Chapter 30

It’s Sunday afternoon, the silent auction looms ahead, and I feel compromised. “I can’t believe you made me leave the house like this.”

From the driver’s seat of his car, Levi casts me a brief look and frowns. “Why? You look beautiful.”

I let out a howl of laughter. My face is flushed, my hair is greasy from the heat, and I’m wearing the sweatpants I wore yesterday around the house. I suddenly feel warm—and it’s not just from all the sun. “Shut up, Levi.”

He gives me a mystified look. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Well, you’re delusional.”

“We’re going somewhere casual for dinner, so relax,” he says, and for some reason, this surprises me. He explains, “I figured we could only handle so many snooty rich people in one night.”

I laugh again. “Right. Well. I still could have just slipped the dress on before we got into the car.”

“What dress?”

It hits me like a freight train: absolute panic. “What dress? WHAT DRESS?! Levi, the dress I’m supposed to wear tonight, that dress!”

I look over at him, and he’s trying not to smile. As if he’s got all the secrets locked inside his mouth. I blush. (Shh, forget about that, Bee.) “I knew we forgot something,” he says.

I turn sharply toward the back seat. My dress, which I expressly put on the seat, is nowhere to be seen. “Levi. Why are you…happy? This is terrible!”

He breaks out into a full grin. “I’m happy because I told Astrid to hide the dress inside. I was distracting you with that long and very excellent hug. Remember?”

Oh, I remember. “Why?” I wail.

“Because I have something better.”

I’m silent, looking at him incredulously. Then I explode, “You bought me a dress?!”

“Good job, you caught on.”

I give him the Devil’s stare. “Excuse me, Levi, how dare you,” I say. “I protest—I’m going naked.”

Levi chokes on nothing but air. He hacks a couple of times, hand over his chest. His expression is one of complete surprise and…well, I immediately regret saying what I said.

“I take that back,” I hastily amend, because now he’s glancing over at me, probably imagining the scenario I so stupidly presented. I sincerely hope that, in the aforementioned imagined scenario, I am standing behind some strategically placed leaves. “I’m wearing my sweatpants, and you can’t stop me.”

“Don’t be difficult,” he says. His cheeks are pink with embarrassment.

“Too late.”

He laughs, making a smooth right turn into a parking lot that comes out of nowhere. It belongs to a fish and chips place, a tiny little shack nestled into the side of the mountains. There’s only outdoor seating, because in California (where it never rains and you’re across the freeway from the Pacific Ocean) you never want to sit inside.

“I found this place a couple of years ago when my dad moved up here,” Levi explains as we hurry out of the car and get into the line. After driving for two hours, I’m thankful for a minute to stretch my legs. “I’ve wanted to bring you here all summer.”

I don’t answer right away, just enjoying the view. He looks down at me, sudden panic crossing his face. “What?” I ask.

“Do you not like fish and chips?”

Oh, Levi. “Of course I love fish and chips! It’s seafood and French fries—who do you think I am?”

He puts a hand on his chest, as if in relief. “Oh good.”

Together we step up to the open ordering window. Levi orders our food, but when the lady asks for his name, he says, “You know what? Put it under Barbie.”

The woman in the window looks at me. I look at her. I challenge her to say something.

Levi walks away.

I smile my best fake smile, then hurry after him. “That’s it!” I yell—and in front of whoever happens to be watching, I run at his back, fling my arms around his neck, and lock my legs around his waist. “You’re not allowed to do that ever again!”

His laugh catches on the hills behind us. He hefts me up, walks a few feet, and plops me down on the last open table. “Then just tell me.”

When he turns around, I grab the front of his shirt and pull him in. “Maybe.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the closest you’ve come to a yes.”

“Don’t press your luck.” I move to my seat, and he sits across from me, and I feel my chest constricting. For a moment I wish he would ask me why I won’t tell him, but then I’m thankful he hasn’t because I have no answer for him.

Suddenly, I feel small and young and a little bit helpless, because I’m head-over-heels for him and I still don’t know how to just open my mouth and say my name.

“Trust me, I’m not pressing anything.” His smile catches the sun, and he places his hand over mine, gently and with certainty. “I’m just thankful we can cross Barbie off the list.”

