Trespassing

Trip's POV

I stepped off the red carpet and into the building. The runway show started in fifteen minutes, or something close to it. I was late already—like I gave a crap. Standing there in my tailored clothes—handpicked by my mother's assistant—I roamed the crowd. Watching all their pretty faces, expensive jewels that made them rival Liz Taylor—was this really my future? Didn't I get anything else?

Sure to anyone else from the outside—someone like Finn—it could seem great. I had money to burn; I could fly to Brazil in a private jet just for kicks. It didn't matter, though. All I wanted was a normal family, go to high school, graduate... have a girlfriend. I couldn't have all the basics, only excess.

"This place looks nice." I'd forgotten Gabe's presence until he patted my shoulder.

With a bitter smile, I said, "Wish it didn't."

The columns were large vibrating masterpieces decorated with bands of marble circling around the pillar. The marble wasn't polished like the rest of the floor; it was a pale whitish tone resembling the sculptures of ancient Greece.

"We could always do something about it." He smirked in a devilish manner. "But we won't, because Ava's here." It was scary how him and me thought alike— "Her parents should be somewhere in this crowd, huh?"

He was right; Ava's mother would most definitely be around, she wouldn't miss her daughter's big debut. My eyes flayed around but I only saw people and more people—I didn't even know what her mom looked like, I realized.

"Her mom's definitely somewhere." I couldn't care less about Ava's mother—I cared about her daughter. She was in the backstage, in the next room where the runway would be held. "Thank you," I said removing a flute of champagne off a silver tray. I leaned my head all the way—in a blink of an eye the bubbly liquid flushed down my throat.

"Don't drink too much." Gabriel warned, already on alert.

I shook my head, "Worry about yourself," his blue eyes drifted off me for a second, his chest heaving harshly. "Don't you have to work on Valerie?" I falsely cheered.

His eyes darted around madly, "Want to say that a little louder?" Gabe hissed grasping my shoulder. I glared into his eyes just as heatedly. "I get it, you can't be with her—but you already knew that, Thomas. Some people just don't get what they want." He shook his head sadly. "It sucks, but it's life."

Gabriel freed me. I said nothing as he stepped in front of my line of vision, just stared at the back of his head.

"It's not much of a life..." I muttered gazing at the crystal flute between my fingers. Gabriel got close to people his father wanted to do business with, if they were guys our age or older, he showed them a good time out in the city, if they were girls... Gabe thought the best way was to seduce them. In a way, Gabe was his father's right hand. I wasn't sure why Gabriel went along with it, other than to be in his Dad's good graces; though, I think his father threatened him with boarding school in Sweden once. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I'm... pissed off."

"Royally pissed off," he corrected wetting his lips sneaking a glance my way. A little smile cracked his stern face. "I think I can forgive you, though."

I chuckled as he snatched a champagne glass, drowning it immediately. Drinking was good to forget—or to numb the feelings. But to numb my feelings for Ava... not every ounce of alcohol would suffice.

"Look over there," I nudged my best friend's arm.

Gabriel jerked his head over to the pillar—I swear I saw his eyes widen. Probably imagined it.

Valerie was wearing a golden mermaid dress, high heels on, black hair styled into a curly mess—her bronze shone in the middle of all the lights. She looked nice. And she was looking at us—well, at Gabe.

I had to say, I had a hard time having unwilling sex with girls I didn't even know—but Gabriel's job as an entertainer didn't seem easier. I'd watched girls being swept girls off their feet, falling for Gabriel, only for him to never reciprocate those feelings. Gabe never really talked about things, he joked around, as if nothing affected him—it was his coping mechanism. I couldn't blame him, I did the same.

Shakily, his head turned to me.

"She's a horrible person, right?" he asked—I knitted my eyebrows, how did he manage to only move a corner of his lips?

"Would that make your job easier?"

"It would make feel less guilty." He whispered when she began walking towards us.

I scratched my scar.

"Then yes, she's a terrible person." He gave a look, I shrugged. "I don't really know her, bro. She's Ava's friend, I got nothing to do with that." I noticed people going for the entrance to the other room. The show was about to begin.

I patted my friend's shoulder, "I'm getting this over with. Good luck,"

"Yeah..." he whispered looking caught up in the girl—oh boy.

As I walked into the runway room I took in all the seats being claimed. The ones lower, closest to the high platform was where the magazine reporters and fashion critiques sat—dad and I had seats down there as well. My father's seat was going to be someone else's, since he never showed. Lucky him; mom made me come.

I sat on the black cushioned chair surrounded by people I'd rather run away from—they were already glancing too many times my way—my eyes blinked shut. Photographs... Nice. Distracting myself I looked over to the tall stage Ava would soon walk over. It was golden—all of it, including the curtains that parted each time a model catwalked. The lights shining overhead were blood red, though. Nice effect, I thought stashing my hands into my pockets.

