At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

I’ve got it. You could open a bed and breakfast.

That’s it. That’s all it takes for the dam to break. I open my mouth and scream at the top of my lungs, letting out all the pain and infuriation that wouldn’t escape with Vincent.

“What the hell is going on?!” Ariel shouts over me, racing down the stairs.

I finish off my screaming and start panting from the exertion, feeling a little better than I did a few seconds ago.

“Call Tiffany. Tell her to invite all of her stripper friends from Charming’s over this weekend,” I tell Ariel as she stands at the base of the stairs looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I thought PJ shot you down when you asked him if they could come over for another lesson?” she asks tentatively, still staring at me like I might start screaming again.

“He did. And I don’t care. Invite them all. We’re burning stuff this weekend.”

Chapter 16: I Think We Broke Princess Barbie

“Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t said one word since you came outside an hour ago. You’re making everyone nervous. But you look hot, so there’s that.”

I blink in response to Ariel, not even bothering to try and pull down the tiny, tattered jean shorts Tiffany made me put on. They are so short the white pockets hang out below the ripped denim hem. I glance down at myself—or rather, I glance down at my amazing cleavage currently popping up and out of the ocean-blue tank top Tiffany also made me put on, praising the miraculous wonders of a push-up bra.

Looking out at my front yard, I wonder why I’m not freaking out that it’s filled with a bunch of super gorgeous women, all from Charming’s, standing around a blazing fire pit, staring at me and waiting for me to toss in the first article of beige clothing sitting in a huge pile at my feet by the sidewalk. Or why I’m not freaking out that we’re having this party in my front yard, where the entire neighborhood can see. My backyard used to be the perfect place for entertaining, with a gorgeous stone fire pit in the middle of it, but I could only afford enough gas to mow the front yard, so right now, the back looks like an overgrown forest of weeds and most likely stray animals. I’m honestly afraid to go back there.

When Vincent left my house three nights ago and I told Ariel we were having a party, she made the calls immediately, not even giving me a chance to change my mind. Then we went through my clothes and made a pile of things to sell and a pile of things to burn. I spent the rest of the week alternating between crying and being angry, thinking about the words Vincent said to me and how utterly I failed at sticking up for myself. Continuing to get flirty texts from PJ, in between more business ideas, didn’t help my mental well-being.

As soon as everyone showed up at my house for the burning, Tiffany grabbed my hand and took me upstairs to my bedroom. She picked out an outfit for me, did my makeup, and convinced me to leave my long blond hair down, touching it up with a curling iron to enhance my natural waves. I took one look at myself in the mirror and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Ariel was right. I look hot. I feel hot. But something is still off. I’m still angry and confused, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t go back and change the past. I can’t rewind the clock and make it so I stood up to my former father-in-law. I know that and I accept that, but I still feel like a ticking time bomb getting ready to explode.

“Cindy, answer me. Are you okay? Blink once for yes, twice for no,” Ariel speaks again, getting right into my line of sight and blocking my view.

“There are strippers in my front yard,” I whisper.

“Yes, yes there are. Are you afraid one of the bulldogs from the neighborhood is going to come marching over here and complain?” she asks.

“Nope.”

Ariel nods. “Okay, so . . . what’s wrong then? I thought you were okay with having this burning party. Are you gonna start screaming again?”

I am okay with having this burning party. More than okay. And everyone is currently staring at me like they’re afraid I’m going to lose it because Ariel had to go and tell them about my screaming fit the other night, and all about what Vincent said to me. I don’t want them feeling sorry for me. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

My cell phone, which I’m clutching, chimes with an incoming text message, and I don’t even have to look at it to know who it’s from. PJ has been texting me nonstop since everyone got here, asking if I know where his dancers are. Something about how someone called out sick and now no one is answering their phones. And reminding me that they had better not be at my house for any kind of training because he specifically told me no.