We arrive at the silent auction with just enough spare time to get ready. The house is massive, tucked into the hills above the cliffs, complete with a roundabout driveway, pillars, and land to spare. The valet takes Levi’s car (a freaking valet!) after Levi grabs his suit and my new dress from the trunk. (He put in a bag so I can’t see it. Rude.)

The man who meets us at the front door is younger than I’d expected, maybe in his early thirties. He looks as brilliant as John Legend at an awards ceremony, with his hair buzzed close to his scalp and his elegant beige suit complimenting his dark skin. When he smiles, it’s warm and kind and immediately puts me at ease amidst all this grandeur.

“My friend,” he says, and brings Levi in for a tight hug. “Good to see you.”

I step inside behind Levi, who puts his arm around my shoulder in that reassuring way of his. “This is my girlfriend, Bee. Bee, this is Felix.”

I pass my makeup bag from one hand to the other so I can shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine. I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” Felix answers, and shuts the door behind us. The foyer is immense, with marble floors, columns, and two sets of stairs—one to the left and one to the right. Felix nods at the staircase to the right, and the woman who stands at the bottom. “Julia will show you to a guest room where you can get ready. I can give you the rest of the tour when you’re done.”

“Thanks, man,” Levi says, shaking Felix’s hand again. When our host disappears down the stairs into the rest of the house, we follow the maid up the stairs. She takes us down the grand hallway marked with huge paintings to one of the guest rooms.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Julia says, and closes the door.

It’s a huge room with wood floors, a massive king-size bed, and beautiful lace curtains. There’s a bathroom to our right, but all I can see of it is the giant porcelain tub. “Wow,” I muse. “Nicest guest room I’ve ever seen.”

Levi faces me. “You get the bathroom,” he prompts as he hands me the dress bag. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

I bite my lip, accepting his gift with hesitant hands. “Okaaay.”

He touches my shoulders and nudges me backward. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I’m freaking out.”

“You don’t look like you’re freaking out,” I say, but then I make eye contact. He is, indeed, freaking out. “Never mind. But you’re cute, you know.”

He growls. “Bee.”

I smile innocently. “Going, going, gone.”

And I shut myself into the silence of the marble bathroom.

For a second I just...stare. This bathroom is the size of my bedroom, and the bathtub is the size of my bed. It’s beautiful (like Michelangelo-painted-my-ceiling beautiful) and daunting. The same kind of daunting as opening this bag to see the dress inside. But I can’t let it stop me—not when so much of Levi’s happiness is riding on my shoulders.

I strip down to my bra and underwear first, taking my hair out of its messy bun, and remove any and all rubber bands from my wrists. Thing You Should Know About Me #48132: I’m the queen of procrastination when my nerves settle in. So I know I’m really and truly nervous when I’m staring at my mostly-naked self in the mirror for five minutes, deciding what to do. What if I hate the dress? What if it’s a beautiful cut but a terrible color? What if it doesn’t fit?

I brush these thoughts aside when I realize Levi is probably already dressed and ready to go. So I grab the bag and untie the bottom, and out spills the edge of the dress—no, it’s a gown—and another, smaller bag. Hyperventilating, I grab the smaller bag and open it up first.

Inside there’s a small piece of paper that reads, My mom says you’ll need these. I didn’t look. Swear on my life. Laughing—and realizing too late that he can probably hear my laugh and oh gosh what if he thinks I’m laughing at the dress—I pull out a strapless bra, a pair of silver heels, and a small box. I lay the bra on the counter and the shoes on the ground, and I open the box.

Inside is a dainty necklace, made of thin metal and pearls strung at intervals. I immediately think of Suzie, and how she must have slipped this in from her own collection. It looks like something she would wear.

I hardly know what to do. I’m numb and surprised and overwhelmed as I lay the necklace on the counter and switch out my old bra for the new one (my boobs do not like strapless bras, but I will survive). Then, heaving, I finally pull the dress all the way out of the bag.

It’s blue—that’s the first thing I notice. It’s blue like midnight, my favorite blue. It’s strapless, draped in tulle that wraps across the bodice. The bottom half is also tulle: one side dropping to the ground, the other side open to just above the knee to show off a little bit of leg, wrapped in such a way that will hug my hips.

