#gom snippets

The rapidly switching scenes on the screen are starting to give Vaughn a migraine. He rubs his temples, trying to ignore his cousin and their friends’ bickering. 

A week ago, the Heathens came back to the US to attend Gabriella Luciano’s wedding. Mia, Maya and Annika got homesick and followed right after them three days later. They’ve all been there since, and while there’s no real reason for them to leave since it’s summer break, the motivation is there, all consuming like an infection. 

Vaughn is practically itching with it. 

He’d like to believe he’s containing it well. However, Vaughn’s normally calm and collected nature means any deviation from it is as blaring as a lighthouse in the dark, no matter how small the change is. 

He’s distracted. He’s easily irritated. 

Irritation on Vaughn doesn’t show up normally, though. It manifests itself as silence. Complete silence, with a rattling edge to it. 

Lidya can feel the rattling vibrate in her ear. Without taking her eyes off the screen, she asks, “did you talk to Allie recently?”

The question wasn’t directed at anyone, but everyone still turns to Vaughn. 

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “No.”

And by 'recently’, he means a day. He hasn’t talked to Alicia for a day. Her last text from yesterday was:

Angel: Hey

Angel: I’ll be really busy all day tomorrow. It’s this thing I have to do. Love you.

Vaughn: What thing?

That text sits unread in his inbox. Vaughn almost booked a ticket to London this morning. 

During Gabriella’s wedding, someone took a picture of Vaughn and Alicia in a ‘passionate embrace’, ‘scandalous position’, ‘intimate situation’, as the media describes it. It didn’t help that only Alicia was shown clearly, while Vaughn’s face was busy buried in her neck—he’s having the picture framed in his apartment. 

Her PR team has been nagging her all week for an official statement, and she had to go back to London the night the picture hit the news two days ago. 

Lidya groans, thumb punching down harder on the remote. The rubber buttons squeak against plastic. “How hard can it fucking be to reach the UK channels?!”

“Lidya.” Her mother, Kristina, sighs. “Language, please.”

Spread on the couch with her head in Kristina’s lap, Karina snorts. Her feet are resting on Kirill, who’s long past trying to push them down. As the youngest of the first generation, Karina gets the same privileges her niece does. 

Save for Vaughn, the rest of the Morozovs are on the L-shaped couch in the corner of the room. Sasha took the long side to stretch her legs, with her head on her husband’s shoulder. Konstantin and his wife are on the other end of the couch, putting Kara as the most inconvenient bridge between the couples. 

The rest of the people in the room–the Heathens, Mia, Maya and Annika–are either spread out on the remaining couches or on the floor. 

Jeremy runs a hand down his face. “Can’t you just tell—”

“Aha!” Lidya finally stops on a channel: The World Star News: Britain. 

Maya visibly perks up. On the floor, leaning back on the couch with Mia, Annika does the same. 

As the resident socialites and gossips of the family, those three know exactly the relevance of this channel; anyone interested in anything celebrities or media related knows of this channel. It’s credible, it’s thorough, and it’s entertaining. 

It’s also one of a network of channels under the same name, but with different managements depending on the country. Lidya often has it on the USA version, so this shift in interest raises every one of Vaughn’s alarms. 

And asking about Alicia? Why would she? 

Alicia’s interview. She never told him the date. Whenever he’d asked, she’d said, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Guess she did. Without telling him. While ignoring him. 

There’s a pang behind his sternum he only acknowledges by crossing his arms. 

“She told you?” Vaughn asks. The measured weight of every word freezes the room in place. 

There’s no need for him to explain what he means; Lidya understands. Used to Vaughn’s attitude since childhood, she remains unfazed at his tone, rolling her eyes to prove it.

“Please. When does your girlfriend tell anyone anything?”

She sounds as hurt as he feels. “I found the news while scrolling through their page. It was, like, this ‘big breaking news’ kind of event. I think they postponed another program for this...”

Grabbing the popcorn bowl from Maya, Lidya scoffs. “She’s my cousin’s girlfriend, and I found out from instagram.” 

She plops down beside him, criss-crossing her legs and bashing the pillows behind her to lie flat. 

 Vaughn takes it back; Lidya sounds more hurt than him.

