Chapter Twenty-One

Kristen

“You really need to stop drinking so much. No matter how hard you try to pretend, you aren’t Lizochka.”

The words boom in my head like a series of bombs going off. I wince, burrowing deeper under the covers. I object to Tolyan being in my room, but there’s very little I can do about it. I can barely keep my head attached to my body.

“What time is it?” I moan finally.

“A quarter after noon.”

Holy mother of God! I’m so freakin’ late! I jackknife up, then clench my teeth when my stomach threatens to heave everything. A weirdly sour tang fills my dry mouth, and I make a face.

“Inadvisable to move so suddenly when you’re hung over,” Tolyan observes. Mr. Helpful.

“Yeah…thanks.”

“What’s the rush anyway? You don’t have to go anywhere.”

The events from yesterday flood my brain, like pop-ups on a spam site. Karen firing me because that’s what Lola wants. My coworkers staring at me like a circus freak. Then Antoine being so damn nice to me as usual because…

I slowly swivel and put my elbows on my knees, cradling my head…so it doesn’t land on my feet. “Where’s Antoine?”

“At work.”

“You’re off today?”

“I’m finished with the alphabetizing.”

I can’t decide if he’s joking. Probably not.

“Water and aspirin.” He hands me a tall glass plus four white pills.

I swallow all the pills and drink all the water. No argument this time. “How about coffee?”

“Downstairs.”

“Ugh. You mean I have to walk?”

“And you have to eat something.”

My stomach churns dangerously at the thought of food. “Uh… I don’t think so.”

“Don’t worry. Unlike your confused Frenchman, I won’t try to feed you bacon.”

“What confused Frenchman?”

“Antoine. A Frenchman who thinks he’s British.”

“He does not.”

“Have you heard him talk?”

“That’s just the accent. His vocabulary is all American.”

Tolyan cocks an eyebrow, then helps me stand and go downstairs. I don’t have to have a mirror to know I look like hell. I can tell my hair’s sticking out weirdly, and my face feels grimy and gross. I probably forgot to get the makeup off.

Somehow I managed to change into a nightshirt—a simple cotton tee, not one of the sexy items Jo delivered—before crawling into bed. I frown. Did I have any help? My fuzzy brain says Antoine might’ve been in my room to make sure I didn’t break something trying to change while drunk. And he was a perfect gentleman.

I purse my lips. He could’ve tried to cop a feel. I wouldn’t have minded too much.

No. Wait. Stop right there. I’m supposed to get over him, not hope he feels me up while I’m drunk and naked and…stuff.

“So when did you get here?” I ask.

“Six.”

“When are you leaving?”

“When Antoine gets back.”

It’d be easier to pull teeth out of a T-Rex skull. “Don’t you have to organize Liza’s paperclips or something?” The question slips out before I can catch myself. Oh shit. I’m going to get my ass kicked now.

“Scheduled for tomorrow,” he says flatly.

I stare at him, unsure if he’s kidding. Tolyan isn’t the first person you think of when you’re thinking a bright and fun and…you know…well-adjusted reasonable human being.

As we reach the kitchen, I smell the fresh java and slightly burnt aroma of toast. I pour myself coffee first, then nibble on the toast. Tolyan turns on the TV and surfs around. I look at it, wondering if there’s anything that can keep my mind off the fact that I’m unemployed.

“Look at those weasels, getting what they deserve,” Tolyan says as four men are dragged away in handcuffs.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Don’t you recognize those two on the left?”

I blink, then stare at the TV screen. Oh yeah. I remember them. The freckled redhead with pale gray eyes is the paparazzo who sold my topless picture, and the guy next to him is…

Wait. Is that the underage punk people are accusing me of flashing?

The anchor explains the four engaged in various scams, most of them targeting women. They engineered situations where the women ended up in embarrassing or compromising pictures, and then they’d approach them for money to make everything go away. All of the perpetrators are in their twenties, and the cops finally made arrests with enough evidence to charge them.

“Oh my God. That kid wasn’t a kid?” I blurt out.

“Some people look young.”

“But…in his twenties? He seriously looks like he should be in junior high.”

Tolyan says nothing.

“Bastard,” I snarl at the TV. “And I got called #PedHo for nothing.”

“Sue them for defamation then.”

I shake my head. “I’d settle for an apology.”

“Don’t hold your breath. I don’t do CPR.”

I give him a sly look. “Not even for Liza?”

“Not even for Lizochka.”

“Why not?”

“Unsanitary.” The flat note in his voice says the discussion is finished.

I shrug and hurry to finish my coffee. Finally, the nightmare is over! People won’t harass me anymore. And despite what I said, I know they won’t apologize. So many people on social media are unkind because they think it’s their right to incessantly complain and criticize, while wondering why their lives are going nowhere fast.

Then I remember what Antoine said last night. Is this his doing? He was so determined to restore my reputation. Should I text him and ask? But if I know for sure…

Argh. Why is he being so nice?

“What is it?” Tolyan says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can read your face. You went all soft, then got curious, then got mad. What is it?”

What the… Am I that obvious? I clear my throat. “I was wondering…if the cops had help. It looks like those guys were doing it for a while.”

“Ryder Reed’s people were on it, but Antoine did most of the work. He was determined to make things right.”

So. As I suspected.

“Don’t read anything into it. He probably did it for Dominic.”

“My brother asked?”

“It’s difficult to marry off a young woman who has a black mark. A woman should be sweet-tempered and soft-spoken—with a sterling reputation—in order to marry well. And your brother does want you to marry well.”

Wow. The twenty-first century totally skipped this guy. “How do you know this?”

“All men want the women in their family to marry well.”

I shake my head and check my phone. I have multiple texts, and I reply to Dominic first, who wrote, It should be all good now. I’m glad Antoine came through again.

That he did. Did you ask him to fix it?

A few minutes later, Dominic writes, No. He does what he thinks is required, and I trust him.

Next I see Liza’s texts. She’s relieved the truth is out, and people know I’m a victim, not some child-seducing sociopath. But she’s completely outraged I was let go.

My jaw slackens. How did she find out? Did Tolyan tell her?

It’s okay, I type. Actually, it’s better this way. At least I won’t be wasting my life with people who have such little faith in me. I hit send. If I repeat it to myself enough times, it really won’t feel so bad.

If you want, I can recommend a lawyer who specializes in wrongful termination.

Liza, always on my side. I don’t want the publicity. I want everything to go away. A few days off won’t be too bad either.

Let me know if you change your mind. And I’m throwing out everything by Lola, and her label will never be seen in my closet again.

I smile, touched. Lola isn’t worth it, not while you’re on your honeymoon. I’m sorry my drama interrupted your time with Dominic.

You’re family, Kristen. You’re important.

I hold on to the thought.

Tolyan stays the rest of the day. Antoine never comes. It’s probably for the best, I tell myself. Now that the #PedHo phase of my life is over, it’s time I get serious about getting over him.