CHAPTER SEVEN

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2021

          Stephen Delaroux was a monumental man.

          Besides being internationally recognized as a professor, lecturer, and screenwriter, he also stood at an impressive height of six-foot-three. Whenever people talked about his age and his retirement, it was easy to think about him as a frail old man who depended on a cane to move around, but then he'd casually mention the fact that he successfully hiked to the summit of Pikes Peak and I remembered what an actual powerhouse he actually was.

          It had taken him a while to warm up to me, as people rarely ever saw him around, and I truly hated taking advantage of my parents' influence, but I did what I had to do. I'd done it for Chase, who looked forward to a reunion with his mentor, and for the sake of my relationship with him. I'd gotten close to Stephen to get close to Chase and learn more about him, but, to my utter surprise, I'd grown to genuinely like the man.

          "Penelope," he greeted, the very second he laid eyes on me that night, and opened his arms to welcome me into one of his signature bear hugs. My parents weren't huggers and it wasn't like I got to do this with Chase that often, not under our current circumstances, so I silently hoped Stephen wouldn't feel desperation pouring out of every single one of my pores when I gladly accepted the gesture. "It's great to see you again."

          "Likewise," I replied, voice slightly muffled. It was hard to speak clearly while being squeezed against someone's chest, but that came with the suffocating need to be touched, to be held. It was a consequence I'd happily accept as long as I got some comfort in return, but it didn't take away from how badly I was shaking. My legs were on the verge of giving out by the time he took a step back. "Thanks for coming."

          He briefly winked at me. "It's always a pleasure."

          "Stephen!" my mother called, walking into the hall as she stepped out of her study. The manor was big enough for her to not have noticed our arrival until now, but I found it odd that the staff hadn't informed her, even though she certainly liked to make an entrance. She air kissed Stephen, a common practice and inside joke between the two of them, being longtime friends, then reached out for my hands to pull me closer. "Penny. You look wonderful."

          She looked incredible, because of course she did; she was Andrea Romero, after all, and I'd never seen her look anything but extraordinary. Even when she wasn't wearing any makeup, she always looked expensive. The champagne-colored dress she wore emphasized that perfectly, contrasting with the golden tone of her skin and the dark hair she wore in a curly updo. I noticed, with a wave of warmth rushing into my heart, that she was also wearing the earrings I'd gotten her for Christmas last year.

          My parents deserved some credit. They were good parents, in spite of all my complaints, and I knew they'd tried their best while I was growing up. They had more responsibilities than the regular parent, which I couldn't blame them for, but I still wished they had been more present. A lot of things could have turned out different if they had.

          "Hola, mami," I said, letting her kiss me on the forehead.

          Ingrid had let me borrow one of her dresses for the evening, even though I'd still sensed a hint of animosity when she let me raid her closet. I knew she'd always wanted to come to the Romero manor, and I supposed I should have invited her to come over for dinner at least once, but I couldn't risk having her run her mouth and say something that would ruin my life. My parents didn't like her—if anything, they preferred Savannah—and she was well aware of that, which made her even more dangerous. Ingrid was petty and vindictive, so I wouldn't be entirely shocked if she made a snide comment or two about me just to get back at my parents and divert the negative attention away from her.

          The dress I was wearing was probably a little bit too much for a night in with my parents and I was starting to think the V neck was too deep and the slit was terribly inappropriate. I'd felt good wearing it at first, unable to remember the last time I'd dressed up like this, and I knew I, objectively, looked good—I had the bone structure, genetics, and makeup skills needed to make myself look more than simply presentable. However, a gnawing fear ate away at me, as it could raise flags as red as the dress itself; I certainly wasn't dressing like that to impress Stephen or my parents.

          "Tu papá quiere verte," she told me, gently squeezing my arms. "He thinks it's been an eternity since the last time he saw you and, quite frankly, I must agree with him. You're getting a little bit too skinny, Penelope. You need to take care of yourself."

          I threw her a tight-lipped smile. "I've had a lot of work to do. Senior year, and all."

          She chuckled, then tucked my hair behind my ears. "So hardworking. Now, go see your father. He's in his studio upstairs."

          I walked away from them, leaving them in the hall, as staff rushed towards them to take Stephen's coat and lead him towards the living room while dinner was being prepared. These people had known me for nearly all my life, yet I still wasn't allowed in the kitchen while they were working, not even to grab a glass of cold water, so I'd learned to occupy myself with other things. Though I'd been born in Brooklyn, this had been my home for most of my childhood and teenage years.

          My father's studio in the manor wasn't actually a studio; it was the fancy name he'd given his study, arguing it helped him whenever he needed to be creative and couldn't focus elsewhere. It had always been my favorite room in the entire manor, a place where I could hide and fantasize about different worlds, including those he had built. In there, it was so easy to escape the real world, even if it was just for a small fraction of time, and I levitated up the steps of the grand staircase.

