Page 126 of Bribed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

Silently, he helps me retrieve some of my usual clothes, my favorite books, my pillow, my hair clips, and a little keyboard I no longer want to hide.

Lex

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Calypso honestly doesn’t have much. It occurs to me when it takes two trips to get her things to my room. And when it only takes two trips at all because her keyboard is bulky.

Without it, Calypso’s whole life fits in a single box.

Immediately, she drops her clumpy pillow on my bed, and I try not to comment about how much nicer my pillows are. It’sherpillow, and she decided it lives on my bed. That alone makes my chest warm.

The next thing she sets up is her keyboard—on the floor, in the corner. She hooks it up to the nearest outlet, then arranges it so the person playing will have to sit directly in the corner. I don’t argue about the fact there’s a piano downstairs waiting for her. This is her private little piano, and the headphones she lays on top of it completes the illusion of it being in an entirely different world. Her stack of papers lives right next to the keyboard, each one a treasure she found while exploring.

After those two things are arranged, she looks at me and the pile of clothes neglected on my bed, like she doesn’t know where they’re supposed to go.

I don’t have to ask how things went with her mother. She’s here, and not there, so perfectly isn’t the answer. No doubtbadlyis closer.

“She went through my room,” she says at long last, marching to the pile of clothes, plucking out a shirt. “She found my writing. My songs.”

My jaw clenches, and I find my way beside her to help her refold what has come undone. “Did you lose any?”

Her head shakes, then she stops. “One. But I let her keep it.”

I know it’s a vague, empty question, and one she’s heard toomuch these past few days, but it leaves my mouth all the same. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

Everyone else heardyes. Or was ignored. Or was deflected.

“What can I—”

“You’re doing absolutely everything for me, Lex.” Calypso looks at me, her eyes firm.

I swallow. “What are friends for?”

She laughs and goes back to folding her clothes. Of course she’d laugh. We’re well past friends, even though we’ve never once put that into words. The longer it goes unspoken, the more that silent truth almost feels like it doesn’t need to be said. I know. She knows. No doubt she knows I know like I know she knows. We’ve just accepted it. Unspoken.

Because some things in this world are better felt than heard. Like a melody. Or an expression. Or a touch.

One day I’ll tell her. One day when everything is okay again and our odd “normal” has really returned.

Till then, it’s enough to just know.

~*~

Calypso kisses me. Hard. Both hands framing my cheeks, she pours her soul into the kiss, then breaks it too soon and grins. Purely Harriet.

Right down to her clothes.

The final song’s crescendo hits, filling my chest, and I echo her brilliant smile, breaking the script to drag her lips back to mine. So what if it wasn’t written? It feels right.

“Okay, okay.” Mr. D’plume’s voice is the first thing to come after the final note dies off. “That’s enough. That was good.”

I pull back, letting Calypso ease away from where I’ve had her waist clamped to mine. She stays next to me, smiling with all the buzz of someone who has just completed her full play without a single hitch. Even though we’ve been running through thescenes almost a week and a half now, this is our first streamlined performance where Mr. D’plume didn’t make a single comment or adjustment. No one forgot their lines. No one choked during a song. During the actual play, any errors will “go on,” but Mr. D’plume insisted that only perfect practice makes perfect. Letting errors slip into practice means that they’ll be etched into our final product.

Mr. D’plume offers a rare smile that goes nowhere near reaching his eyes. “This is our last rehearsal before Saturday night, so if we have any questions or concerns, now is the time to get them out. I don’t want to bethat guy, but Olympus College of Fine Arts doesn’t get its name or prestige out of nowhere. In two days, all the seats you see out there will be full. We sold out yesterday for all four shows opening weekend.” His voice drones, finally meeting a conclusion. “This is a big deal.”

Calypso buzzes, and her little hand clutches my crisp shirt, her bright eyes turning up to meet mine.