Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(48)

Her caption pops up in big bold letters on her body.

Virgin.

I frown. Why would this upset her? Since we were fourteen, she’s never been ashamed of being a virgin. She’s never wanted other women to feel as though they have to lose it in their twenties—that holding onto your virginity post-college makes you unwanted. She’s been proud of the fact that she’s waited. Being ashamed of this now makes no sense to me. Unless she’s more pissed by being labeled something at all.

That seems right.

The promo ends with the title logo for Princesses of Philly, and below, a tagline scrolls:

Get inside the Calloway sisters this February.

It was short. Only thirty-seconds. And it’s enough to resurface hostile emotions. So I stand calmly before anyone starts screaming.

Lily shifts on Loren’s lap and says, “I wasn’t the only one who thought the tagline was dirty, right?”

She’s completely serious. And it almost lightens the mood.

Lo nods to Rose. “Good thing you don’t give two shits about being a twenty-three-year-old virgin.”

“That’s not the problem,” she says. I know her well. She meets my gaze while I stand in front of the television that’s mounted above the fireplace. “He stereotyped all of us with one word, as though we’re caricatures.” She’s afraid of being made to look like a fool. But people have been stereotyping the Calloway girls on gossip blogs for months. This isn’t any different.

“So?” I say to her.

Her mouth falls. She thought I’d be on her side. When she’s wrong, I’m not afraid to disagree.

“People label you the moment they meet you,” I tell her. “You’re an ice cold bitch. You’re a man-hating prude, a rich stuck-up brat. They only tell a fraction of the truth, and if you let them hurt you, you let them win.”

Everyone settles down. No one wants to feed their stereotype either, and I think they’re beginning to understand that if they throw tantrums, they’re each going to look as two-dimensional as Scott wants them to be. They’d each fill the “rich kid snobbery” part well. That image would hurt many of them.

Rose’s lips tighten at the “man-hating” line. That one did sting her. I almost regret adding it in my explanation. “You’re a conceited asshole,” she tells me.

“You love me.”

She shakes her head but her lips lift. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Being right.” She groans and leans back against the couch in a huff. “I hate that we’re all so worked up over it and you say a few words, and now everything makes sense again.”

Lo rises with Lily in his arms. “He has a gift.”

“Given by me,” I say. I forget the cameras are even in the room until I hear the zoom of Savannah’s Canon as she focuses on me while Brett’s camera is on Scott. The blond-haired producer remains by the wall, glaring.

I came in and did exactly what he didn’t want.

I calmed every single fucking person.

I flicked over his rook, his bishop, and protected my queen.

I mouth, Don’t fuck with me. These five people mean more to me than words can express. I’ve never once felt like I had a real family.

But with them—I know I do.





CHAPTER 17





ROSE CALLOWAY





My parents have rented out the loft to a ritzy hotel in New York City, complete with thirty sprawling flat screens, hors d'oeuvres and two hundred of their closest friends. They call it a screening party for the first episode.

I call it a nightmare.

Let’s be clear. This is a reality show. We’re not going to look like proper, upstanding ladies of Philadelphia. I reiterated these sentiments to my mother and she waved me off. “I know what a reality show is, Rose,” she said. “But this way, we’ll be laughing with you and not at you.”

I’m not sure that’s much better.

4 months and 25 days until the wedding – Mom





I slip my phone into my clutch and snatch a champagne glass from the nearest server, who wears a signature-fitted Calloway Couture black pleated dress. Another reason why a hundred plus people are here to watch our antics: they have big checkbooks. Ones that may want to invest or buy some of the clothes that Lily, Daisy, and I wear on the show.

I scroll through my phone, checking for the millionth time that the CC website is still online. God forbid it crashes during the show. That would be my luck.

The largest flat screen at the front of the room has a countdown before the show begins. 10 minutes. 10 fucking minutes.

Where the hell is Connor?

My nerves have spiked to new degrees, and I restrain myself from pulling out my phone and checking the website again.

I scan the crowd quickly, and I spot Loren and Lily standing off to the side, nearest a large potted plant. This is their first Calloway hosted event since Lily’s sex addiction became public. Half the people in the room stare at them with curious, admonishing gazes. The other half gossip in whispers.

Lily and Loren look about as uncomfortable as they can be, shifting and avoiding eye-contact. Lo has his arm around Lily’s shoulder, touching her in comfort and rotating her body every time a camera edges too close.