Velvet (30 page)

“What part of ‘girls only’ do you not understand?” Trish asked, eyes glued to the screen.

“I’m not technically in the room.”

Trish rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything else. Fifteen minutes later, the movie ended. Finally.

I took my head out from underneath my pillow and saw that Mark was still standing in the doorway, but sometime while I’d been hiding under my pillow, he’d changed into sweatpants and a white V-neck with a loose flannel shirt over it.

“Good night, Mark,” Trish called to her brother, her tone a warning to leave.

He turned to look at the rest of us, and for a moment, his eyes flickered to the corner of the room. “Good night, ladies. I’m right upstairs if anyone has bad dreams.”

He flashed a smile and disappeared.

Meghan turned to Trish. “Since when did Mark get hot?”

She looked back blankly.

“Oh, come on! I always remembered him as this quiet, out-of-the-way guy, and now he’s got this really sexy starving-artist thing going on and I like it.”

Trish stared at Meghan like she was an alien. “Are you serious?”

“He’s quite attractive,” Stephanie supplied with a shy smile.

“Paul’s more my type,” Laura said, “but I could see how people might find Mark appealing.”

“Guys,” Trish warned, “he’s my brother. Ew, okay?”

Meghan leaned forward eagerly. “Is he dating anyone?”

“Not that I know of. But he’s old!”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s only a junior. We’re juniors! It’s practically the same thing.”

Laura shook her head vigorously. “That’s not the same at all.”

“Besides,” Meghan said, leaning back on her elbows with a satisfied smile, “I like older men.”

“Meg, you are sick.” Trish didn’t really look angry, more morbidly puzzled.

“And he’s yummy,” Meghan added with a grin.

“I
really
don’t think he’s your type.”

“He’s totally my type!”

Trish looked at her skeptically. “I thought you wanted to be a hair stylist.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a shrug, “I just think Mark wants to do different things. He’s doing a semester abroad in France next year, to study at an art academy.”

Meghan looked like she was about to drool. “I like cultured men.”

Trish shook her head, disgusted. “Culture for you is eating a microwaved croissant.”

“I’ll learn French. We’ll live there and make French love and have cute little French babies.”

Trish looked horrified. “Dude, just—no.”

“When are they leaving?” Jenny asked suddenly. As always, it surprised me when she spoke.

“Abou’ a wee’ af’er New Year’s,” Trish said around a mouthful of popcorn. She swallowed thickly. “We’re having a little shindig here and you’re all invited, by the way.”

“I claim dibs on Mark for the New Year’s kiss!” Meghan exclaimed. I happened to be glancing at Jenny and was startled to find an irritated expression cross her face as she stared at Meghan.

“I’m not sure you can really claim dibs on a human being,” Laura replied dryly. “That’s, like, slavery. Or prostitution.”

“You guys are so melodramatic.” Meghan sighed, leaning back against her pillows.

I decided to try and break the tension. “Hey, Trish, do you mind if I bring Adrian?”

She grinned at me. “Hell no, I don’t mind! I’m bringing Ben.” She looked at the other girls. “That’s an open invitation; if y’all have dates, bring them along. Everybody should get a little midnight action.”

The conversation spun off from there, and we stayed up until two in the morning talking. I conked out the moment we decided to call it a night.

Two hours later, I was awake again after a ferocious nightmare involving a thousand binoculars like the ones from the movie staring at me as I posed naked for an art class that was meeting in the Eiffel Tower.

It was mostly just creepy, but I woke up feeling like I was being watched. When I looked around, everyone was deeply asleep.

Except that Jenny’s sleeping bag was empty.

Through the crack under the door, I saw a faint light. Trying not to step on anyone, I made my way over and peered through the sliver where the door wasn’t quite closed.

There, sitting at the kitchen table, was Jenny.

And … Mark?

I could see two mugs sitting in front of them, like they’d been there so long they’d needed refreshments. Jenny had her chin cupped in her hand, white-blond hair draped around her, and was actually looking Mark in the eye, something I’d never seen her do with anyone else. Mark was murmuring something quietly to her and I strained to hear.

