Decked with Holly

I probably shouldn’t have laughed in his face, but judging by his disgust you’d think he had just volunteered to bathe with flesh-eating snails. America’s favorite rock star drummer was about to buy me girl stuff.

Hilarious, especially the way he scowled at the thought.

It was also really cute.

Or it would have been if his motivation hadn’t been strictly work-related. Given that his exes were all glamorous singers and actresses, he needed to convince people that I was pretty enough to meet his normal standards.

Nothing cute about buying someone makeup because she’s too plain without cosmetics.

Still, he was right about one thing: I did need to move my stuff into the suite.

But when I slid the key card into the lock on Allison and Claire’s door, the room looked completely different—and not because I’d been so seasick last night that I couldn’t remember it properly. My stuff was sprawled everywhere: clothes strewn under the bed, on the desk, even crumpled in the bathroom. If I hadn’t taken my sketchpad with me in my backpack it would probably have LOSER carved into the cover.

With relatives like mine, who needs enemies?

They had been thoughtful enough to leave a note on my cot, right on top of some of my underwear.

Hey, Annie,

You really shouldn’t leave your crap lying around for people to trip over. And since you acted like such a bitch last night, we don’t want you coming back. We’ve actually got social lives. Unlike you. Tell Grandpa anything about this and everyone will know about Santa’s sluttiest little helper.

Merry Christmas, loser.

Okay, that was so not what I’d been expecting. Maybe I should have anticipated it. After all, Allison and Claire were probably lounging on the chairs by the pool, trying to come up with new ways to torture me while guys of all ages scoped them out.

Still, it would have been amazing to wheel away my suitcase with a casual parting remark like, “I’m staying with my rock star boyfriend. Enjoy the space, ladies.”

I bet Cinderella never had to deal with this before her happily ever after. No motion sickness in her pumpkin coach, and her prince probably sent servants to retrieve her belongings from her wicked stepfamily’s house. Then again, she wasn’t faking the whole thing in an attempt to become popular.

Still, was it too much to ask that I feel like a princess for a little while?

Apparently.

I scooped up handfuls of clothing and crammed it all back into my suitcase, feeling as crappy as Allison and Claire had probably intended. Everything about that note was designed to make me feel as unwanted and unlovable as possible. Mission accomplished.

Part of me wanted to do something to make them back off, but . . . they had the Santa photos. They weren’t afraid to release them either. That threat had been terrifying when I thought the pics would make the rounds at my school, but now . . . it was so much worse. They could sell any of those shots to People magazine and turn me into a national laughingstock.

I had to be careful.

Not just of Allison and Claire, although they were the two people I had the most reason to fear, but anyone and everyone who had photos of me that weren’t particularly flattering. Most of which were safe with Jen. Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Of course Jen would never intentionally humiliate me, but we don’t always share the same idea of what constitutes embarrassing. Whenever she posts photos of us on Facebook I have to untag myself in at least half of them.

I definitely had to contact Jen. She was the one person I trusted to help me out, even though she would probably think of Nick as the sweetest, kindest, most gallant man on earth once she saw photos of us together. She would probably see me as Cinderella no matter what I told her to the contrary. But that’s Jen: determined to see the good in everything and everyone.

That’s partly why we work so well as friends: She encourages me to be daring while I double-check that she stays safe. Somehow it balances out. Well . . . usually. When it goes wrong, I end up slapping Santa and getting blackmailed by my cousins with the photographic proof.

Still, whether Dominic Wyatt liked it or not, I wasn’t about to keep something of this magnitude from Jen. Or a secret of any size, for that matter.

Zipping up my suitcase, I decided it was about time that I refigured my plans. Since Nick was putting his best interests first, then I should be doing the same thing.

It didn’t matter that Nick was probably hating every minute of shopping. We weren’t friends—we were acquaintances who had been saddled with each other.

I couldn’t lose sight of that little detail.

It was business.

This was my one shot to experience life as a Somebody, and I didn’t want to miss out on anything because I had failed to brainstorm with Jen.

I started back to the suite, wheeling my suitcase behind me, and trying to gauge how much time I had before Nick would be back. Hard to know how seriously he took this makeup stuff. Most likely he would take it as seriously as he seemed to take everything else. Odd how I always noticed Nick’s inability to relax and yet Jen constantly reminds me to loosen up and have fun.

Well, whatever. I should have enough time to Skype Jen without him ever finding out.

Who says an ordinary girl can’t be devious?

I swiped his key card for entrance and considered the best way to go about, ahem, borrowing an expensive electronic device from Nick. One thing I didn’t own was a laptop, which meant that if Nick had taken his iPad with him, I was screwed.

So much for my deviousness.

I wheeled my suitcase into a corner and began systematically searching the desk drawers in the hope that he had forgotten it there. No such luck. The iPad had left the building . . . or at least the suite. I eyed Nick’s leather messenger bag suspiciously, feeling guilty even considering digging through it. Somehow logging into Skype didn’t seem quite so intrusive if he’d left the necessary technology out in the open, more or less. But rummaging through his bag would undeniably be an invasion of privacy.

But talking to Jen would be worth it.

