Part one of my escape plot is to feed my family into sleep oblivion. Chicken pot pie is everyone’s favorite, and they will all eat it until they can’t move. I volunteer for kitchen duty and slice celery and onion, chicken and potatoes, adding peas and carrots, and putting the monstrous pie in the oven.
For dessert I make chocolate cake from scratch with a thick creamy layer of frosting.
I texted Blitz the moment I changed clothes from the rain, and throughout the day I’ve caught up on all the messages he sent while I wasn’t checking. I can see his mixed emotions in them, ranging from elation to regret. I guess even reality TV stars are allowed to have moments of doubt.
At dinner, I encourage seconds and large helpings. I handle the dishes afterward too, keeping everyone sluggish. I make coffee, but it’s decaf, and by the time Andy goes to bed at eight, my parents are making comments about an early night as well.
I stretch and agree, heading to the bathroom to change into pajamas.
I pick up a novel, a parent-approved story about a Quaker family, and say good night to everyone. I turn out the overhead light and keep on only a small lamp.
And listen.
Water running. Doors closing. Murmurs. Then quiet.
The phone is charged so I keep it tucked under a pillow. Wherever Blitz is, he’s obviously not distracted as he responds to every message within seconds.
Around ten, I carefully crack open my door. The house is dark. I close it again and change clothes. I know what I want tonight from Blitz. I slide on a sweater without a bra. And a skirt. No panties. The feel of the rough fabric against my skin is sensual and I shiver. I send him a quick text that I’m heading out.
I hold my shoes in my hand. My hair isn’t fancy, just up in a ponytail. I’ll pull it down at the last minute. I grab my puffy red coat off the back of a chair. I tuck the phone in a pocket.
The hall is dark and silent. I close my door and creep to the living room. I’m afraid the front door is too close to my parents’ bedroom wall, so I head to the kitchen and go out the back. We don’t have a garage, just a covered carport that holds Mom’s sagging minivan and Dad’s rusting old Pontiac.
The cold hits me in an icy blow. I still manage to turn and close the door carefully. At this point I just have to run. If I’ve been heard, I want to at least get away.
I shove my shoes on my frozen feet and take off across the yard. God, it’s cold. We don’t get weather like this very often in San Antonio.
The street is quiet as I run down the sidewalk to the park. At least it isn’t raining anymore.
I haven’t gone far when I see the red Ferrari slowly inching down the street. I pull out the ponytail holder and shove it in my pocket. My hair streams behind me. By the time I reach the car, Blitz has opened the side door for me.
“Oh, Princess, it’s way too cold for royalty to be out in this weather,” he says.
I slam the door closed, sucking in a breath. “I’m fine,” I say, my teeth chattering from both the chill and the anxiety of my escape.
Blitz cranks the heater and it blows fiery bliss onto my feet.
“Is it okay if we go to my hotel, or is that too much?” he asks.
“That sounds perfect,” I say. I had hoped that would be the case, not his family’s house or some public place. I’m done with that.
I finally warm up enough to take in where I am and what I’ve done. Blitz peers out onto the street as we take off. The fog makes visibility low. The lamps over each intersection have a hazy glow. You can’t see much past each traffic light.
“Spooky,” I say.
“It’s like we’re driving into oblivion,” he says.
Maybe we are.
He reaches over for my hand. “I’m very close, just at the interstate. I didn’t want to be far from you.”
My heart hammers. “Does your family know you’re in town?”
“I didn’t tell them, but I think my mom follows the Blitz sightings hashtag. She says it’s nice to know where her boy is.”
“Have you been spotted here?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“If she follows you, then she saw the Tweet?”
His lips pinch together. “Yeah. Hers was the only call I took the next day.”
“What did she say?”
“That I would get through this.”
“And your dad?”
He laughs, a bitter sound that startles me. I’ve never heard Blitz sound that way. “He thought it was a riot. He’s never been fond of my dancing. He’s one of those ‘men should be men’ sort of fathers.”
“I remember you saying he didn’t allow you to take ballet.”
“Yep. Good ol’ Dad. I swear half the time I say something disgusting on the show, it’s a phrase I learned from him.”
“But he’s proud of you now, right?”
