“Daddy is pissed,” Georgina says, twirling me around. “You’re in trouble.”
I try to roll my eyes, but my lids are so low, I’m not sure they’re getting anywhere.
“Is he always so protective?”
I nod. But I feel a scraping in my stomach—like some key rib has come unhinged. I used to love that about Rainer. That used to be the thing that drew us together. That he wanted to make me feel safe and looked out for me in this strange, new world.
I don’t see Britney anywhere. I’m aware of the fact that maybe they’ve left together, but I can’t quite grasp what that would mean. I’m too high—on champagne and music and the whirling of Georgina on the dance floor. Forget it. Forget him. Forget it all.
I’m not sure how I find myself on the floor of the lobby bathroom. It seems to happen quickly, but it could be hours later. I’m in a stall, my knees drawn up to my chest. I’ve thrown up whatever meager thing we ate—a cupcake? I don’t even know.
I take my phone out of my clutch with shaking fingers. It bounces out of my grasp and slides across the stall floor. I grope to take it back. I stare at the screen. I won’t call Rainer. I know I should; I know he would come. He might not even give me grief about it. Definitely not until tomorrow, anyway. He’d put me in bed and tell me everything is going to be okay. But I’m not ready to face him. And Alexis is sick. Instead I scroll toJand let my phone dial the one number I know it definitely shouldn’t.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Where are you?” he says. Not even hello.
“The lobby of the Roosevelt,” I say. “In the bathroom.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’m on my way. Stay put.”
He shows up quickly. He knocks softly on the stall where I’m crouched down, doing a haphazard job of hiding myself. “Paige?” he says. “It’s me.”
I come out with my head in my hands. I hear him exhale before I even look at him. “Christ,” he says. “What happened?”
I peel my eyes off the floor. “We got in a fight,” I say. And then: “Please just take me home.”
Jordan looks at the door. I can tell he’s nervous. I hadn’t thought about how we’d escape once he came. “We have to get through the lobby to go out the back,” he says. “They’re camped out there, and if they see…” I watch him take in my crumpled dress, deflated hair, what’s probably smeared makeup.… I’m not only drunk—I look drunk. In our world, that’s worse.
“Put this on.” He takes off his hoodie and drapes it over me. I thread my arms through and zip it to the top.
Jordan pops the hood up. “Come on,” he says.
He takes my hand and pulls me out the door. I see a few people look at us when we come out, but I keep my head low. I don’t think they recognize us. Jordan tucks his arm around me, and we make it outside. When we get there, I exhale against the side door. I press my back up against it. The whole world is spinning. I feel like I’m going to faint or throw up. Both, maybe. Jordan pivots and puts his hands on my waist but lower—just on my hips. I feel his fingers dig in. He pins me back, so he’s balancing me. “Breathe,” he says into my ear. “The car is coming.”
I steady my hands on his shoulders. I feel the muscles under there—hard and knotted, like wound rope. My hands start to move over them.
“Paige…,” Jordan says. His tone is shaky, faulty, but carries a warning.
The car comes around, and Jordan helps me inside. It’s his pickup. “Crouch down,” he tells me before he closes the door. “Just till we’re in the clear.”
As we pull out of the main entrance, I hear the paparazzi scream Jordan’s name. I see the flashes—far off and distant. I stay down, kneeling in the space between the seat and the glove compartment. My head on my knees.
“You can get up now,” Jordan says after a few blocks.
I hoist myself onto the seat. I see his knuckles, white on the steering wheel. I feel humiliated. I stuff my hands in the pockets of Jordan’s sweatshirt and lean my head against the window. The glass is cold. I press my cheek flat up to it. My breath makes hazy patterns as we drive.
We don’t talk as Jordan winds his truck through the back roads to my house. The house I share with Rainer.
The only car parked in the driveway is the rental. Rainer’s Range Rover is missing. I half expected him to come back here and wait for me, but I guess he went to his mom’s.
Jordan unclips his seat belt and turns to me. “Okay,” he says.
I take my hands out of the pockets. “Thanks for bringing me back,” I say.
“Of course.” I see him look at the parked car, dark house.
“He’s not home,” I say.