But what gets me is the fabric from the knee down. It looks as though it has been dipped in glitter of all different sizes, and I’m suddenly thinking of the stars that drift above our heads, and every conversation we’ve ever had about the constellations.

Bee, don’t cry, you ninny. Thankful I haven’t put makeup on yet, I unzip the side, careful not to pinch the tulle, and pull it over my head. I can tell from the moment it is around my chest that it will fit like a glove, so I pull the zipper back up, put the shoes on, and wrap the necklace around my neck.

It isn’t until I look in the full-body mirror that I have to remind myself to breathe. Just the dress alone makes me look five years older. My hair sits in uncharacteristic waves around my face, and the necklace is dainty, and the shoes are sexy. (Am I allowed to use that word right now?) I stare and stare and stare, and it only makes me feel stranger and younger and older all at once, and my heart is beating so hard I can’t breathe.

Is this what Levi sees, when he looks at me? Is this what he wants to see? Is this the way he wants me to dress? I turn, my right leg showing through the slit up to my lower thigh. I look beautiful, but something about it feels strange.

A knock at the door startles me, a squeak strangling my throat as Levi says, “Bee?”

I heave a breath. “Coming, just a minute.”

“Okay.”

Oh, gosh, he sounds so cute, waiting for me to come out and show him, all nervous and cooped up and one-hundred percent handsome. I should want to get out there and grab his hand, to thank him and kiss his cheek. But all I can think is that this—the hair and the shoes and the strapless bra and the dress—this is all Bee.

This is not Bernice.

I close my eyes, but I still can’t breathe. I don’t know how to do Bernice. It’s like Bernice is hidden deep, and I’m pretending to be this girl, Bee, who laughs and flirts and creates and plans, but who isn’t really like that at all.

I blink hard, swallowing. There has to be another time to think about this, when Levi isn’t waiting for me and there isn’t a party downstairs and I can cry if I need to. I take a deep breath, and then another, and head toward the door.

In the bedroom, Levi stands by the glass door, lace curtains on either side of him, looking out over the ocean. His hands are in his pockets, and his hair is sticking up straight, as if he’s been tugging on it in nervousness. He turns, saying, “I heard you laughing and—”

He sees me, his smile plastered to his lips like he doesn’t know how to fix his mouth, like he doesn’t know what to do. I can’t find the words or the breath to say them. He’s not even looking at the dress; he’s looking at my eyes and my lips, and I see his desire. He is a reflection of me.

He crosses the room, hair beautifully askew, hands still pocketed in his gorgeously chic suit. It’s light gray, contrasting perfectly with my dark look. I panic and say, “I love this dress.” I mean it, even though I still feel queasy with nerves.

But then he’s stopped in front of me, and he’s actually looking, eyes crossing the length of my body. I’ve never felt so hot and cold and everything in between, all at once, like it will never end and I never want it to. “It’s incredible, Bee,” he says, his voice quiet.

I look down at the dress, at the starry, glittering edge, and I whisper, “It reminds me of the constellations. Did you plan that?”

He smiles with one corner of his mouth. “Would you break up with me if I lied and said that I totally did?”

We laugh, but it’s stilted by whatever’s happening inside both of us right now. He touches one strand of hair lingering on my cheek, his finger grazing the corner of my lips. Then his mouth is suddenly very close. His warm breath mingles with mine. There’s a moment of us breathing together and not touching anywhere and just being, before he takes the next step and presses his body to mine and his lips are a whisper.

But they’re there. They’re an agony I’ve never experienced before.

Levi walks me backward until I’m against the wall and his hands are all palms against my stomach and hips. I shiver. He presses his lips to my cheek, sweet and gentle. A huff of breath escapes his nose, and a helpless noise at the back of his throat makes my knees wobble.

I tilt my head back, so he can see me, that I’m ready, that I can’t breathe and neither can he and we’re both starving for each other so he might as well just do it.

This is the kiss that means everything, I think.

And then his lips are on mine, awkward at first and so uncertain. I’m not sure what to do either, with my breath whooshing out of my chest and my hands splayed in the air because I don’t know where to touch him. Our noses brush, his lips so foreign on my skin—and yet, I want them there. I want them there until they’re no longer foreign, until we’ve memorized each other so thoroughly that my lips are imprinted on his and his on mine.