This was pretty old for me. A guy was opening the show, presenting the line and giving the designer credits to my mom—I rolled my eyes. Five minutes later everyone was quieted down, the ambient music could be heard loud and clear—a soft, powerful tune settling nicely since the pieces the two first models showed off were spring-time breezy, dresses, skirts.

I sighed chewing my lip around. How was she doing? Was she nervous? Probably not, she didn't even want to do this.

I watched another, and another—seven models came out. I was squirming for a good position; the seat next to mine was vacant like predicted—that had been for dad. I saw people writing in their little notebooks, other on iPad's—pulling out my cell phone I sent a text to her. How long until she walked out? I was paying attention just to see her, that's how badly I wanted her—just to glimpse at her face, at her up there. It would be a vision from heaven.

One minute crawled like a worm, the golden curtains opened the show of red lights played on her—but it wasn't Ava. This one was shorter, fuller and blond. No text back, either.

I found myself glaring at the fallen curtains wishing I had X-ray vision—she was just beyond them. Biting harder on my lip my hands curled. I was Thomas Harrington for something—this would raise suspicions and mutters, but what did I care?

Getting up I followed the pathway leading me into a backdoor to the backstage. People complained when I cut off their visual of the runway, I excused myself lightly, never stopping.

"You can't be back here—"

"I'm Thomas Harrington, Giselle's son. I can be anywhere I want." I shouldered past the security guard, hand landing on the knob—when I set foot on the backstage everything about it screamed girl. The smell of rich perfume, the eyeliners, mascaras, lipsticks, curling irons—they were lined up on several tables. Models went in changers, came out as quickly—they were all staring as I walked around. It didn't come as a shock that many of them knew me and I knew them—yuck.

"Thomas?" a voice came from my left—my head swung that way. "What are you doing back here—are you looking for Giselle?"

I blinked at the girl. Not knowing if I'd seen her before or not. They had been so many; two years of duty had led too accumulated faces.

"No..." I mumbled turning my eyes to all the places a brunette was stationed, trying to find Ava. "I'm looking for Ava, have you seen her?" I ignored the frown she gave me.

"The new girl?" I nodded. "Sure, she's right there—by the curtain." My eyes found her quickly once I knew where to look.

Breath caught in my throat and that was when her back was to me.

Not saying another word I moved towards her, towards Ava. Somewhere around this chaos and mayhem, my mother was walking around—I knew that. If she saw me back here... who knew what she'd do. I had never done this before, not even for Catherine.

My hands reached for her shoulders—she didn't tense. Instead, she was quick to whirl. I couldn't keep my eyes off her when she did. My mouth tried forming words, only to find it couldn't—everything I could say then was useless. I was confident if I said anything it would all be a stuttered mess.

Her brown hair cascaded in waves, enveloping her face heart-shaped face—the eyeliner made her eyes bigger, to me, more doe-like. I could hate my mom for tons of reasons, but her work was amazing—Ava made it look much more, though. She was what made the flapper dress seem divine. It wasn't because the skirt was made of three layers of square scarves in three different hues of coral or because of the pearl beads adorning Ava's waist in a belt-fashion, or the ones on her slim shoulders.

It was all her.

"What are you doing back here?" she got out staring open-mouthed.

To what I said, "You'll hate me for this but..." I shook my head out of breath. "You look dazzling."

She turned ten-thousand shades of pink right there.

"Trip..." she murmured, eyes wavering between me and all the other people in the background. I could only see her, hear her. "What are you doing here?"

"I sent you a text—you didn't reply so..."

"My phone's in my bag." She said rubbing her wrist nervously—everything she did was so beautiful. "You have to go, I'm about to—"

I took a step closer and her words muted. She batted her eyes softly as if something had gone into her eye.

I brushed a wavy strand then, "I told you," I whispered to her. "Wavy looks much better," my lips felt dry no matter how much I licked them. It was like they couldn't stop itching until I... until I felt hers pressed on mine. "You know all those people out there—all these people," I tilted my head discretely to the girls who were busy preparing for the next catwalk. "They all think I have everything, that I can have anyone whenever I want—because of my looks, my money—" any other time I would've smirked, to tease her, this time my thumb over the plane of her cheek. "They're all wrong," I went on, eyes locked with hers. "Because there's only one thing I want, one person… and she's standing right in front of me."

Ava's hand settled on mine, her fingers melted between mine, like butter. She didn't pull mine away immediately.

"You can't do this here, Thomas." She lowered our hands, not slipping our fingers apart.

My heart jumped in a hyperactive mood.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me again," my lips curled—scary how she saw the hunger in my eyes. "We can't do it again—certainly not here. Even your mother's roaming around." She muttered.

Faintly shouts—a counting reached our ears—we remained focused on each other.

"So?" I leaned my head closer, her scent invading me, drugging me.

"So…" her hand left mine gliding up my chest, pushing against the silk shirt. "It's wrong…"

"Then…" my lips grazed her bottom one. "How does it feel so right?"

