. His knees buckled, and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor. “Bad, bad move.”
“Whatever,” Emily said, then turned to walk away. She took long, fast, confident strides. She wouldn’t let him see how upset she was. That she was on the verge of tears.
“Hey.” Someone gently grabbed Emily’s arm. When Emily’s eyes focused, she realized it was Maya.
“I just saw the whole thing,” Maya whispered, nudging her chin to where Ben was still crouched. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Emily said quickly. But her voice caught. She tried to hold it together, but she couldn’t. She leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands. If she just counted to ten, she could get through this. One…two…three…
Maya touched Emily’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Em.”
“Don’t be,” Emily managed, her face still covered. Eight…nine…ten. She took her hands away and straightened up. “I’m fine.”
She paused, looking at Maya’s ivory geisha-style dress. She looked so much prettier than all of the blond, French-twisted, Chanel clones she’d seen on her way in. She ran her hands along the sides of her own dress, wondering if Maya was checking her out too. “I…I should probably get back to my date,” Emily stammered.
Maya took a tiny step to the side. Only Emily couldn’t move an inch.
“I have a secret for you before you go,” Maya said.
Emily came closer and Maya leaned into Emily’s ear. Her lips didn’t touch it, but they were so close. Tingles shot up Emily’s back, and she heard herself breathe in sharply. It wasn’t right to respond this way, but she just…couldn’t…help it.
Go to the one you really love.
“I’ll wait for you,” Maya whispered, her voice a little sad and a lot sexy. “However long it takes.”
25
THE SURREAL LIFE, STARRING HANNA MARIN
Saturday night, Hanna rode the elevator up to her suite at the Philadelphia Four Seasons, feeling taut, loose, and glowing. She’d just had a lemongrass body wrap, an 80-minute massage, and a Kissed by the Sun tanning treatment, all in a row. The pampering had made her feel slightly less stressed. That, and being away from Rosewood…and A.
Hopefully she was away from A.
She unlocked the door to their two-bedroom suite and strode inside. Her father was sitting on the couch in the front room. “Hey.” He stood up. “How was it?”
“Wonderful.” Hanna beamed at him, overcome with both happiness and sadness at once. She wanted to tell him how grateful she felt that they were back together—and yet, she knew her future with him hung in the balance—A’s balance. Hopefully, blurting out stuff to Naomi and Riley yesterday would keep her safe, but what if it didn’t? Maybe she should just tell him the truth about Jenna, before A got to him first.
She pressed her lips together and looked at the carpet bashfully. “Well, I have to shower really fast if we’re going to make it to Le Bec-Fin.”
“Just a sec.” Her dad stood up. “I have another surprise for you.”
On instinct, Hanna looked at her dad’s hands, hoping he was holding a gift for her. Maybe it was something to make up for all those lame birthday cards. But the only thing in his hand was his cell phone.
Then came a knock on the door to the adjoining suite. “Tom? Is she here?”
Hanna froze, feeling the blood drain from her head. She knew that voice.
“Kate and Isabel are here,” her father whispered excitedly. “They’re coming to Le Bec-Fin with us, and then we’re all going to see Mamma Mia!. Didn’t you say Thursday that you wanted to see that?”
“Wait!” Hanna blocked him before he got to the door. “You invited them?”
“Yes.” Her father looked at her crazily. “Who else would have?”
A, Hanna thought. It seemed like A’s style. “But I thought it was going to just be you and me.”
“I never said that.”
Hanna frowned. Yes, he had. Hadn’t he?
“Tom?” Kate’s voice called. Hanna was relieved that Kate called her dad Tom, and not Daddy, but she tightened her grip on her dad’s wrist.
Her father hesitated at the door, his eyes flickering back and forth awkwardly. “But, I mean, Hanna, they’re already here. I thought this would be nice.”
“Why…?” Why would you think that? Hanna wanted to ask. Kate makes me feel like shit and you ignore me when she’s here. This is why I haven’t spoken to you in years!
But there was so much confusion and disappointment on her father’s face. He’d probably been planning this for days. Hanna stared at the tassels on the Oriental rug. Her throat felt clogged, as if she’d just swallowed something enormous.
“I guess you should let them in, then,” she mumbled.
When her father opened the door, Isabel cried out with glee, as if they’d been separated by whole galaxies, not just states. She was still overly thin and too tan, and Hanna’s eyes went immediately to the rock on her left hand. It was a three-carat Tiffany Legacy ring—Hanna knew the catalogue backward and forward.