Seconds later, the screen bathes them all in the golden color of the channel’s logo, then shifts to a man’s face, middle aged, with salt-and-pepper hair swept back in a quiff and in a basic blue suit. 

His smile to the camera is practiced. Bland. Unassuming. 

“Welcome, everyone, to today’s episode. I’m your host, Jessie Allen. And, as usual, I’m coming to you all with the latest news, and dismantling them as we speak.”

Maya leans over Vaughn to grab some popcorn from Lidya, spreading salt and crumbs all over them. His jaw aches from how hard he’s grinding his teeth. 

“All of our guests are special. All of them are valued, and the stories we get from them are unimaginable,” Jessie continues blabbering.

“But, getting today’s guest was a challenge. She’s notoriously difficult to find, and even more difficult to get an interview from. Ms. King, we’re truly honored you’re here.”

Knowing this interview is about Alicia is one thing; seeing her actually sitting there, in the gold interview armchair with her perfect posture and in her perfect white dress, hair in an up-do and hands primly folded in front of her, is another. 

She looks beautiful. It’s a given she does. But there’s something calculated in how she looks now: the soft makeup, the lack of any heavy jewelry, save for Vaughn’s ring and her grandmother’s watch. Alicia loves to accessorize, be it with layered necklaces or a  stack of bracelets. But this look…It’s a costume. An embodiment of her nickname: Angel.

At the smile she gives the interviewer, everyone straightens. Because this smile is not the one she gives all of them. It’s not even a smile you give to strangers you’re being polite to. No. This is how one smiles at a match they’ve seen the end of, and decided they’ve won

She inclines her head at Jessie. “Of course.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Killian murmurs, getting comfortable on the floor beside Mia and Anni.  

Too excited at the chance of interviewing the girl no one could get answers out of, Allen completely misses the bland dismissal of Alicia’s response; a mistake he won’t repeat again. 

“Now, let’s start from the beginning, Ms. King. You’ve been the hottest topic for the past year now. But before that, nothing. No one knows why so little news of you exists. What you’ve been up to for the past years. There’s speculation you’ve been kept in New York. Is it true?”

“I’ve been staying in New York. This was not a Rapunzel situation, Mr. Allen. I don’t have the hair for it.”

Killian cackles, loud and unhinged. From above him on the couch, Jeremy smirks and leans forward, fully interested now. 

A testament to his professionalism, Allen allows only a polite chuckle before continuing on track.

“New York is a great place to disappear in. Or find yourself, some might say. What were you trying to do?”

“Not get harassed by questions and pictures during my awkward pre-teen phase.”

“Ms. King—”

“Trust, no one would’ve seen my face for another ten years if I hadn’t grown into my looks.”

The interviewer opens his mouth, closes it, then grabs the glass of water on his side-table and takes a sip. Alicia watches him do all of this with the same relaxed smile on her face. 

Allen clears his throat. “The leading theory is you've been sent there due to your deteriorating mental health.”

“The theorists' experimental method needs some work.”

“It’s because of your grandmother.”

At that, Alicia pauses. Her smile—her entire expression—flatlines. 

Noting the shift in the air, and picking his next words carefully, Allen elaborates:

“The late Alicia King had a couple of mental health issues – psychosis, delirium, severe anxiety and depression. Would you say that predisposes you to having any of them?”

There’s a heavy silence for a few seconds, poignant enough for Allen to start shifting under Alicia’s gaze. His shoulders pull back, gearing up for the full force of her offence. 

Eventually, she shrugs. “According to the DSM-5. Unless there's been an update recently. I'm afraid I haven't kept up.”

The man’s shoulders drop. “Well…yes. Theoretically, it would be a risk factor to you if she —”

“Genetically.”

“What?”

“Not theoretically, then. The association would be purely genetic. Hereditary, if you will.”

Lidya snorts around a mouthful of popcorn. Under her breath, Maya mumbles “bitch”,  but not unkindly. 

By now, the direction Alicia is taking this interview is quite obvious to Jessie Allen. It’s also obvious to anyone watching he’s holding onto his professionalism by a strand. 

“Right. So, you did get some of her mental illnesses?”

“Oh, yes. She wrote it in her will.”

“Excuse me?”

Alicia purses her lips. “I thought it a bit unfair. You see, Eli got her looks, Creighton got her likeability, and all I got is her namesake and a diagnosis.” 