It happened at the same time. Ava's hand curled on the back of my head, pulling me to her. Her sweetness broke through the bitterness I'd been carrying around for a whole week now. The fingers softened the hairs in my nape.

She kissed me and the golden curtains had flung open.

That's when the counting made sense—Ava was by the curtain because it was her turn to walkout. She should be catwalking this second, instead… our faces were molding into one blob—I couldn't stop dragging her in for more.

A hand pushed into my chest—forcing myself from the most unbelievable girl I'd ever been with, I watched her wide eyes go over the crowd. The flashes were so many I had to lift an arm to shadow my eyes—and hers.

Fuck, this was bad—

"Thomas," a calculating, cold tone whispered from behind the other curtains. "What have you done?"

Double fuck—that was my mom.

Ava clung tighter as the gentleman with the microphone—the one who had opened the fashion runway—spoke. He was telling them to calm down, the reporters mostly, so Ava could walk out there. But even the man seemed winded by what he'd seen.

Thomas Harrington had just made out with a model in front of five hundred people—give or take. Considering this was an invite only show, the numbers were pretty high. I could only imagine what the headlines for tomorrow would be.

"Go," I whispered into her ear. Ava felt mortified now, she didn't want to move from side for anything in the world—her eyes were locked above my shoulder. Mom, I thought, she's probably glaring daggers. "Go," I drew my hands from her waist—she looked at me in a total Bambi-like way. "It'll be fine, I'll deal with her. Go," I urged.

It would only be worse if Ava didn't catwalk. Putting on her mask, she left my side, walking off like a professional and as soon as she was out there the curtains closed. When I turned around I saw everyone staring at me—my mom stood out from the rest.

Her chin tipped high, her perfect nose sticking up—she was pissed.

"Come with me," she started turning. I showed no inclination of following her— "Now."

As much as I liked to disobey, I didn't. I had already screwed up. Who knew what the media was going to say? They could very well destroy this spring collection because of what they'd just seen. I had a bad rep. Girls who were seen with me… well, they weren't well viewed by society. So, here's to hoping they liked Ava.

Mom locked the door to the office she was currently occupying. My eyes had never seemed as cold on me, as they did on her.

"What were you thinking?" she kept her voice in check—Giselle never yelled, no, she was too classy for that. "Don't answer that—you don't ever think. That's the problem with you, isn't it?" I had a few things in mind to throw back, but I knew better than to try and win an argument with she-devil. It would only prolong this hell. "Who told you to come backstage?"

"No one," I said when silenced filled up the space between us. "I was just—"

"Running my spring collection?" mom gave a sweet, fake smile. "Of all the stunts you've been pulling Thomas… this one…" she shook her head, smile not totally gone. "If this one works it will take the cake." I almost smiled at that; finally something pissed her off royally and I hadn't tried to do a thing. "But I'll release the DVD and then where will you be?" and suddenly I was praying to God that this didn't ruin the shitty collection.

If that DVD got out… I'd never get on with my life, not the way I had always planned. I could kiss prestige Colleges goodbye and my self-preservation, too.

"It was intentional, I didn't mean for that to happen. I didn't know Ava was going to walkout—"

"Ava?" my jaw clenched. "You know her—her name?"

"So what if I do?" I rebelled bitterly, not liking where this conversation was heading at all. I had no intention to tell my mother I'd met Ava at Ms. Coleman's office—the only thing I'd tell her was that we both attended St. Joseph's. "We go to school together."

Her lips pressed in a thin line.

"Yes…" she muttered. "I think I've heard that before." She leaned her hip on the table. "And because of that, you decided to wish her good luck? Was that it?"

"It's none of your business."

She sneered, "You're my son and you may have just cost me a small fortune, I want to know—" the iPhone in her clutch began going off like crazy. The blackberry too—in the midst of reading through something a knock came from behind me. "Get… get that." I scoffed lightly, rolling my eyes. Her voice had sounded dazed at first—her eyes glared up to me when another knock came. "Get that door, Thomas."

Keeping my teeth gritted, I opened the door. In came my mother's assistant.

"Giselle, they won't stop coming—the tweets and… and… they're all—"

"I know," my mother's voice sounded agitated. I cringed inwardly. Those tweets, the incoming texts, mails… they were about what I'd done with Ava on the runway. Media worked fast these days, I wasn't surprised. "I can't believe this…" and I couldn't tell if that was a good tone or an 'I'm going to kill my son' tone.

I wished I could make a dash for the door, take Ava and bail—never look back. Things weren't that easy.

"Leave me and my son alone." With not even a 'please' to boost, Clarissa left looking all bug-eyed. Why couldn't these two have normal reactions? If it was good they could jump in joy, if it was something bad they could… I don't know. "You and I need to have a little chat." Her lips curved into an icy-cold grin.

Ah, crap.