Page 131
Story: The Toy Collector
Enzo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lorenzo Russo,” he says, voice calm as a loaded gun. He doesn’t offer his hand or fake a smile, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more.
My father materializes at her side like he’s been summoned, a drink already in hand, ice cubes clinking against crystal with dissatisfaction. His gaze flicks over Enzo’s tailored coat, the perfect cut of his suit, the subtle details that speak of money older than anything the Harringtons have touched.
“I didn’t realize Piper was dating someone in security,” he says, voice dry as gin, as if Enzo is the help who’s wandered into the wrong room.
I want to vanish, to dissolve into the marble and re-form somewhere quieter, somewhere less cruel. Instead, I stand perfectly still, my face a porcelain mask.
“Actually,” I say, clearing my throat and catching my mom’s gaze. Then I lift my hand, the six-carat puzzle-cut diamond we picked up from the Russo estate before flying here catching the chandelier’s light like it’s throwing daggers. “Lorenzo’s my—”
“I’m her fiancé,” Enzo finishes smoothly, his voice absolute.
I watch my mom’s lips twitch, the micro-expression of someone who’s just been checkmated.
“Piper! Holy shit, you actually came.”
Teddy appears like salvation, a whiskey tumbler in one hand and the kind of grin that’s never been Harrington-approved. His tie is already loose, his hair a little mussed, his eyes clear despite the alcohol. He wraps me in a hug that smells like good whiskey and better intentions.
“You look like a revolution.” He grins when he pulls back, hands still on my shoulders, eyes seeing all of me. Then he turns to Enzo, gives him a slow once-over that’s neither threatening nor deferential. “So you must be war.”
A laugh escapes me—the first real sound I’ve made since walking in. Enzo extends his hand, introduces himself properly. “Lorenzo Russo.”
Teddy takes it with a firm grip. “Alright. Yeah. I see it.” He nods, a private assessment completed. It’s the only real introduction that happens in this house of performances.
We circulate for a full hour—sixty excruciating minutes. My mother finds me between conversations, her comments soft and steady, precision-guided missiles.
“Are you still at that internship? I thought it was only for… common people.”
“Is that dress… yours? The cut is so interesting.”
“Your lipstick is a little bold, darling. Remember what we discussed about first impressions.”
With each question, each subtle criticism, I feel the weight of it building—every inch of distance between the daughter they want and the woman I’ve become. My shoulders tighten beneath my dress.
The room seems to contract, the air growing thinner as I breathe it. Enzo stays close, his presence steady, his eyes tracking every microscopic flinch I try to hide.
His thumb moves against my back, slow and deliberate. “Do you want to leave?” he murmurs, just for me. Rather than coaxing me, he’s reminding me of the option.
I shakemy head once.
“You run this,” he adds. “We go when you say.”
The room fills with people who know a version of me that hasn’t existed for years. Former classmates, family friends, business associates—they ask about charity organizations I don’t know about, congratulate me on achievements I’ve never claimed, speak to me in the language of a future I rejected.
“This place doesn’t deserve you,” Enzo murmurs near my temple. “They look, but they don’t see. And still you stand taller than all of them.”
My father corners us near the library doors, martini in hand, his eyes slightly narrowed—the look he gets when he’s about to deliver what he thinks is wisdom.
“Well, let’s hope this one works out better than your lastboyfriend,” he says, glancing at Enzo with the idle disinterest of a man evaluating livestock. “That campaign manager nearly ruined your mother’s summer.”
I feel Enzo inhale beside me—sharp and slow. The kind of breath people take before court rulings or executions. One tilt of his head, one unreadable smile, and my father steps back like he’s heard a threat no one else can.
“How tragic,” Enzo drawls, eyeing my dad. “But I guess that’s what happens when you try to pawn your daughter off on someone unworthy.”
Yeah, I’ve told him all about the guys my parents tried to set me up with, and how it was always about how it affected them, how it looked for them.
Something inside me goes quiet at my dad’s words. Not breaking—nothing so dramatic. Just a simple, clean silence, like a circuit being cut. The insult of comparing Enzo to someone who was most definitely not a boyfriend hits hard.