“Don’t you think it crude to make a joke of this?”

“Don’t you think it crude to bring her up at all?”

The humor is completely gone out of her voice. In its place is something low and ready to attack. Something biting, and Allen senses it. Allen regrets tempting it. 

He’s been operating under the assumption this is all a joke to her. That she’s making light of all of this. But she’s not, isn’t she? She’s putting him in his place, and he has no idea how to get out of it. 

“May she rest in peace,” he offers an olive branch. 

To anyone else, Alicia’s face remains impassive. Cold. The Frozen King of everyone’s assumptions. 

But Vaughn sees the tension around her mouth as she replies, “the dead are better left dead, Mr. Allen.”

Kristina puts a hand to her chest. “My gosh.” 

Referencing the cards in his lap, Allen shifts the topic. “The reason for your popularity surge last year was due to an article. One written by Walker Teller. Have you read it?”

Alicia chuckles. “Genuinely, I’d like to meet someone in London who hasn’t read it.”

“It caused quite the disruption.”

“It was an article, not an earthquake, Jessie.”

Niko throws his head back and laughs, holding onto an annoyed Gareth. The blond shoves him away. 

To his credit, Allen snickers. “It was…speculative, I’ll admit. On some things. But the kidnapping attempts. Those are true. Those are documented.”

For once in his life, Nikolai settles down. The Carson brothers stare unblinkingly at the TV, but Jeremy’s gaze flickers to Vaughn. He’d like to believe he’s the best of them at reading Vaughn, but that’s not entirely true. No one can truly read Vaughn. And right now is no exception. 

He watches his girlfriend on the screen with his arms crossed and his gaze set and not one clear emotion on his face. 

Alicia leans back in her chair and rests her chin on her palm. “Go on.”

Allen takes another sip of water, giving himself a moment to reorient his thoughts, his composure. 

“You were on a farm. In some barn you claimed Richard Maxwell kept you in for four days. But, when you were found, it was all on fire. Only you survived it. Was the fire before or after you escaped?”

“What did the police reports say?”

Allen blinks. “They…state that the fire's origin is from a broken oil lamp, and you did have some ash on your person.”

“And what were my statements in those same reports?”

“That you don’t remember how the fire happened. You only remember the open barn door and your escape through it.”

Alicia waves her hand. “There’s your answer.”

The fire is a big point of contention because it never touched Alicia. Even though both barn doors were locked, one from the inside and the other from the outside, even though she had some ash on her, proving she was present when the fire started, Alicia got out, while her capturers didn’t. 

‘That’s not an answer!’ Jessie wants to scream. Instead, he leans forward and urges, “it’s been eight years, Ms. King. Surely you remember something more.”

“I lived those four days. Unlike the public, I have no interest in revisiting them eight years later.”

She says this without inflection. Without a hitch to her voice. Without sounding like those four days hadn’t re-shaped the trajectory of her life, the trajectory of her mind.  

Vaughn watches her closely. 

Alicia’s fingers are clasped together on her lap. It may appear casual, normal, but one hand presses against the other with more pressure, pulling her fingers back slightly more than is comfortable. It's the hand with Vaughn's ring on it. 

“What can you tell us of those four days?”

“Worst. Weekend. Ever.”

“Bitch.”  Maya grins and Lidya furiously texts people on her phone and Mia's face fills with respect and Vaughn…

Vaughn’s worried, because now Alicia is twisting the ring on her finger. To anyone, the action would look idle, maybe signifying boredom; Vaughn is not anyone. 

“Alright.” Allen rubs his beard, which is whiter than the rest of his hair. “Alright. The article also detailed another abduction attempt by one of your family’s staff members. The gardner, Mitchell Kart. He said there was a relationship between you two.”

“I suppose he’d say anything to stay out of prison.”

“Are you saying he lied?”

She tilts her head. “All I’ll say is that he’s still in prison.”

The couch creaks. Karina sits up and stares at the TV, a side of her pale blonde hair mussed. She turns to her nephew. “I don’t get it. Is she confirming or denying it?”

Lidya answers for him, practically vibrating in place. “Neither! She’s not giving him anything. It’s fucking brilliant.” 

She waves her phone around. “Everyone online is going wild.”