“… talking and saying nothing. People don’t understand the power of words. I love talking to people, but I can’t stand it when they have absolutely nothing to say.” He chuckled in a self-deprecating sort of way. “Which is ironic, because I’m doing all the talking.”

Jenny smiled. I’m not sure I’d ever seen her smile before. “I like listening.”

“Then you’re pretty damn different from every other girl I’ve ever met.”

They regarded each other for a few moments in silence.

“When are you going back?” Jenny asked finally.

“Two weeks.”

She looked down at the table.

“But I’ll be back this summer. Four whole months.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m going to bring all my supplies and start a new series. It’s an idea that’s been floating around in my head for a few years and I’ve been looking for a model, but no one on campus is right.”

Jenny looked up at him from underneath her lashes, but I couldn’t read her expression.

“I was wondering—well, to be honest Jenny, you’re stunning. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to model for me? I mean, I know that sounds weird, but it’s totally clothed, it wouldn’t creepy or anything. I can’t pay you much, but I do have some money set aside.”

I could see Jenny immediately tense. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

He looked surprised and a little hurt. “Why?”

Her eyes fluttered wildly around the room, reminding me of a trapped bird. “Meghan’s into this sort of thing. Go talk to Meghan. I’ll go get her.”

She stood and made a bid for freedom and he simply put his hands on her waist and prevented her from moving.

“Jenny,” he said, backing her toward the fridge with his sheer overwhelming presence. “If I wanted Meghan, I would have asked Meghan. I asked you.”

For a moment, I thought they were going to kiss, which was crazy, they’d just met a few hours ago. Well, they’d probably known of each other their entire lives, but I doubted they’d ever really talked much before tonight, unless there was something I didn’t know, but it didn’t seem likely from the tone of their conversation.

But they didn’t kiss. They stared at each other for a long moment and then Mark stepped back. “Just think about it, okay?” Jenny nodded.

I made my way back to my sleeping bag and crawled in, completely flabbergasted by what I’d just witnessed. I briefly considered telling Trish, but discarded the idea. She’d either kill Jenny or kill Mark. Probably Mark.

Besides, it was absolutely none of my business.

But it was very interesting.

*   *   *

“You sleep like the dead,” Trish commented, pouring herself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. It was ironic, because I’d had a nightmare in which I’d died quite grossly from some sort of flesh-eating bacteria. I was happy to be awake. The rest of the girls were lounging on their sleeping bags, munching on bowls of cereal and watching cartoons. It felt like I was in second grade again. It was awesome.

Trish held out the Cap’n Crunch. I grabbed it and sat up, glancing over at Jenny surreptitiously. She seemed more relaxed than usual, and maybe it was just my imagination, but she looked like she had some color in her cheeks, too. In my head, the whole scene last night seemed kind of surreal, but then I remembered the fact that I was dating a vampire who wasn’t allowed to love me and couldn’t die and revised the level of weirdness for Jenny’s situation.

People started wandering off after breakfast. Aunt Rachel came to pick me up at one, after I promised Trish that I’d come back for her New Year’s party, and bring Adrian. Meghan made a special point of saying she’d come back if Mark was going to be there.

At the very least, it would be an interesting New Year’s.

I hopped in the shower once I got home and threw on one of the new green sweaters Rachel had gotten me for Christmas. I could hear my phone ringing from my bedroom, and hurried in to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know your studio is all set up.”

I blinked. “Already?”

“Did you want to come over tomorrow and see it?”

I breathed for a moment. I hadn’t made anything since well before my mom’s funeral, besides the little embroidered pictures for the girls, and those didn’t really count. He seemed to sense my hesitation.

“It’s just a tour. Don’t feel pressured to use it anytime soon.”

I let the breath out. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I was about to say good-bye when I remembered—“Oh! I promised Trish we’d go to her New Year’s Eve party. Is that okay?”

He sounded amused. “Sure.”

“Good. There’s something I want your opinion on once we get there; it’s too hard to explain now.”

“Now I’m curious.”

“Then you know what it feels like to be me.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t you mean tonight?”