          My chest tightened as I realized I wouldn't be downstairs whenever Chase arrived—I was so desperate for him to see me in this stupid dress I felt ridiculous, like a school girl right before prom—and knew it could be seen as a way of me not caring about his presence. I was supposed to be there; I was supposed to welcome him into the manor, supposed to behave, and I couldn't even do that right.

          Things weren't fine. They were far from okay, and I didn't know how to fix it.

          He had barely said two words to me ever since Ingrid had made me stay home with them instead of driving to his apartment, and only spoke to me whenever it was absolutely necessary. Our advising sessions were spent in utter silence and I knew I should be taking advantage of the extra time we got to have together in private, but I didn't dare to move a muscle, unable to shut my brain off. He was furious at me, and I could tell. His rage was quiet, a scorching wildfire inside his ribcage, and the flames licked my skin, the smoke shortened my breath and singed my lungs, but I couldn't see it. That made it impossible for me to ever put it out; instead, all I could do was smother myself in it.

          From ashes to ashes.

          I forced myself to shake off those thoughts as I pushed open the door leading to the studio. The thing about it is that it was always pitch black, which usually culminated in me bumping into things and knocking them over, and it wasn't like I could just simply memorize the path, as he kept adding new furniture and other items to the room.

          "¿Papi?" I called, my voice ricocheting off the walls as I supported myself on one of them, taking cautious steps forward. "¿Dónde estás?"

          "Penny!" he replied, his silhouette blending into the shadows. Though I absolutely loathed the nickname, it still sounded different whenever he used it. He was my father, my Dad, and I knew he meant well, in spite of it all. I couldn't complain much about my upbringing, and it felt terribly greedy and selfish of me to wish I'd had more than that. Nevertheless, I was yet again forced to remember how Chase had always been the only person to never call me Penny, which clearly set the difference between him and everyone else in my life. "Can you turn on the lights? I don't think you'll be able to get here in the dark."

          "I can try."

          And try I did—I always did, obtaining varying results.

          This time, however, after fumbling in the darkness of the studio for a while, my fingers found the light switch and flicked it on, swallowing the room in a burst of light. I was momentarily blinded, as my eyes attempted to get used to the sudden brightness around me, then found him sitting in the back, cross-legged on the floor.

          "You know, this was probably the first and last time I ever tried to convince Stephen to write a script for me," he confessed, slowly getting up from the floor and stretching his arms above his head. He was almost as tall as Stephen, but, like I had told Chase all those years ago, no one ever came close to being like that man. He truly was one of a kind, inimitable, unsurpassable. If I were him, I'd be dying for a chance to work directly with Stephen Delaroux. I wasn't nearly as passionate about it as my father, or even as Chase and Stephen, so I knew I'd never match whatever expectations they had of me. "That man is absolutely brilliant, don't get me wrong, but he's a little bit . . . delusional. We don't have that many scenes left to film, but he keeps insisting we're doing it wrong, the actors aren't delivering their lines the way he pictured them . . . I could go on." He shrugged off his concerns with a quick wave. "Come give your old man a proper greeting, will you?"

          He didn't hug me, but I never expected him to, anyway. However, unlike my mother, he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, yet he, too, kept me at arm's length. He was significantly underdressed, especially when compared to my mother, or even to me, but that didn't take away from the fact that he was wearing expensive clothing nonetheless. The two-piece suit he was wearing—his jacket had been tossed aside while he focused—cost nearly as much as a semester at my university.

          "I didn't know you were almost finished with the movie," I told him, slightly embarrassed that all of that had happened right under my nose and I hadn't noticed a thing. With a pang to the stomach, I wondered how many things I'd missed. "I wish you'd told me."

          "I tried to, but you keep dodging my calls," he said. It wasn't a lie, and he'd never been the type of person to soften the truth just so he could spare my feelings. I spent so much time waiting for a text or a call from Chase, often dropping whatever I was doing as soon as my phone received a notification, and I'd lost all motivation to care about those that didn't concern him. I avoided making plans with people, including my best friends, who lived with me, for the sake of being available whenever Chase needed me to be, and the one time I'd cancelled on him had backfired terribly. Unfortunately, that included my parents as well, so I was definitely to blame for the rift I'd created between us.

          "Yeah." I sighed. "That's on me, I guess."

          His facial expression softened. "Is everything okay? You seem a bit—"

          "Everything's fine," I rushed to say, before he could complete that sentence. I didn't want to hear it and be faced with the sheer humiliation of having to admit I was completely whipped for someone and had to keep that a secret from everyone. If I could at least talk about it, even with my parents or Stephen, for that matter, it would take some weight off my shoulders, but it was a burden I had to carry by myself.

          A wave of shame hit me right in the face, swallowing me whole before I could regain my footing, as I didn't want to think about Chase—about us—like that, as though he'd brought me nothing but pain, when it was quite the opposite. I'd learned things about myself and the world and everyone just by being with him, seeing everything around me differently just because he'd taught me to be better and approach things differently. No one had ever made me feel the way that he did, and things would never be the same with other people, no matter how hard I tried to believe that. Even if he left, something I was fearing would happen sooner than I was prepared for, he'd leave me and his secrets behind; he'd leave a changed me behind, and I didn't know how I would come back from that.