We pause at a red light. “I guess. He definitely approves of my carousing. He always asks ridiculous questions about…” He falters. “Stuff he doesn’t need to know.”
I can imagine. “Well, you could tell him my bra size, but I’m not currently wearing one.”
He sucks in a breath. “Princess, you’re tempting me sorely, and my intentions are strictly honorable tonight.”
They are? I press my knees together. Why is it I wear panties when we’re being crazy, and I skip them when he’s being a gentleman? I need an instruction manual for torrid relationships.
For the uninitiated, Blitz Craven is a crash course in sexy.
We pull up in front of a towering hotel. A man in a uniform dashes out and opens my door. “Come inside, Miss,” he says.
Another man heads around to the driver’s seat.
I’m escorted into a posh lobby, warm and cozy, the lights dimmed for evening. The man heads back to the doors as Blitz makes it inside. I can finally take him in, the long gray wool coat he wrapped me in earlier, black jeans, a thick corded sweater in steel blue.
He takes my hand as we cross the lobby to the elevator bank.
“Just so you know, I didn’t book the room we’re about to go to,” he says. “I tried to pick something ordinary, but the staff upgraded me anyway. For my privacy, allegedly. Probably they are worried I’ll throw a party.”
He takes me to an elevator away from the grouping in the center. Blitz extracts a card from his pocket and passes it in front of a sensor. The elevator doors open smoothly.
“You need a special pass to ride this one?” I ask. I haven’t been in a hotel in years, since the time before. And even then, they were always motels with stairs on the outside of the building.
“Keeps out the riffraff,” Blitz says as we go inside. “Or perhaps in my case, prevents access to the riffraff.”
There are no buttons, and a display screen reads “Good evening, Mr. Craven.”
“How does it know?” I ask. I’m like a child in a toy store, looking around. The back of the elevator is glass and provides a view of the atrium.
“The card tells it,” he says. “So it knows what room to send you to.”
“What if you want to go somewhere else?” I ask.
He laughs. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe nobody ever does.”
I punch at the screen. A menu comes up. One of the choices is “Override destination.” I hit it. The elevator smoothly glides to a stop.
“There you go,” Blitz says.
A list of rooms comes up, all with names like Presidential Suite, Executive Retreat, and The Ambassador. Then the other floors of the hotel.
I click on The Ambassador. A message pops up. “Your card is not authorized for this floor. To request access, please contact the executive desk.”
“Bummer,” I say.
Blitz laughs. “We’re in the Presidential.”
I click on that one instead. The elevator resumes its steady climb.
The doors open to a small lobby area with red velvet sofas and a bar. A man is behind the counter. “Hello, Mr. Craven,” he says. “Would you or your young lady like anything from the bar?”
Blitz looks at me.
I lean in. “I’m underage,” I say.
“Nothing right now, thank you,” Blitz says.
The man nods and resumes drying a glass. His eyes return to a television mounted on the wall, its volume low.
Blitz leads us to the right. There aren’t many doors in the hall. A gold plate with the words “Presidential Suite” announces which room is ours. Blitz waves the card by the handle, and it pops the door.
When we step inside, my breath catches. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever been. A pure-white sofa rests in front of a fireplace with several logs already burning. There’s a piano in the corner by huge windows, open wide to look out on the city. Thankfully we’re facing away from the highway, so you can see across San Antonio, the circular Tower of the Americas visible in the distance.
“Wow,” I say.
“Fit for a princess,” he says. He sets the card on a counter in front of a small kitchenette and bar. He shrugs off his coat and reaches for mine.
I slide it off my shoulders and pass it to him. I walk over to the windows. It’s amazing. We’re on top of the world. I press my fingers against the cool glass.
Blitz comes up behind me and sweeps my hair off my shoulder. “You okay with getting away?”
I shiver from his light touch on my neck. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure. I still have to get back in my house. Or maybe I just don’t go back. I don’t know. I lean my forehead against the glass.
“Come sit with me,” he says, taking my hand and leading me over to the sofa.
We stay close together, his arm around my waist, as we settle on the cushions. He draws my head against his shoulder. “This is so much better than the insanity I’ve been through the past two weeks,” he says.
“You want to tell me about it?”