Then, he stops.

“Levi,” I say, eyes still closed. When my lips move, I can feel his right there, just above mine, waiting.

“I want to do this right,” he answers.

This time when I say his name, it’s a whisper, a tiny moment of breath, and I put my hands on his cheeks. “Levi, Levi, Levi.”

As if my touch has given him boldness, his arms encircle me so that I am completely against him. My chest arches into his. He takes it slow, tasting my lips eagerly but gently, waiting for me to let go. The second my body softens and my arms slide around his neck and my mouth opens, he kisses me furiously, warm and strong and all kinds of delicious.

Yeah, I think. This is definitely that kiss.

There’s something so terrifying about standing here with him, so fully invested, neither of us willing to leave the other. I forget everything: my papa, my fears, the fact that there’s a castle surrounding us and anyone could knock on the door. And I don’t want to go back—I don’t want him to let me go. To make sure he doesn’t pull away, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug, deepening what we already had, making him hum. All I want to do is jump up and wrap my legs around him, let him hold me, but this dress is too snug around my hips.

His hands run along my hips and try to lift one leg, but it’s awkward and fumbling and restricted. I let out a single huff of laughter, but that’s all I can do before we’re kissing again. He manages to pick me up with his arms around my waist, my shoes two inches off the floor, and I feel a little bit like flying and floating and growing wings.

Suddenly, an unbidden thought hits me. “I still have to do my hair,” I whisper into his mouth. Then I go on with kissing him, because who cares about my hair? I sure don’t.

He chuckles. “What? Don’t want everyone to think we’ve been making out?”

I groan. “Does it look horrible?”

His lips graze mine, so beautiful and much too far away for me to be perfectly happy. “We’ll have to see.” He sets me down, holding me still while I catch my balance, and straightens. His lips are red, and I touch them, my hands on either side of his face, both thumbs trailing over where I was smashed against him only a few seconds ago. Levi closes his eyes. “Bee.”

I look at him in wonder, that sharp face and lashes like silk and sensational, crazy hair that I made crazy, and I murmur, “We kissed.”

“I know,” he says, opening his eyes, and swoops in for one last peck before letting me go completely. “There’s no going back now.”

I can’t believe what just happened and I have no idea what to say, so I grab his hand and tug him into the bathroom. “Come here, you have to fix your hair, too.”

He lets me drag him along, but the moment we see us in the mirror, we stop. Levi’s suit looks like he just rolled around in it and his hair sticks up straight like there’s no gravity. My own hair is tossed around my face. My lips look darker.

Both of our cheeks are pink.

But despite our ridiculous appearances, neither of us can laugh. The desire to kiss each other senseless is still strong, and seeing us like this, beautiful and embraced and loved, makes us want to do it all over again.

Levi steps up behind me, wrapping his arm across my chest, his other arm around my waist, and kisses the side of my neck. I shiver, lifting my hands to touch his hair again. He nudges me with his nose. “Do you know what time it is?”

I check my phone on the counter. “Thirty till.”

Levi sighs. Then, reluctantly backing up, he grabs his hair gel from where it sits in my makeup bag. “Better get going, then.”

I watch as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes his gel-covered fingers to his hair. He’s done in a single minute, whereas I’m still figuring out how to style the jewel-studded clip in my hair. He waits patiently, sitting on the counter while I apply foundation and eye shadow. He talks about tonight, and the people coming, and the money he hopes to make for the charity—all the while watching me closely, studying my hands and my lips and my eyes. I can tell he’s paying more attention to my every move than he is to his own words, and it makes my heart pound almost as fast as it did when he was kissing me.

It isn’t until I’m done, standing up straight and wiping my powdery hands on a towel, that he reaches for me and kisses my cheek lightly. “All I can think is that the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can mess up your lipstick.”

I resist the urge to smother his cheek in pink. “Sounds like the best plan we’ve had all day.”

“Ready?” he asks.

“So, so ready,” I answer.

He takes my hand in his, heated by his heart pumping blood and some wild affection for me that’s written in the stars, and I feel like he’s holding my heart instead.