I hit pay dirt the instant I flipped back the leather flap and unzipped. A MacBook Pro. The guy clearly had a thing for Apple technology. Not that I blamed him, but, really? An iPad and a MacBook Pro? Because heaven forbid he was out of range for so much as a minute.

Then again, considering my willingness to paw through his belongings for Internet access, I was in no position to judge.

Especially since his controlling nature was now providing me with exactly what I wanted.

I logged into my email only to find thirty messages waiting in my inbox, fourteen of them from Jen. The subject lines said it all:

How’s the cruise? I miss you! Good luck with your cousins!

Dominic Wyatt’s new girlfriend looks EXACTLY like you. I mean it!

You’re not secretly dating Dominic Wyatt, RIGHT?

Kidding.

OH MY GOD, YOU ARE DATING DOMINIC WYATT!

WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?

People magazine is saying you’ve been dating for TWO WEEKS!?

HOW could YOU keep this a secret from ME!?

You’re not still mad about the Santa thing, are you? I’M SORRY, OKAY!

So I’m NOT your best friend, is that it? FINE BY ME!

Sorry. I take it back.

Email me already!

My inbox is still empty.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE DATING A ROCK STAR!

Oh, yeah, Jen had definitely seen the article.

I quickly logged onto Skype and called her. Every year, Jen loves to redecorate the Christmas tree by herself accompanied by loud carols blaring from her computer. Well, it used to be her mom’s computer, but then Mrs. Lawley got a new one and it officially became Jen’s. Still, with all this media excitement surrounding me there was no way she would be able to go more than fifteen minutes without checking to see if I had responded to one of her billion messages. I was afraid to check Facebook and see how many posts she had left for me there.

She answered on the second ring.

“Oh, my God! Okay, tell me everything! When did the two of you start dating? Was it love at first sight? He’s so dreamy . . . I bet it was love at first sight. HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME?”

“It’s complicated,” I muttered lamely.

“Complicated. COMPLICATED! What kind of an answer is that?”

“Look, we met on the cruise, but we don’t want the media making a big deal out of how quickly we got together, so just . . . play along, okay?”

She let out a big breath. “Okay. So you weren’t keeping this from me, then?”

“Of course not! You’re the first and only person I’m going to tell. And this can’t go any farther than us.”

She nodded. “I won’t say a word!” Then her smile turned mushy and I knew her common sense had probably just melted. “So you met on a cruise to the Mexican Riviera. Wow, that’s just so romantic! So how did it happen? You saw each other from afar?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of.”

Well, he had spotted me staring at him in the dining room.

“And then what?”

“I . . . well, I—”

Jen clapped her hands together in excitement. “Yes?”

“I puked in his bathroom.”

It’s amazing how quickly a smile can disappear from the face of a hopeless romantic.

“You did what?”

“It was an accident!” I said defensively.

“I should hope so!”

“It was just . . . one of those things.”

Jen stared at me as if her video wasn’t working properly and I had suddenly spouted an extra head. “Oh, yeah, one of those things. Because people barf around rock stars all the time.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Jen.”

She ignored that entirely. “Okay, so he saw you in distress and chivalrously offered to help, right?” Jen sighed wistfully. “I guess that’s romantic after all.”

“Well, first he mistook me for a zombie and nailed me right in the face with pepper spray.”

“Be serious, Holly! I want to know what actually happened!”

Apparently, the truth was too far-fetched for even my best friend to believe.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, he was very gallant. A regular knight in shining armor.”

It was the only answer she’d accept without protesting.

“That’s what I thought,” Jen replied smugly. “I could tell that just by looking at him.”

“Tell what?”

“That he’d make a great boyfriend, of course! He’s so easygoing. I think the only time he’s ever been caught scowling at anyone was in that photo with you.”

Well, that made me feel wonderful.

“I’m sure that had nothing to do with you,” Jen added quickly. “He probably just didn’t appreciate the interruption.”

No, he definitely hadn’t appreciated it. Primarily because it had forced him into a fake relationship with me.

“Uh huh,” I said, for lack of anything smarter. I couldn’t confirm any of that nonsense, but I didn’t want to correct her either.

“God, Dominic Wyatt.” She laughed. “Dominic Wyatt is dating my best friend! I never thought I’d say that.”

“Me neither.”

Jen brushed her long auburn bangs away from her eyes. “So . . . is he a relaxed kisser?”

“What does that mean?”

“You know,” she said, even though clearly I didn’t. “Slow, smoldering kisses that are casual but really, really hot?”

“I’m confused,” I admitted. “Words are coming out of your mouth, but all I hear is the back jacket of a romance novel.”

“Is he a good kisser, then?”

I didn’t want to answer that question. So I secretly hoped that her brothers might light something on fire, like they’d done last Christmas, and she would have to evacuate the building.

But no fire alarms went off. Jen was staring at me so intently there was no way I could even distract her with cute puppy videos on YouTube—and she loves watching anything that involves small dogs leaping into large bodies of water.

“Uh, well . . . he’s . . . erm—”

“Spill it, Holly!”

“Oh, yes.” An all-too-familiar voice said coolly from the other side of the room. Nick stood in the doorway, clutching a shopping bag and looking like he was trying very hard to remain calm. I watched the navy color of his eyes turn darker—more gunmetal gray than blue. “Don’t hold back now, Holly.”

I was so incredibly dead.