And Kate. She was more beautiful than ever. Her diagonal-striped slip dress had to be a size two, and her straight chestnut hair was even longer than a few years ago. She gracefully placed her Louis Vuitton purse on the hotel room’s little dining table. Hanna seethed. Kate probably never tripped in her new Jimmy Choos or slid on the hardwood floors after the cleaning lady waxed them.
Kate’s face looked pinched, like she was really pissed to be here. When she noticed Hanna, however, her puckered look softened. She looked Hanna up and down—from her structured Chloé jacket to her strappy sling-backs—and then she smiled.
“Hey, Hanna,” Kate said, her surprise obvious. “Wow.” She put her hand on Hanna’s shoulder but luckily didn’t hug her. If she had, she’d have found out how badly Hanna was trembling.
“Everything looks so good,” Kate breathed, staring at her menu.
“Indeed,” Mr. Marin echoed. He flagged down the waiter and ordered a bottle of pinot grigio. Then he gazed warmly at Kate, Isabel, and Hanna. “I’m glad we can all be here. Together.”
“It’s really lovely to see you again, Hanna,” Isabel cooed.
“Yeah,” Kate echoed. “It totally is.”
Hanna stared down at her dainty silverware. It was surreal to see them again. And not the cool, Zac-Posen-kaleidoscopic-dress sort of surreal, but nightmarish surreal, like when that Russian guy in the book Hanna had to read for English last year woke up and found he’d turned into a roach.
“Darling, what are you going to get?” Isabel asked her with her hand over Hanna’s father’s. She still couldn’t believe her father was into Isabel. She was so…plain. And way too tan. Cute if you were a model, fourteen years old, or from Brazil—not if you were a middle-aged woman from Maryland.
“Hmm,” Mr. Marin said. “What’s pintade? Is it fish?”
Hanna flipped through the menu’s pages. She had no idea what she could eat. Everything was either fried or in cream sauce.
“Kate, will you translate?” Isabel leaned in Hanna’s direction. “Kate’s fluent.”
Of course she is, Hanna thought.
“We spent last summer in Paris,” Isabel explained, looking at Hanna. Hanna ducked behind the wine list. They went to Paris? Her father, too? “Hanna, do you study languages?” Isabel asked.
“Um.” Hanna shrugged. “I took a year of Spanish.”
Isabel pursed her lips. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
“English?”
“Mine too!” Kate exclaimed.
“Kate got her school’s top English prize last year,” Isabel bragged, looking very proud.
“Mom,” Kate whined. She looked at Hanna and mouthed, Sorry.
Hanna still couldn’t believe how Kate’s pissed-off look had melted when she’d seen Hanna. Hanna had made that look before. Like the time in ninth grade when her English teacher volunteered her to show around Carlos, the Chilean exchange student. Hanna stormed resentfully to the front office to greet him, certain that Carlos was going to be a dork and bring down her cool quotient. When she got to the office and saw a tall, wavy-haired, green-eyed boy who looked like he’d been playing beach volleyball since birth, she stood up a little straighter and discreetly checked her breath. Kate probably thought they shared some sort of cute-girl bond.
“Do you do any extracurriculars?” Isabel asked her. “Sports?”
Hanna shrugged. “Not really.” She’d forgotten that Isabel was one of those mothers: All she talked about were Kate’s honors classes, languages, awards, extracurriculars, and so on. It was yet another thing Hanna couldn’t compete with.
“Don’t be so modest.” Her father poked Hanna in the shoulder. “You have plenty of extracurriculars.”
Hanna looked at her dad blankly. What, like stealing?
“The burn clinic?” he prompted. “And your mom said you joined a support group?”
Hanna’s mouth fell open. In a moment of weakness, she’d told her mom about going to V Club, sort of to say, See? I actually have morals. She couldn’t believe her mom had told her dad. “I…” she stuttered. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Mr. Marin pointed his fork at her.
“Dad,” Hanna hissed.
The others looked at her expectantly. Isabel’s bulgy eyes widened. Kate had the tiniest whisper of a smirk on her face, but her eyes looked sympathetic. Hanna eyed the bread basket. Screw it, she thought, and shoved a whole roll into her mouth.
“It’s an abstinence club, okay?” she blurted out, her mouth full of dough and poppy seeds. Then she stood up. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”
“Hanna!” Her father pushed his chair back and stood up halfway, but Hanna kept walking. Why had she bought into his little I’d love a weekend with you story? It was just like the last time, when her father called Hanna a piggy. And to think what she’d risked to be here—she’d told those bitches she puked three times a day! That wasn’t even true anymore!