“Yes,” he conceded. “To be fair, though, I see you every night. I don’t always see you tomorrow.”

I laughed at him and we said good-bye and hung up.

I couldn’t tell Trish about Jenny and Mark—but I could tell Adrian. He was a master of discretion, and more importantly, he was impartial. I’d tell him what I’d seen, and then have him observe Jenny and Mark at the party, and see if Mark’s intentions were pure. Part of me was freaked out that maybe Mark was not Mark, and that Mark was Adrian’s dad, and that they’d gotten it all wrong and Jenny was the one in danger, somehow, not me.

For now, I settled on reveling in Christmas vacation. First: bake cookies. Second: eat them all. Repeat as desired.

*   *   *

“I’m nervous,” I said the next day as we were driving to Adrian’s house. “Tell me not to be nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous.”

We pulled up to the wrought-iron gates surrounding his property. He pushed a button on his key ring and they swung silently inward. Once again, I was reminded of how his mansion looked like it was pulled straight out of a fairy tale, especially with the weeks of accumulated snow on the grounds. He parked and we dashed inside to get out of the cold.

“Caitlin!” I heard a small voice say at the same time I felt something latch on to my waist.

“He finally learned your name after reading it on the cover of the book about fifty times,” Adrian said, hanging up my coat.

I hugged Lucian’s shoulders and looked down at him. “Are you gonna come see my new room with us?”

He looked over at his brother, who nodded, and then back at me, smiling happily.

“It’s upstairs,” Adrian said, leading the way. Lucian and I followed him to the third floor and down the hallway, all the way to the end. Adrian stepped behind me and put his hands over my eyes.

“You ready?”

“Sure,” I said, unconvincingly.

“Lucian, you want to grab the door for me?”

I heard rustling and the soft turn of the handle and then Adrian was nudging me forward until we were inside the room. Slowly, he lowered his hands. I opened my eyes. I blinked.

“Holy shit.”

Belatedly, I clapped my hands over Lucian’s ears.

The room faced the front of the house, so the roof angled steeply to the floor, studded with huge windows. A cutting table was set up against the far wall and my serger and sewing machine had been set up back-to-back on a short table in the center of the room. The walls were lined with shelves, already partially filled with bolts of fabrics.

“They sent some samples based off the sketches you did. I know it’s not everything you need, but it’s a place to start.”

I stared at the room. “I can’t even contemplate how much this cost you.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t really cost
me
anything. Besides, when you make it as a famous designer, you can pay me back with free clothes.”

I continued to stare at the room in complete shock. It was not sinking in that this was all mine to use anytime I wanted. I sucked in a deep breath and went to the wall of fabric, running my hands lightly over the cloth.

“Your sketchbooks are on the table and the drawers over there are full of scissors and needles and threads and … stuff,” Adrian said, looking a little lost as he pointed to rows of dark, wood-paneled drawers. I peeked inside—professional equipment. Top of the line.

“Adrian,” I said, feeling a little dizzy, “I can’t ever repay this.”

“It’s a gift,” he explained. “You’re not supposed to.”

I turned back to him. He was standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, wavy dark hair framing his face; his gray eyes soft and warm even in the cold, blue light coming from the windows. I rested my face against a bolt of silk and closed my eyes.

“I’m happy.”

I heard a small
whap
a few moments later and opened my eyes to discover that Lucian had jumped on one of the mannequins and was currently riding it around the room like a horse.

“Frankie,” Adrian said in a warning tone. “This is one room you can’t play in, okay? This is Caitlin’s room.”

He climbed off the mannequin immediately and sheepishly wheeled it back to the others. Overcome with a giant bubble of happiness, I danced over to Adrian and threw my arms around him in a hug. “You’re the best,” I murmured. “Thank you so much.”

I heard a low whistle from the door and looked up to find Julian leaning against the frame, staring at us. Adrian instantly pulled away from me.

“I’m dying to know how you justified this to Mariana,” Julian said, taking in the room. His eyes settled on me speculatively. “Caitlin, my dear, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that extravagant gifts are my brother’s absurd version of foreplay.”