Page 21 of Holding Hope

“Nope. If you’re going to lose your Mayfair virginity, you have to do it right.” She snorted. “I have an early flight.”

“What time?”

“Eight.”

I laughed. She glared.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking to sleep in,” she said. “Eight a.m. is early for me.” “Whatever you say, Clarke.” I looked her over—frizzy hair, cherry-print socks, pajama shorts. “You can’t wear that where we’re going. They’d eat you alive.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t go out looking indecent.”

If that was supposed to be a jab at me, it didn’t land. I liked the way I dressed. My fans liked the way I dressed. Clarke King’s opinion didn’t matter.

“Then why did you leave me like that?” Her voice echoed in my head as I tried to find my own words.

How had I left her?

Asleep on her side, hands tucked under her cheek like a Victorian child in a painting. She’d looked perfect. She always did.

“I’m…”

Sorry wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Do you know how small that made me feel?” Clarke’s voice cracked. “How embarrassing it was to leave that room alone?”

I hadn’t thought about that. God, I hadn’t thought about anything. I’d panicked. Everything had felt too real, too tangible. And if something was real, it could be broken. It could be ruined. My family could touch it—touch her—and I’d be damned if her light dimmed because of them.

But I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t form the words. So I stared at my hands and spun the anxiety ring on my middle finger until the gears soothed the tightness in my chest. “I’m not sure what you want from me,” I said quietly. “You won’t take my apology. You won’t take my money…”

I finally met her eyes. “What can I do to make this right?”

Clarke bit her bottom lip, trying to stop its trembling. “Since I’ve already agreed to do this, the next step is for you to show me you mean your apologies. I can maintain a professional partnership with you. But anything else… you’ll have to work for.”

Everything else.

“We can’t even be friends?” I shoved my hands into my pockets. I didn’t necessarily want friendship—I just wanted her to stop looking at me like she wanted to bury me behind the barn. “Anything outside of co-writing your album has to be earned,” she said firmly. Right.Changing her mind would be like anyone other than Arthur trying to pull Excalibur from the stone—pointless and exhausting.

“Hey,” I said, “you never told me why you changed your mind. What are you getting out of this?”

Clarke shrugged, turning back to her horse. “Melody likes you. So, if she wants you here, I guess I do too.”

Ah. Melody was the key. I could work with that.

I loved sixteen-year-olds. They were chaotic, dramatic, and easily bribed with food and compliments.

“What do I even do with a sixteen-year-old?”

I tossed clothes onto the spare bed like I was summoning answers from the denim gods. “What do they even like these days?”

Aunt Brie’s laugh crackled through my headphones. “Do you remember being sixteen? Nothing but fast cars and fast boys.”

I gagged. “Yeah, well, I don’t think recreating my high school years is the best way to win over Clarke. The girl is basically a nun.”

I flopped onto the pile of clothes. “I don’t think she’s said a single swear word since I met her.”

“She surprised you once,” Aunt Brie teased. “She did have sex with you in a photo booth.” I choked. “Okay, that surprised me too. I wasn’t expecting the night to go in any of the directions it went. I just wanted to get to know her.”

Silence.