It worried me that he didn’t take a break. Not that it should. Hunter wasn’t my business.
…only he kind of was.
Part of my job was to make sure he was okay. I wondered if I should email Gerald about Hunter’s mood. I was supposed to give the Fitzpatrick patriarch detailed, weekly updates, but they were of a technical nature, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about Hunter’s mental health.
I hadn’t talked to my parents about Hunter. I ignored all questions regarding him and focused on telling them about Junsu and my training, which was becoming more grueling by the day. My saving grace was knowing that come Saturday, Hunter and I were attending a Royal Pipelines fundraising event together. I could check on him then.
The Fitzpatricks had thought it best if we met them somewhere neutral so we could familiarize ourselves with each other before we started coming over for dinners. Little did they know, I had no qualms about meeting them in Antarctica or a filthy alleyway as long as I could show up in ripped jeans, sneakers, and a DriFit shirt. Since that was off the table at a 5k-per-head dinner party in the glitzy Roosevelt Hotel, I had to acquire an actual dress.
I owned exactly zero dresses. Belle and Persy, who were both much more voluptuous than me and therefore couldn’t lend me anything, jumped to my rescue. I thought they’d be dragging me through shops at the mall—my idea of torture—and had already braced myself for an afternoon from hell.
On Friday, right after they finished their college classes and Junsu dismissed me from training, Emmabelle sent me a message to meet them at a South End address. When I Google Mapped it, I found out it was a butcher. I decided asking questions would seem ungrateful, and I trusted they knew I wasn’t the kind of chick to make a weird fashion statement a la Lady Gaga’s meat dress.
I parked my car in front of a row of red-bricked buildings. One of them had a black metal door that obviously led to the butcher. I waited in my car, engine running, nibbling on the dead skin around my nails. “There’s No Home for You Here” by The White Stripes blared from the Bluetooth. It made me think of Hunter.
I considered bailing on the fundraiser. I hated parties, had never danced in my life, and there was a reason I never went shopping—I felt like a glorified coat hanger when I tried on fancy clothes. I could always see my ribcage poking through the fabric, the corpse-like outline of my sternum.
Still, the fighter in me had to see this through. Hunter’s family was counting on me, I needed his father’s endorsement, and besides—I owed it to Hunter, even if I disliked him.
A knock on my car window made me jump in surprise. For some stupid reason, I thought it’d be him. But no. Behind the glass, Belle flashed me a row of white, pearly teeth. She wiggled her light eyebrows, opening the door for me and offering me a little bow. Persephone was behind her, jumping up and down and squeaking in delight. I stepped out of the car, eyeing them with suspicion.
“A butcher, huh?” I yanked my brown leather satchel and hoisted it over my shoulder, frowning at their collective excitement.
“Keep an open mind, ho.” Belle grinned. “Bastard’s not going to know what hit him when he sees what a knockout you are under these rags.”
“Seriously, Hunter is going to die after we’re done with you.” Persy practically shoved me across the street to the mysterious black door.
“Is that a promise?” I mumbled.
I would actually have to talk to Hunter tomorrow, after five days of radio silence. To my surprise, my hatred toward him had somewhat dissipated, fizzling to a small flicker of dislike.
“Persy and I have reached the conclusion that for Hunter to grow up and take responsibility, and for you to…well, get a life and a clue, you guys need to fall in love,” Belle explained, knocking on the metal door that rattled against her ring-filled fingers.
If Persephone was conventionally beautiful, Emmabelle was a risqué pinup girl who’d never be tamed. Persy wore a red polka-dot dress, while Emmabelle wore condom-tight leather pants and a holey white designer shirt that probably cost a fortune. Her lips were big, pouty, and infinitely red, her eyes dark blue, like the ocean on a stormy day. If Hunter thought I had a mouth on me, Belle would demolish him completely, all while looking like a long-lost Hadid sister.
“The only person Hunter Fitzpatrick is capable of loving is himself. Even then, he does a shitty job. Look at all the mess he got himself into,” I pointed out.
Belle and Percy were the only people I had told about my agreement with Hunter other than my family. I knew they would never tell a soul and trusted them with my life.