          "You know you can talk to us, right?" His voice was laced with so much concern everything around me threatened to explode into flames. Even though I knew my distance would end up raising red flags around those who paid attention—at least, those who tried to pay attention—having them actually express that worry was enough to nearly send me into a panicked state. The studio was massive, like everything else in this manor, yet the walls were closing in around me. "I don't know what's going on, Penn, but you don't . . . seem like yourself. Is it school? I can easily email the Dean to ask if the curriculum is too demanding—"

          "I've had a lot to do lately," I said, once more, like a broken record. The edges of my vision blurred and I tried to support myself on a table, missing it twice. "It's easy to get distracted, but I'm working on it, I promise. I'm sure it'll get easier to handle going forward."

          He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, crossing his arms in defiance. "Don't you have midterms coming up, too? Shouldn't your time management skills be tested even further as the year goes by?"

          My heart was beating so fast I feared I might throw up, a whole bass beat pumping and echoing in the empty spaces between my bones, and, if it weren't for the table, I would have fallen. "Everything's fine. Tell me your senior year wasn't exhausting."

          That seemed to calm him down a little bit, while my own heartbeat kept racing in anticipation. Like Chase had told me, the excuses would stop sticking after a while, and my repertoire wasn't that wide, not to mention I felt like the most despicable person on the planet whenever I lied to my parents.

          "Let's head downstairs, then," he eventually said, reaching down for his jacket. "We shouldn't make your mother wait too long to get a chance to comment on how thin you are." Then, he wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders, the closest thing to a hug I'd gotten from him in years, and we both exited the studio. "Even if she doesn't, I will. What the hell are they feeding you?"

          He almost gave me a tour of the manor by the way he was speaking, taking trips down memory lane. He pointed to the place where I had spilled cranberry juice on the carpet and sobbed for hours while trying to come up with a way to explain to my parents no one had gotten stabbed in the manor. I smiled fondly at the memory, travelling back to a time when everything was simpler and I didn't have secrets corrupting every aspect of my life, when no one's life and career were at risk over my carelessness and pure stupidity, and I realized I missed it. Terribly.

          Downstairs, it was only thanks to my father's guidance that I didn't walk right in front of the rushing staff, delaying the service. If anything, my parents were known for throwing great parties and being wonderful hosts, and I wasn't going to be the person to ruin it for them, knowing just how much it meant to them.

          I was feeling pretty lightheaded by the time I found myself seated at the grand table. Though there were only five of us expected at the table, it was still the one they used for important dinners, even if the vast majority of seats were never occupied. I felt smaller than ever, sitting by myself, surrounded by rushing people who didn't even acknowledge my presence. It was then that I remembered how truly insignificant I was, on both aspects of it.

          I was so small in a constantly moving, constantly changing world, so unable to keep up with everyone else I'd inevitably be tossed aside. I was invisible to those who mattered the most to me, regardless of how badly I bent myself to try and meet their presumptions of what I should be. In the end, did it even matter? Considering I'd never be able to do better than what I currently was?

          Stephen occupied the seat next to me. My parents sat in front of us. Bile charred my throat like sandpaper.

          "I thought we were supposed to be five," Stephen pointed out, filling my glass with Merlot without me having to ask. I doubted my hands were steady enough to pour myself a drink without spilling it all over the table, anyway, and I didn't dare to look at anyone. "The house feels a bit empty. Is Chase running late?"

          "Oh, he's not coming," my mother casually informed him, taking the bottle when he handed it to her. My heart sank underground. "He called earlier today, saying he was swamped with papers to grade and people to advise. Reminds me of Penny here a little bit. Always with their heads buried in a book."

          He hadn't said a word to me about not coming.

          Even though we had barely spoken to each other lately, I had always taken his presence at these dinners for granted; after all, it was surprisingly easy to please him and put a smile on his face whenever I mentioned Stephen Delaroux's name. However, that no longer stuck, and neither did he.

          My breathing was shallow, as though my lungs were filling with water, and I carved my fingernails into the soft flesh of my thighs so I'd have something else to worry about. The sharp pain was a lot easier to deal with than letting my mind wander towards all the reasons behind Chase's absence; there were plenty of them, far more than I could count on two hands, and they all involved me.

          "I can see why you're his favorite," Stephen told me, with a wink, and I instantly stiffened. Did they suspect anything? Was that why he hadn't come? "You're just like him. Hardworking, tenacious—"

          "—stubborn as a mule," my father added, with a small chuckle, still oblivious to the panic forming in my chest, "but ambitious nonetheless. It's like he's one of us, isn't it?"

          I gripped my glass so tightly I feared I might smash it, leaving a million cuts all over my skin. "Yeah." I brought the drink to my lips, the fingers of my free hand curled around my thigh, and inhaled sharply. The glass fogged in response to my hot breath. "Funny how those things happen."

          I didn't dare utter a single word about Chase during the rest of the evening.