So he does, lulling me with his voice as he describes the sets, the dances, the green rooms, the people behind the talk shows. The meetings with executives, how Hannah being a shark was in his favor this time. How most of the staff were eager to return, only his trainer and a few other minor players had held out. Hannah was working on replacing them before the finale.
“So you have to do it?” I ask. “Choose a winner?”
“I could break the contract,” he says. “I’d go bankrupt from the fines, but there are worse things. I’d never work in Hollywood again, but maybe I don’t want to.”
“That seems terribly extreme,” I say.
“It’s extreme either way,” he says. “The lifestyle, the scrutiny, having to live up to everyone’s expectations.”
“How did this happen?” I ask. “I saw some of your early stuff. It wasn’t all naked women and acting crazy.”
“In the beginning, it’s always about the dance,” he says. “Then something happens, and it gets attention, and you’re driven to do more of the same. In my case, it was acting like a jerk.”
“I don’t understand why that is so popular. You’d think girls would want a gentleman.”
“Gentlemen don’t make for compelling television,” Blitz says. He picks up my hand and kisses each finger. “You’d be bored with me in a week.”
“Not if we dance,” I say.
“True. We do have that.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Blitz,” I ask. “Why am I here?”
He holds my hand against his cheek. “Because I can’t not have you here.”
“But why? You’ve got so many choices.” My cheeks burn a little. I’m embarrassed to ask these things, but I have to know. I’m risking everything for this.
“All those women audition for my show to get their brush with fame. Not for me.”
“But you’re supposed to pick a wife from it.”
“I didn’t design the show. And my contract specifically says I don’t have to marry anyone. I wasn’t that crazy.”
“But you still have to choose.”
“I choose this.” He squeezes my hand.
“Well, it’s really inconvenient right now.”
This makes Blitz laugh. “Princess, I was miserable without you.” He turns my cheek so that his mouth can reach mine.
He’s said enough for me. Even though I’m not sure I believe that we have anything that can last, I still want it. But my life can’t just revolve around him. I have to protect the most important things. And Gabriella is still more important.
But tonight doesn’t change any of that. I can do this. I can be what Blitz Craven needs right now. And he can be what I want.
His lips nibble along mine until I part for him. Then he deepens the kiss, pulling me in close.
Our bodies collide. He runs his hands along my back and down my arms. I reach up to thread my fingers through his hair. I’m ready to get lost again. Every muscle in my body feels warm and pliant.
Even if he’s going to go back to LA for good, and even if I’m just a blip in a sea of women, I’m ready for one perfect night with Blitz Craven. If I end up stuck with online college and more years under my father’s rule, it might have to sustain me for a long time.
He presses forward until I’m lying back on the sofa and he is propped above me. His lips leave mine and trail down my jaw to my neck.
I literally feel pinpricks in parts of my body, as if it’s waking up from a long slumber. Everything his lips touch jolts awake, and my pulse is wild and erratic. I remember how quickly he affected me in the movie theater and my heart jumps again. I want this so much. So much.
His fingers flirt with the bottom of my sweater, brushing against the skin of my belly. I suck in a breath and he smiles against my collarbone. “Sensitive, Princess?” he asks.
I can’t answer as he moves more of the sweater out of his way. When he lifts it high enough, a low throaty moan escapes. “You made it easy for me. God, that is hot.”
His mouth drops to my breast and my body arches toward him. Heat floods through me, and I feel on fire from the need of him.
He lifts the sweater higher and pulls it over my head, dropping it over the back of the sofa. He moves from one nipple to the other, caressing them both.
I slide my legs apart so he fits more solidly against me. He’s low, his chest over my stomach as his mouth and hands mold me.
I clutch his head and the glossy black hair. He moves down, dipping his tongue into my belly button. “What else am I going to find?” he asks.
I’m so glad I didn’t wear panties. I want to delight him. He lifts himself away from me to nudge the hem of my skirt with his nose. His mouth finds the sensitive skin inside my knee and begins to work its way up.
The fire I felt earlier is nothing compared to the eruption going through me now. I want him to arrive where he’s headed. I need him there.
He takes his time, nibbling along my inner thigh. When the skirt is high, covering my bare stomach, he lets out another groan. “You’re perfect,” he says, and I can feel the words as he breathes them so close to my most tender places.
I’m dying. I want him to taste me, to work his magic. He slides a finger inside and my body rises right to him. And he’s there, his tongue delving inside.
