Her father let out a small cry of despair and rushed down the hall as though his daughter had just died and he couldn’t bear to look at the corpse. But of course Nanny Mitra stayed put. She had absolutely no qualms about hanging around the crime scene.
“And who is this boyfriend you borrowed these from?” Her mother inched closer. Close enough to catch the scent of shame and despair surrounding her daughter.
“Mine.” Javen pushed his way into her room and stood before their mom. “I mean, clearly I’m not her boyfriend, because—gross! But the clothes belong to me.”
Their mother waved a hand in dismissal. “Javen, go to your room. You have nothing to do with this,” she said, but Javen stayed put.
“You’re wrong. I have everything to do with this. My sister raided my closet without my permission! I’d like to see her punished for that.” He crossed his arms in defiance and arranged his face into the kind of angry expression he was unused to wearing.
It was a good attempt, and Aster loved him more in that moment than she probably ever had, but she wouldn’t let him take the fall. Not like their mother was buying it. With a nod to Nanny Mitra, Javen was hauled out of the room by his arm, shouting in protest the whole way.
Too ashamed to face her mother, Aster stared down at her feet and studied her pedicure, sickened by the sight of the dark-red polish she’d chosen with the sole hope of gaining Ryan’s approval. If she confided the truth that she didn’t exactly have a boyfriend, but that for a few false moments she’d allowed herself to believe that she had, only to discover she’d been deflowered and discarded without a second glance—well, it was everything her mother had ever warned her about come true, in the most awful, most dramatic, most public way possible.
“There’s no boyfriend,” she whispered, eyes burning with tears.
“Then where did you get these clothes if there is no boyfriend to borrow them from?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She shook her head, wondering how it was possible for the night that had started so perfectly to end in such a nightmare.
“On the contrary.” Her mother’s voice rang as sharp as the verdict she would surely deliver. “You snuck out of the house, only to arrive home early in the morning wearing the clothes of a boy who isn’t your boyfriend. I say it matters a great deal.”
Aster forced herself to keep standing, keep breathing, but did nothing to stop the flow of tears that streamed down her face. She’d shamed herself, shamed her family. The only thing left was to wait for whatever punishment her mother deemed appropriate for the offense.
“All of which begs the question: If you’re wearing his clothes, what happened to yours?”
Aster thought about the dress and undergarments she’d left in the trash. Stuff her mother had never seen and luckily never would—her one smart move in a long lis
t of regrets.
“Does it matter?” She lifted her chin, her vision blurred by tears, as her mother stood stiff-backed before her. “Do you really give a shit about the current state of my clothes?”
Her mother’s gaze hardened, as Aster awaited final judgment. Among her many crimes, she’d used foul language and spent the night with a boy who wasn’t her boyfriend—a boy she would never marry—the ruling would undoubtedly be harsh.
“You’re grounded until further notice.”
Aster exhaled. She’d honestly thought she might be packed off to a brutal reform school for wayward girls, or excommunicated from the family. In the scheme of things, grounded wasn’t so bad.
“You will not leave this house for any reason whatsoever outside of an emergency.”
She nodded. That would certainly keep her out of the contest, but Ira Redman’s competition no longer made the list of things she cared about. Besides, she didn’t want to leave the house, possibly ever again.
“Okay.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she headed for the shower, only to hear her mom call out from behind.
“You’ve disrespected yourself and brought great shame on this family. This is not something your father will recover from anytime soon.”
Aster stopped, knowing she shouldn’t say it, but she’d already fallen so far she figured she had nothing to lose. “And what about you?” She turned to face her mother. “How soon will you recover?”
She held her mother’s gaze, the seconds seeming to multiply before her mother shook her regal head, lifted a finger toward the bathroom, and said, “Go clean yourself up, Aster. Your father and I have had a very long trip. We are tired and in need of rest.”
Without another word, she turned on her Ferragamo heels and closed the door behind her. Leaving Aster to stare after them, knowing she’d disappointed her family in a way she might never recover from.
FORTY-FOUR
THE SWEET ESCAPE
Layla wandered around the hotel meeting room. With its beige-and-white-patterned carpet, beige movable walls, and the lineup of beige chairs along the stage where Madison and her fellow actors would sit, the room elevated the neutral look to a ridiculous level. Still, the blandness of her surroundings did nothing to dampen her excitement at having fudged her way into her first press conference. She just hoped no one questioned her credentials. It would be embarrassing to get kicked out in front of a crowd she admired.
She moved among the other journalists, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed when no one took much notice of her. Well, at least there was a coffee setup in the corner. She never turned down a chance at caffeine, no matter how bad the coffee might be.