Jonah ends the call and throws his phone on the bed. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
His phone pings, and we both stare at it. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. We need to see what everyone else has already seen. When he makes no move to check his phone, I sit on his bed and grab it. “Sit down, Jonah.”
He does, and I hand him the phone. He clicks on Nat’s message—she’s listed as Boss Lady in his phone—and then he hits play, and the video starts.
We’re a smidge past tipsy but not full-on drunk. I’m singing my heart out—my humiliation is tempered by the memory of how freeing it felt—but that’s not what has my heart jumping around. Jonah. He’s staring at me as if I’m…everything. In the video, he misses his cue. At the time, I thought he was nervous. But he was staring at me. Was that the alcohol, or does he really see me like that? Like I’m worthy—oh God.
How many people have seen this video? Seen my stepbrother staring at me like that. No wonder my father had a fit about it.
Sure, it’s a good, solid performance, even tipsy. But there’s no reason for this video to go viral. I check the number of views. It’s staggering.
Jonah groans. “This is my fault.”
Typical. “It was my idea. You’re not responsible for everything that goes wrong?—”
He yanks his phone out of my hands. “It was shared by someone on my friend’s list.”
Why is he always blaming himself? “Unless you’re friends with Taylor Swift, I don’t think it matters.”
He shakes his head as he clicks on several things and then holds up his phone.
It’s a profile picture of Roz. Seriously? “That’s not their real profile, Jonah. People are always pretending to be celebrities. I can’t believe you fell for that.” I grab the phone out of his hand to prove it’s not them, but the number of followers stops me. “Wait. You’re friends with Roz?”
“Yeah.” He stares at his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“TheRoz?” I scroll through their posts. Videos from their Vegas shows. First peaks at new outfits. Their style is amazing. And I heard they make their own clothes, though I’m not sure if that’s true.
“Are you mad?” Jonah asks in a quiet voice.
“No. Of course not. But I don’t get it. How—why?”
“Why are we friends?” He scrunches his nose in confusion. “They asked, and I figured it’d be rude to say no.”
“Stop talking.” I grab his arm. “Explain this. You’ve met Roz?”
“You’re giving me mixed signals, Vivian.” A smile plays around his lips. “You’re the one who told me to be clear about what I want.” He raises his brows.
Jonah ordering me to my knees. His voice no longer hesitant.
I close my eyes against the onslaught, but that doesn’t really help.
“Vivian?”
I glance up, and our eyes meet. Everything disappears. My irritation with him. My need to get to Cali. My frustration with the van. It’s all vanished by the burning desire in his eyes.
His phone pings again, and he turns away. I take a deep breath and imagine my dad watching the video. That takes care of the problem like nothing else. “You’ve met Roz?”
“The Bishop Fields’ grand opening was a charity gala event. Roz was our headliner.” He shrugs. “They’re really nice.”
It’s a lot to take in. Jonah knowing Roz. Roz sharing our video. And now the world knows…what? We were clearly drinking. Maybe we can use that excuse.
“I’m so sorry, Vivian.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m not mad. Just surprised.” The video’s out there. We can’t take it back—and then reality hits like a punch in the gut. “What if Mom and George see it? We aren’t acting particularly brotherly.”
“The world’s going to shit.” He throws himself on his bed and covers his face. Then he takes a deep breath. “We need to focus on one crisis at a time. Nothing we can do about the video. How are we getting you to San Diego on time?”
George calls before we can do any planning. They’re waiting for us in the lobby. Once we’re in the family-owned diner—according to multiple signs—I’m surprised to find I’m hungry. It’s been a long day.