The intensity I felt in the movie theater is nothing compared to this. The world is down to just these sensations, his warm mouth, the pressure of his hand, the buzz building deep inside me as he works.
I’m lost, so lost. I move with him, gripping his hair, the only sound the gentle snap of the fire logs. The frenzy inside me accelerates, and the pleasure of it ratchets up into more than I can manage. I need it to go over the top, to release out, to free me.
“Blitz, please,” I manage to say.
And he knows just what I need, increasing the pressure, diving in more deeply. And it happens, my muscles clamping down for the orgasm, lightning shooting through my body, sparked where we are joined. I hear myself crying out Blitz’s name and fat tears squeeze out of my eyes.
He brings me down easy, withdrawing slowly and gently, his kisses flowing back down my leg. I lie on the sofa with my arms crossed over my face. I’m not sure how he’ll feel about me crying.
Blitz leans back over and kisses the length of my forearm. When he sees the wetness, he gathers me up against him. “You okay, Princess?”
I nod against his chest. I’m not sure what it is about, maybe the bliss after so many years with little to hold on to. Returning to that emotional space I had to let go of when they took Gabriella away.
“Hey,” he says, sitting us up. “Talk to me.”
I’m ruining this moment, I know it. I shake my head. “Just old stuff.”
He goes still. “Did somebody hurt you once?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Never. No. It’s just been a long time.”
He cradles me against him. “That’s all right. We don’t have to do anything else.”
But I want to. I do. I shove all the old thoughts away and shift in his arms. “I think we do,” I say.
My hands go to his cheeks and I kiss him this time, hard and deep.
I don’t have to say that twice. Before I can figure out what’s happening, he’s swept me into his arms. He crosses the living room and heads through a doorway on the far side.
It’s dim, lit only by the light coming from the bathroom. The bed is enormous, four poster, and silks cascade down from it. “It’s a princess bed!” I say.
“I couldn’t have chosen it better myself,” he says. He nudges the sheer fabric aside and lays me on its surface. “Now I’m going to really look at you.”
Blitz tugs on the skirt until it’s down. He stands to toss it across a chair.
Then he’s back, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands running down my body, tracing every curve.
I’m surprisingly unembarrassed as he takes me in, eyes lighting on each part of me. Then he stands up, pulling his sweater over his head, and the shirt beneath.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, on the day with the Tappin’ Grandmas. He’s strong, muscled but not overly so, lean like a dancer should be.
Blitz kicks off his shoes and pulls his belt from his jeans. It jingles as it hits the floor.
I watch him quietly. It’s so different from seeing the pictures of him on the laptop with Mindy. He’s here, his body shifting in the light, revealing himself to me.
My eyes threaten to tear up again. He’s really beautiful. I almost want to dance like this, skin to skin, and once the idea gets in my head, I can’t let it go.
I sit up. “Can we dance?” I ask. The room is outrageously large. We can do it easily around the bed.
He kicks off the rest of his clothes. “A naked waltz. Now that’s an idea.”
Blitz takes my hand and pulls me to him. Every place our body touches is like a caress, stirring and intimate.
He squeezes my hand, and we’re off, crossing the rug, then onto the surrounding hardwood floor. The steps are simple, just a few turns. My hair falls down my back, a gentle tickle, until he spins me out and sends it flying.
The air on my body is erotic and stimulating. When I turn back into him and our skin makes contact again, he holds me close. “You are so beautiful,” he says. “This is the most perfect moment I could have imagined.”
His mouth is warm on mine, the kiss full of tenderness and wonder. I hold on to his neck, and his hands grasp my thighs, pulling my legs up and around his hips.
He’s hard and pressing against me, and I feel almost dizzy as the need of him bolts through me. He walks us back to the bed and lays me back down on the cool sheets.
“Condom work for you?” he whispers against my ear.
I nod.
He disappears for a moment, and when he returns, leans down for a kiss as he crawls across the bed to me.
My body is on fire. When he touches my breast, I lurch upward. He smiles against my mouth. “I’ve wanted you for so long. It feels like years.”
He parts my knees, pressing his palm against me. My body responds again, desperate for him, so full of need.
Blitz shifts his hand away and he’s there, moving against me, slipping gently inside.