“People believe your family silenced him,” Allen continues, voice drowning out Lidya's last words. “They believe he’s innocent.”

“Yeah,” Alicia muses, “well, I’m sure people can dig deep and find members of the jury to argue with them on that.” 

As he puts them down, Allen’s cards clank against the glass side-table, rattling the half-empty water cup on it. He pinches the bridge of his nose, not unlike a disappointed father.

“Ms. King, you seem…uninterested in clearing your name.”

“On what?”

“Your mental health. The claims of your family covering up their crimes.”

Alicia pushes back the strands of hair framing her face. “The public has seemingly already decided their opinions on both. I’m not running in circles trying to change their minds.” 

“Don’t you care about what people think of you?”

“No.”

Plain and simple. Not a twitch to her lips or a change in her face to suggest otherwise. 

Gareth chuckles. “Frozen King for a fucking reason.”

From across the room, Konstantin purses his lips. “Why not try to win the public over? It may benefit her to be a bit more…agreeable.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet father.” Lidya replies, shaking her head. “There’s no ‘winning the public’ when it comes to a scandal. People always want more drama. More answers. More talk. If she starts giving them an inch, they'll ask for a mile and then some.”

“Besides,” Maya drawls, picking at her long, red nails. “This is King at her most agreeable.” 

“Why did you offer to do this interview, Ms. King?” Allen asks, completely abandoning any notions of politeness. “Why be here at all?”

He's going off-script. Anyone watching could feel it: the exacerbation pulling the words out of him despite the planned lines he’s supposed to follow, the confusion narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows despite all of his professional experience. Such an expression should not be on an interviewer's face. He should be able to get answers, not scrape for them. 

Alicia peers at him, eyes a deep grey made darker under the harsh white lights of the room and the soft makeup meant to make her look angelic, innocent, a victim. 

She looks at him until Allen starts shifting in his seat. 

The runtime of the episode ticks by, and he's aware of it. He's also aware of the sweat sliding down his neck. No matter how much he wants to, Allen can't take the question back. And he desperately wants to take it back. 

Ultimately, Alicia offers a smile and a shrug. “I was bored.”

It’s Killian who cackles this time, clapping his hands like this is the best show he’s seen in a while.

Running her fingers through her hair, Annika starts laughing, too. “My Tchaikovsky.” She turns to Vaughn, grinning. “No wonder she drives you crazy.”

“All Kings are like that.” Niko complains. “You have to fucking beg and bleed for a drop of their affection.”

The back of Mia’s ears turns red. Thankfully, her brother has the awareness of a raccoon on steroids and doesn’t notice. 

Killian stretches his arms above his head, the image of arrogance and absolute self-assuredness. “Speak of yourself.”

“Right,” Gareth mumbles in a way meant to be heard. “Some of you got waterboarded for it.”

Sasha springs upright on the couch. “What?” 

Jeremy clears his throat. “It's nothing, Mrs. Morozova.”

She opens her mouth to argue that no, actually, it's not nothing, when Kirill pulls her back to him and directs her attention back to Alicia’s interview. 

A wink to Jeremy is his only acknowledgement of the interaction. 

On the screen, Allen rubs his beard and sighs, recognizing the futility of trying to get Alicia’s history anymore. 

He switches tactics.

“What’s next for you, Ms. King?” He deflates in his chair, choosing a lighter line of questions. “You attended Mrs. Gabriella Conti’s wedding last week. Should we expect to see you in any more events in the future?”

Alicia’s response to this question is as luke-warm as the ones about her kidnapping. Though she does mentally note the sudden topic-shift. 

“Well,” she starts, “my brother and most of my friends are engaged, so I’ll be attending many weddings in the upcoming years. Those will keep me plenty occupied.”

An idea sparks into Allen's head. It's a cheap move for an interviewer of his caliber, but he's desperate for anything from Alicia King. Any answers. Any glimpse into the girl behind the challenge she's choosing to be. 

He drums his fingers on the arm rests, aiming for non-chalance. “It must be pretty lonely, being the single one among those many couples.” 