After placing my untouched champagne on a passing silver tray, I smooth my dress with hands that don’t tremble, and I look my father directly in the eyes for the first time today.
My father materializes at her side like he’s been summoned, a drink already in hand, ice cubes clinking against crystal with dissatisfaction. His gaze flicks over Enzo’s tailored coat, the perfect cut of his suit, the subtle details that speak of money older than anything the Harringtons have touched.
“I didn’t realize Piper was dating someone in security,” he says, voice dry as gin, as if Enzo is the help who’s wandered into the wrong room.
I want to vanish, to dissolve into the marble and re-form somewhere quieter, somewhere less cruel. Instead, I stand perfectly still, my face a porcelain mask.
“Actually,” I say, clearing my throat and catching my mom’s gaze. Then I lift my hand, the six-carat puzzle-cut diamond we picked up from the Russo estate before flying here catching the chandelier’s light like it’s throwing daggers. “Lorenzo’s my—”
“I’m her fiancé,” Enzo finishes smoothly, his voice absolute.
I watch my mom’s lips twitch, the micro-expression of someone who’s just been checkmated.
“Piper! Holy shit, you actually came.”
Teddy appears like salvation, a whiskey tumbler in one hand and the kind of grin that’s never been Harrington-approved. His tie is already loose, his hair a little mussed, his eyes clear despite the alcohol. He wraps me in a hug that smells like good whiskey and better intentions.
“You look like a revolution.” He grins when he pulls back, hands still on my shoulders, eyes seeing all of me. Then he turns to Enzo, gives him a slow once-over that’s neither threatening nor deferential. “So you must be war.”
A laugh escapes me—the first real sound I’ve made since walking in. Enzo extends his hand, introduces himself properly. “Lorenzo Russo.”
Teddy takes it with a firm grip. “Alright. Yeah. I see it.” He nods, a private assessment completed. It’s the only real introduction that happens in this house of performances.
We circulate for a full hour—sixty excruciating minutes. My mother finds me between conversations, her comments soft and steady, precision-guided missiles.
“Are you still at that internship? I thought it was only for… common people.”
“Is that dress… yours? The cut is so interesting.”
“Your lipstick is a little bold, darling. Remember what we discussed about first impressions.”
With each question, each subtle criticism, I feel the weight of it building—every inch of distance between the daughter they want and the woman I’ve become. My shoulders tighten beneath my dress.
The room seems to contract, the air growing thinner as I breathe it. Enzo stays close, his presence steady, his eyes tracking every microscopic flinch I try to hide.
His thumb moves against my back, slow and deliberate. “Do you want to leave?” he murmurs, just for me. Rather than coaxing me, he’s reminding me of the option.
I shakemy head once.
“You run this,” he adds. “We go when you say.”
The room fills with people who know a version of me that hasn’t existed for years. Former classmates, family friends, business associates—they ask about charity organizations I don’t know about, congratulate me on achievements I’ve never claimed, speak to me in the language of a future I rejected.
“This place doesn’t deserve you,” Enzo murmurs near my temple. “They look, but they don’t see. And still you stand taller than all of them.”
My father corners us near the library doors, martini in hand, his eyes slightly narrowed—the look he gets when he’s about to deliver what he thinks is wisdom.
“Well, let’s hope this one works out better than your lastboyfriend,” he says, glancing at Enzo with the idle disinterest of a man evaluating livestock. “That campaign manager nearly ruined your mother’s summer.”
I feel Enzo inhale beside me—sharp and slow. The kind of breath people take before court rulings or executions. One tilt of his head, one unreadable smile, and my father steps back like he’s heard a threat no one else can.
“How tragic,” Enzo drawls, eyeing my dad. “But I guess that’s what happens when you try to pawn your daughter off on someone unworthy.”
Yeah, I’ve told him all about the guys my parents tried to set me up with, and how it was always about how it affected them, how it looked for them.
Something inside me goes quiet at my dad’s words. Not breaking—nothing so dramatic. Just a simple, clean silence, like a circuit being cut. The insult of comparing Enzo to someone who was most definitely not a boyfriend hits hard.
After placing my untouched champagne on a passing silver tray, I smooth my dress with hands that don’t tremble, and I look my father directly in the eyes for the first time today.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132