I cry out, my body so ready for him, so willing to take him in. He presses his lips against my neck, easing himself out and back in.
My hands flatten against his lower back, clutching him. I’m breathless and eager. Everything is new again, the sensations, the emotional flood.
Blitz quickens his rhythm, reaching between us to add to my sensation. I’ve never felt this before, and I rise to him, spiraling up again. It seems impossible after the moment on the sofa, but I feel it, burgeoning inside me, the tension and the desire.
“My sweet Livia,” he says. “How I have pined for you.”
His finger moves more swiftly, and his pace increases to match. I can’t think of anything other than this man, his touch, his body shifting over mine.
The frenzy builds, and I can feel the moment arriving. I open my eyes and see Blitz watching me, attentive and so very close.
The look there is nothing I’ve seen before, not in all the pictures or all the clips, not even in person in all the moments we’ve shared. It’s adoration and tenderness, beauty and care. It sends me over the top, crying out, falling into bliss.
His body tenses and his strokes move into me with more force. Then I feel it, the subtle contractions of him inside me as he holds still, reveling in the moment.
I hang on to him until he relaxes, and we come down together, his face next to mine, his body still pressed against me. I touch his skin, his back, his waist, the textures of him. I want to know him, memorize all the parts that make his whole.
After a moment, he shifts next to me and draws me close. We breathe together, content and happy. There is no outside, no world that demands things from us. Just our bed, the silk drapes around it, and the air we take in.
We’re calm and relaxed, but there’s no way I can sleep. I trail my finger along his sideburn, down his neck, along the strong shoulder just where I hold it when we waltz.
“Tell me something about Blitz Craven that I can’t read on the Internet,” I say.
He picks up my hand and kisses my fingers. “That the kids in my elementary school thought I was a dork and used to sing, ‘Bennie, Bennie, not worth a penny.’”
“Oh!” I say. “I bet they don’t think that now.”
He rolls on his back. The glow from the bathroom light highlights every indentation of his abs. I could stare at him all night.
“That is one of the perks of the gig,” he says. “Making my enemies mad with envy.”
“Do you have a lot of them?” I ask. “Enemies?”
“I didn’t used to,” he says. “But when you get to this level of the game, you rack them up pretty fast.”
I lay my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump thump of his heart. “Your character is rather larger than life. I’m sure it’s intimidating.”
“One day it will be gone. Poof. Show over.”
“Then what for Blitz Craven?”
He twirls a piece of my hair. “Watch old movies in a rundown theater with a girl who sometimes doesn’t wear panties.”
I roll my face into his chest to hide my blush, which is silly given that I’m lying here naked with him now.
“So tell me, Princess Livia, what is something I don’t know about you?”
My throat constricts. I immediately think of Gabriella. Can I tell him? I’m not sure. Despite everything, this night, him returning for me, the phone — I could still just be a fling.
“I’m not very interesting,” I say.
“How about you tell me how you got involved with the wheelchair ballerinas? I read an interview with Danika about it that said she had a young dancer who brought the idea to her. I’m guessing that was you?”
And there it is. My opportunity.
“I’d heard about them,” I say. “There was a video online that everyone was talking about.” Which was true. When I was sneaking on the church laptop trying to learn about Gabriella’s condition, I had seen clips of ballet schools with wheelchair dance classes.
“But people see videos of stuff all the time. What made you start the class?”
Opportunity again. But I’m too scared to do it.
“One of the girls in the class, Gabriella, had just been in a car accident. Her father died in the crash. I thought the class would be good for her. Her mother Gwen had a hard time. I wanted to help.”
“That’s really amazing.” He squeezes me.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to remember that this is the same girl he thought was my sister, a question I never answered. But he doesn’t. There must be so much going on in his life that this little connection isn’t clicking in his mind. So I let it go.
There will be a time to tell him, but it isn’t now.
“When do I have to send you back to the castle?” he asks.
“If they haven’t noticed I’m gone by now, then they won’t for a few more hours.”
Blitz keeps his arm around me while he fumbles with the clock on the side table. “I’ll set an alarm for 4 a.m. Does that work?”
“Sounds good.”
I don’t really want to sleep, but I snuggle into Blitz, and my eyes are so heavy.