“Okay,” Skyla agrees then skips out of the room past my sister, who gives me an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry,” Quinn says.
“For what?” I shrug, pissed off at myself.
“I should’ve called. You’ve never…” She nods toward the bathroom door. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“I should’ve warned you. It’s my fault.”
“So, Celeste, huh?” She raises one brow.
“Aunt Quinn, c’mon!” Skyla yells from downstairs.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” Quinn threatens before she shuts my door behind her.
“You can come out now,” I say once I hear the front door slam shut. Celeste steps out of the bathroom, the sheet still wrapped around her like an oversized towel, and I can’t help but pull her into my arms.
Her head falls against my chest. “I can’t believe that just happened.” She groans.
“It’s okay,” I say, not wanting her to feel bad. None of this is her fault. “It happens.”
“How many times has it happened?” She looks up at me with a scowl on her face.
“Well, never, but I’m sure other kids have walked in on their parents in the bedroom.”
Celeste’s eyes bug out, and she backs out of my arms. “But I’m not her parent,” she states matter-of-factly. I’m not sure what’s going on with her. While I may know Celeste on a very sexual level, there’s still a lot I have to learn. I’ve never seen this look in her eyes before.
“Celeste, what’s going on?” I step closer to her, but she backs up again. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, but she’s full of shit. Her face is full of emotion I’ve never seen on her before. “I need to get going.” She snatches her overnight bag from the floor and goes straight for the bathroom. I follow her inside, but she doesn’t pay me any mind as she drops the sheet to the ground and then quickly dresses. She brushes her hair and then teeth, not saying a word the entire time. I don’t know what to say. She’s obviously upset, but it feels like it’s about more than Skyla walking in on us.
“Talk to me,” I repeat.
She gathers up her stuff, shoves it all into her bag, throws the sheet back onto the bed, thrusts her bag over her shoulder, then heads out of my room and down the stairs.
“Celeste,” I call after her, trailing behind.
“Nothing is wrong,” she insists. “I just have a lot going on. I need to get my team and line ready for GFE next week. I’m usually working hundred hour weeks at this point, but I’ve been…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I know what she was about to say. She’s been distracted by me. She didn’t get to where she is by luck or accident. She’s busted her ass.
She comes to a stop in front of the door and turns around to face me. “There’s a lot riding on this show,” she says. “If it’s a success, it can singlehandedly revitalize the fashion industry.”
“That’s the new one, right? Like Fashion Week but different…Skyla mentioned how excited she is for it. She always watches them live or on YouTube.”
Celeste smiles at that. “Yeah, it’s a new show.” She leans in and gives me a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“All right.” I’m not sure what else to say. Whatever has her freaking out, she’s obviously not ready to talk about.
She opens the door, and we’re met with a smiling Skyla and a frowning Quinn.
“Where are you going?” Quinn asks. “Skyla brought you donuts.”
Skyla spots the bag in Celeste’s hands and her smile dims. “You’re not leaving, are you?” she whispers.
“Celeste has to get to work,” I explain. “Fashion Week,” I add, using her excuse.
“But…it’s Sunday.” Skyla pouts. “Please just stay for donuts.”
“Sky…” I start to say, but Celeste nods once. “Okay.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Yeah, she’s right. It’s Sunday…and there’s donuts.”
“Sky, go inside and pour us all a glass of milk, please.” She and Quinn head inside, and I shut the door behind them. “Tell me what happened in there. Did I do something?”
Celeste sighs. “It’s not you…” She seems to be warring with herself, and since I don’t know why, I have no clue what to say. While I wait for her to explain, my eyes scan down her body. She’s dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans with an off-the-shoulder maroon shirt. She’s standing tall in a pair of black heels. The ones with the red soles that everyone knows cost thousands of dollars. Hell, they probably cost more than the mortgage payment on this house. I suppress a deprecating laugh at the thought. Even dressed ‘casual,’ the woman screams power and wealth. I glance down at myself, in a pair of basketball shorts and a white T-shirt, my tattoos covering my arms and even portions of my legs. In the bedroom, when the clothes and lights are off, it feels so right, but as soon as we’re dressed and in the daylight, I’m reminded of how different we are.