Page 121 of Dream On

I take a step forward, pushing aside my shame, my defenses, my mental blocks. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I did want to, just like I wanted to up on that stage. That moment at the party fucking haunts me, but when I said it was instinct…it was. You caught me off guard, in an embarrassing moment of disrepair, because the first time I was ever at a party, a woman I trusted—who was a secondmotherto me—violated me.” My neck burns with indignity. “On my seventeenth birthday.”

Stevie frowns, lets the words hover between us as she tries to make sense of them. Then the color drains from her face, turning her ghostly white.

A hand flies up to her mouth.

Memories flood me.

A dark room. Loud, pulsing music seeping through the closed door.

I hear a lock click.

I’m slumped over on a velvet love seat, barely coherent as alcohol tries to take me under. Bianca has been feeding me drinks all night, promising me a future filled with stardom and twinkling lights. Treasure and gold. She’s been attached at my hip, acting weird. Almost flirty. I must be misreading the signals. It’s the tequila. It swirls through my bloodstream, clouding my thoughts.

The room tilts, going in and out of focus. “Not feeling so great,” I mumble,slouching sideways before dragging myself back to a sitting position. I blink across the room as Bianca’s silhouette draws closer. We’re in her bedroom. Candles are lit. I need to sleep this off.

Raven-black hair spills over her shoulders as she peels a sparkly gold slip dress off her body. It pools around her feet like a liquid halo.

My eyes narrow through the dimly lit room, her shape distorted. “What are you…”

“It’s okay, Lex,” she whispers.

She’s naked, only wearing a pair of lacy underwear. The world spins around me while her words slur into background static. This can’t be right. I’m imagining things, getting confused.

Her promises twist into something more sinister. “I’ll take care of you.”

She’s always taken care of me. She’s been kind, nurturing, my safe place.

But I think she’s talking about something else. Something I’m too fucked up to understand right now.

Bianca crawls into my lap, presses her mouth to mine. My throat closes up, my heart free-falling. I feel my hands start to shake, my stomach flip-flopping.

“Think of all the things we can do together, Lex.”

She breathes the words against my lips while I choke on her double meaning and her Rose Chérie perfume.

Her tongue plunges into my mouth, hands roaming as she removes my shirt and unlatches my belt buckle.

I’m frozen, immobile, blindsided.

“No…” My eyes roll up, panic going to war with tequila and confusion. “I don’t want—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Her palms frame my face as she tugs my bottom lip between her teeth with a sensual hiss, then swivels her hips in my lap. “You’re so talented. So beautiful. Just imagine the doors I can open for you, the experiences I can give you. You want that, right? I know you do.”

Stevie stands before me now, a tear tracking down her cheek.

Her lips quiver as she processes my words.

My skin swelters, feels like it’s melting, while my chest heaves with staggered breaths. “She was forty-two years old,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets tokeep them from trembling. “She told me she’d take me on as her client, become my new agent. She wanted to be the person who made my dreams come true. She had more power, connections, a swiftly growing business. She worked with adult actors and A-list celebrities and could take me to that next level. So she propositioned me.” I swallow hard, choking back the memories. “Betrayed me in the worst way.”

When my own mother had turned cold, Bianca was warm, a constant presence in our household. I think I needed that—a maternal figure, guiding me, believing in me.

Then I was on the cusp of adulthood while she was making waves as Hollywood’s biggest up-and-coming female agent. Because of her friendship with my mom, I had opportunity at my fingertips. A gateway, anin. Something most people would kill for.

And she used that.

She stole something from me that night.

My head lolls to the side as I sluggishly bat her away, trying to escape, trying to make sense of the fact that someone I consider a family member—someone I’ve trusted since I was five years old—is trying to fuck me while I’m drunk and underage.