Alicia sees right through him, and expects the question as it comes:

“Unless, you’re not single at all…”

Now, here's the thing about Alicia King. The thing Jessie Allen will figure out in his dressing room later, after ruminating on it for hours and smoking half a pack of cigarettes: he couldn't catch Alicia by surprise simply because he couldn’t catch it. Surprise, like the rest of her emotions, was under a tight leash. Under her complete control. 

Any emotion on her face—or lack thereof—was by design, not impulse. 

Her smile turns predatory, showing teeth. “Nice lead-up.”

He swallows, sensing the lie and feeling the bite all in one. “Thank you. It’s my job. Now, tell us, are you single?”

‘Us’, because the public needs to know. They have to know everything about the people they see on their screens. It’s their right. But, Alicia is not a celebrity. She didn’t sign up for this or ask for it by being born a King.

People leave their families to get famous; she left them to heal in private, away from the cameras, and the questions, and the constant speculations about every aspect of herself. None of it was enough. 

“No. I’m not.”

Vaughn feels eyes on him; he keeps his focus on the screen. 

Allen hasn’t prepared for this: honesty, straightforwardness. She’s switching her pattern in the middle of the interview, and he takes a moment to switch back into ‘questioning’, not ‘scrambling’, mode. 

“I’m assuming your significant other is the man you were pictured kissing in Mr. and Mrs. Conti's wedding. Correct?”

“Assuming otherwise would be calling me a cheater.”

“No—I…”

For the first time since the meeting started, Vaughn smirks. 

Back on the screen, Allen shakes his head and continues, “what can you tell us about him? Is he perhaps a public figure himself?”

Alicia drums her fingers on the cushioned chair’s armrest, contemplating her answer. 

A corner of her lips rises. “He’s…a mystery.”

One of Allen's eyelids twitches. “Ms. King—”

“It’s how he’d like to be described.”

In the Morozov household, many snickers echo through the living room. Lidya leans into Vaughn’s personal space and teases, “a mystery. Oh, how fun. Because you’re very mysterious, Khitraya lisa, aren’t you?”

“Well, he can’t be a mystery anymore.” Allen takes another gulp of his glass of water; it’s almost empty now. “That picture is everywhere, Ms. King. There’s a rumor going around. Apparently, the person who took it sold it for five million dollars before it got released.”

Alicia’s brows rise. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s been quite the—”

“Only five?”

Kirill laughs, the sound deep and startlingly loud given how little he emits it. The Morozovs watch him as if he barked.

“Did Landon coach her for this?” Mia ponders aloud.

Gareth's reply to his cousin is laced with a long-suffering sigh. “No. Alicia could give a course on how to be uncooperative all on her own.” 

On the couch, Vaughn's smirk widens, and everyone acts like they don’t see it. 

Jessie Allen runs his tongue over his teeth. “Ms. King, are you media trained?”

“Excessively.”

When the man runs a hand through his hair, clearly exacerbated, Alicia snickers.

“I think the description you were looking for, Jessie, was compliant.”

“In which case, the answer is undoubtedly no.”

She winks at him. “We’re starting to get each other.”

No, they weren’t. That’s precisely Allen’s problem. 

The interviewer shakes his head, trying to regain some semblance of his journalistic integrity. 

“Since the man would like to remain a mystery, and you’d rather not reveal anything about him, can we assume this is not a serious relationship?”

Something interesting happens then. Something the cameras—in all their hyper-focus lenses and thousands of dollars in quality—catch quite plainly: Alicia’s gaze darkens, her focus becoming less passive, more icy. Nothing else on her face shifts. 

As the target of her merciless attention, Allen shivers. He interlinks his fingers to stop himself from reaching for the glass of water again. 

“Oh, it is, Mr. Allen,” she says slowly, the warning clear in every word. "If I valued it any less, maybe then I could let the world have a piece of it.”

Vaughn feels the room get infinitely hotter. 

On either side of him, the couch creaks as Lidya and Maya turn to look at each other, then at him. Lidya’s phone relentlessly dings between them.

“That—” Maya points at the screen. “—is the most romantic shit I have ever heard a King say.”

Killian is typing something on his phone, grinning like the psycho he is. “Glyn says Eli and Creighton are losing their shit. Well done, Morozov.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Didn’t do anything!?” Anni screeches. “This is nothing short of a public claim, Vaughn! Especially from a King.”

“She was less heated when they were talking about her past,” Jeremy teases, “but clearly your relationship with her is a red-line.”

