Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(122)

My arms are tied to the bedpost with Connor’s belt, and the expensive diamond collar glints in the dim candlelight. I remember that night. It was right after the Alps. My second foray into sex and it’s public for everyone to see.

I turn the volume higher, my finger stuck on the button as it blares.

“Rose,” Loren complains, his hands on his ears.

“Rose.” Lily stands and tries to touch my arm, but I jerk away again.

“Don’t touch me.” I need to see this. No one tells me to turn it down, probably afraid I will kill them for it. I feel murderous. I feel like I could go kill a coalition of baby cheetahs and not bat an eye.

The news anchor’s voice escalates to an intolerable level. But I don’t lower the television. Not yet. “Scott Van Wright has sold the sex tape to Hot Fire Productions for a multi-million-dollar deal. There’s been no comment yet from either Connor Cobalt or Rose Calloway, but it appears to be a legal transaction between all four parties.”

My mouth drops. That fucking liar. There is no way in hell this is legal.

“The summary of the film says the hour-long session is rough and for mature audiences only.” Clearly.

I turn the volume to the highest level.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ryke asks, putting a hand to his ear to block the noise. Lily is the only one standing up by my side. Her face twists in pain, and I remember she’s been in this position. Sort of. She’s never had her sex life distributed. No one has seen it online.

She was just called a sex addict, and everyone took it as truth. Which it was. But this is clear, physical proof that I’ve had sex. I’m no longer a virgin.

“Maybe she’s like…having a mental break…” Daisy says.

I spin on my heels, taking the remote hostage with me. I carry myself with some morsel of dignity. In the kitchen, I rummage in a cupboard that squirmy Brett loves to hide his booze under. Since we have a “no alcohol in sight” policy in the townhouse, most everything is kept out of reach. I land on my knees and dig around the dishwasher soaps for the bottle of Jack.

“Seriously though, Rose!” Lily says loudly, trying to talk over the blaring TV. “Are you okay?”

I rise to my feet, snagging a wine glass from another cupboard before I return to the living room. Everyone watches as I pour whiskey to the rim, practically overflowing the glass.

“Rose, not to lecture you at this really sensitive time in your life,” Loren says, “but that’s not how you drink whiskey. And as an expert in liquor, it offends me.”

I give him a sharp glare. “You’re not an expert in liquor. You’re an alcoholic.” I set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table and take a large swig. It burns the back of my throat, but I hardly even cringe. The sting is numbed by my anger.

“Which makes me an expert,” Loren argues.

I wave him off. My go-to move at this point. Wave it off. If only I could magically wave away that sex tape.

I take three more gulps from my wine glass. I am so pissed. My body throttles with rage. I am shaking I am so fucking livid. Yes, it’s embarrassing that the world has seen my breasts and vagina, two parts of me that I was unwilling to show Connor for an entire year.

Yes, I’m slightly nervous the world will view me as a doormat now that they see me gooey and submissive in bed.

No, I will not cry.

I won’t shed a tear for Scott Van Wright. He deserves only my nasty, vile words. Not emotions that I reserve for people I love.

“What’s going on?” Connor asks, his voice coming from the stairs. Perfect. He’s heard my call. The loud, obnoxious television.

And his gaze traverses to the TV.

“Look honey,” I say, “we have a sex tape together.”

Everyone silences, probably wondering if the unflappable Connor Cobalt will suddenly lose his shit. It takes him less than ten seconds to unglue his feet from the floor—beating me by a whole minute. I expect him to take out his phone. To do the responsible thing and start dialing attorneys and crisis management centers.

Instead, he stops right in front of me. His eyes swim in mine, as if searching for my mental state. I’m fucking fine, I want to scream back. But I choose to take another large swig of the biting whiskey.

Raw concern encases his features. I want to explain how angry and not sad I am, but the words don’t form. And then he glances at my wine glass. He better not take this away from me like I’m a child. If he pours my drink down the sink—

And then he snatches the wine glass right out of my hand.

Before I have time to complain, he puts the rim to his lips. And I go quiet, watching him take a huge, brazen swig—washing away his own fury with the alcohol. I smile. Because we cope in the same way. Not usually with drinking, but with pulling our shoulders back and taking it like a fucking champ.

He hands the wine glass back to me and says, “Ce n’est pas la fin.” This isn’t the end.

I nod in agreement. He steals the remote from me and softens everyone’s ears by lowering the volume.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t even check to see who it is. I just sit on the armrest of the couch and watch the television.

“…Princesses of Philly has promoted Rose as a virgin. Many people are speaking out about the validity of the show…”

Connor changes the channel to cable.