The guy rummaged through his pocket and handed her a business card. “You’re seriously gorgeous. You could be a high-fashion model if you wanted.” He pointed to the card. “I’d love to shoot you for my portfolio. I could even help you pick out some shots for agents. Give me a call if you’re interested.”
He hefted the suitcases higher and walked out of the studio, his sneakers slapping softly on the dusty wood floor. Hanna stared at the business card he’d given her. Patrick Lake, Photographer. On the back was his phone number, website, and Facebook page.
The door to the studio slammed. The rest of the crew packed up. Jeremiah opened the small gray pouch that contained Mr. Marin’s campaign petty cash and handed Sergio a wad of bills. Hanna turned Patrick Lake’s business card in her hands, suddenly feeling a bit better. When she looked up, Kate was staring at her, her brow wrinkled, her lips pursed. Clearly, she’d heard the exchange between Hanna and Patrick.
How do you like that, bitch? Hanna thought giddily, slipping the business card into her pocket. She may not have won the battle for daddy, but she still might win the pretty-girl war.
Chapter 4
And now arriving from Helsinki . . .
“Is your new cologne made of potpourri?” Aria Montgomery whispered to her boyfriend, Noel Kahn, as he swooped in for a kiss.
Noel propped himself up on the couch, looking offended. “I’m wearing Gucci Sport. Like I always do.”
Aria took another sniff. She definitely smelled lavender. “I think you accidentally switched it with Grandma’s toilet water.”
Noel smelled his hands and winced, his soft brown eyes narrowing. “It’s the hand soap from the sink. I can’t help it that your mom puts girly shit in the bathrooms!” He slithered over to Aria and covered her nose with his hands. “You love it, don’t you?”
Aria giggled. It was late Sunday afternoon, and she and Noel were all alone in Aria’s mother’s house, lying on her couch in the family room. Since her parents’ divorce, the room had undergone a bit of a makeover to suit Ella’s tastes and adventures. Hindu-god statues from Ella’s trip to Bombay last summer lined the shelves, Indian blankets from her stay at an artist’s colony in New Mexico this past fall covered the couches and chairs, and tons of green tea-scented candles, the smell of which Aria’s father, Byron, had never liked, flickered everywhere. When Aria had crushed on Noel in sixth and seventh grades, she used to daydream about Noel coming over to her house and lying on the couch with her just like this—well, minus the leering looks from the many-armed Ganesh figurine in the corner.
Noel pecked Aria on the lips. Aria grinned and kissed him back, staring at his chiseled face; long, wavy, black hair; and pink lips. He breathed in and kissed her deeper, running his hands up and down the length of her spine. Slowly, he unbuttoned Aria’s leopard-print cardigan. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Then he pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor, and reached for the zipper on Aria’s jeans. “We should go to your bedroom.”
Aria put her hand over his, stopping him. “Noel, wait.”
Noel groaned and rolled off her. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry,” Aria protested, buttoning her sweater again. “It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Noel gripped the edge of the coffee table, his posture suddenly rigid.
Aria stared out the side window, which offered a perfect view of the Chester County woods. She couldn’t explain why she’d been so hesitant to have sex with him. They’d been going out for over a year. And it wasn’t like she was a prude—she’d lost her virginity to Oskar, a boy in Iceland, when she was sixteen. Last year, she’d hooked up with Ezra Fitz, who happened to be her English teacher. They hadn’t slept together, but they probably would have eventually if A hadn’t outed them.
So why was she holding back with Noel? Admittedly, it was still mind-boggling that she was dating him at all—Aria’s crush on Noel in sixth and seventh grades bordered on the embarrassing. Ali used to tease her about it constantly. “It’s probably better you and Noel aren’t dating,” she’d say. “He’s had so many other girlfriends, so much experience. And you’ve had how many boyfriends? Oh right—zero.”
Sometimes Aria still got a sense that she wasn’t good enough for him—not popular enough, not preppy enough, not the kind of girl who knew which fork to use at dinner or how to maneuver a horse over a jump. She didn’t even know the proper name for those jumps. Then again, sometimes Aria got the sense Noel wasn’t good enough for her—like when they’d toured Iceland together this past summer. He’d insisted on only eating at Burger King and paying for cans of Budweiser with U.S. dollars.
She touched Noel’s rigid back. “I just want it to be special.”
He turned. “You don’t think it’d be special?”
“I do, but . . .” Aria shut her eyes. It was so hard to explain.
Noel hunched his shoulders defensively. “You’ve been so different lately.”
Aria frowned. “Since when?”
“Since . . . a while, I guess.” Noel slid off the couch and pulled his T-shirt back on. “Is it some other guy? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
A chill ran up Aria’s spine. She was keeping secrets from Noel. Of course he knew about Ali, A, and what had happened in the Poconos—the whole world did. But he didn’t know about the unforgivable thing she’d done in Iceland. He didn’t know about Jamaica, either, and he’d even been there when it happened—not there, of course, but sleeping in a nearby room. Would he still want to be with Aria if he knew any of that?