Even Allen could sense so, because the interviewer licks his lips and nods without asking for a follow-up. 

Reaching for her own glass of water, Alicia sips it carefully, a soft pink coloring her cheeks. 

“Vaughn.”

At the call of Sasha, everyone turns to look at her. She keeps her eyes on her son. 

“No pressure, but you need to marry her. I’m getting attached.”

“Full pressure,” Lidya adds, “you can’t do better. Marry her quickly.”

He will. All in due time. Afterall, they’re meant to be together; Vaughn’s made it clear to her, and she’s made it clear to the world. Now, he only has to confirm it. 

“Uncle Kosta.” Vaughn rises and approaches his uncle. The blonde man raises an eyebrow. 

While his father handles the family’s dark businesses behind the scenes, Uncle Konstantin handles the legitimate front of the family. Including anything involving their public image. 

“How fast can you get our publicist to release a statement?”

Alicia hasn't moved in what feels like hours. 

Her phone, laying face-down on the mattress beside her, keeps blinking with notification lights every few minutes; she stopped counting at fifty. 

Keeping track of who’s trying to get a hold of her is a useless act. It’s everyone. Everyone wants explanations. Answers. Demands. The public wants to know the ins and outs of her life. The PR team is demanding action to rectify the situation. Her parents downstairs want to know if she’s alright. 

Alicia told herself, ‘I’ll lie down for a bit, then I’ll explain. Explain to my parents, to the PR team, to Vaughn.’

That was…what feels like hours ago. 

Her heels are someplace on the floor, dejected from where she took them off in the near-dark. ‘Near-dark’ because there are constantly lit sconces in her room. A remnant of her childhood trauma. A reminder of a weakness. 

She swings her legs against the edge of the bed a bit, feeling childish. She needs to get up and explain why she didn’t tell anyone about the interview. Why, yesterday morning, she got so fed up with the rumors, and the unending discussion about her, and decided to give John Allen, Jessie Allen’s brother, the interview he’s been desperate for. 

It was supposed to be a calculated, collaborative decision between her, her family and the PR team, whose job it is to feed her lines satisfying the public. Except, she had no interest in satisfying the public, so she didn’t inform them.

She didn’t tell her parents because they’re already worried for her, and their need to protect her would override her desire to shut down the claims about her once and for all. 

But, she has no idea why she didn’t tell Vaughn. Maybe it's for the same reason she didn’t tell her parents? Maybe it was shame, about what happened to her being relayed to him over, and over again?

On the ride home, she tried texting him an apology for keeping this a secret, before deleting the message. She doesn’t want his disappointment. She doesn't need to force herself into another conversation she’s not ready to face. 

The phone rings, and Alicia has had enough of it. She picks it up and puts it on airplane mode. The world’s been wondering about her for years; they’ll survive another day. 

She still needs to get up, but every one of her muscles ache, and her feet are getting numb. 

A knock on the door shakes the quiet in the room. 

If she doesn’t answer, whomever’s on the other side will think she’s asleep. She’ll be left alone for just a few more—

The door rattles open, and there’s only one fucker in this family with enough audacity to open doors without permission.

“How pathetic, cousin,” Landon taunts, “you live like this?”

Her room is perfectly organised, but Landon was referring to the pile of childhood plushies on her bed she doesn’t have the heart to outgrow. 

Alicia continues staring at the ceiling, hoping he’ll leave her alone if she ignores him. 

First mistake: one does not simply ignore Landon King.

“Impressive interview, Little King. I knew you were sneaky, I just never realized to what extent.”

If she doesn’t stop this, he’ll continue talking just for the sake of hearing himself. “What do you want, Landon?”

Another person who wants something. Another thing she needs to work her words around. The ache in her muscles intensifies. 

“Manners dictate you look at the person you’re talking to, Cousin.”

Alicia grabs one of her plushies, rage giving her enough energy to get up just to fling the soft mass at him. Except, she doesn’t, pausing with the plushie hanging from her grip in the air. 

Landon is in his pajamas. Landon wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than a refined button-up or a luxurious linen shirt.

“Did you…directly come from home just to taunt me?”

Crossing his arms, he scoffs. “As if you’re that important. I came directly from home because Vaughn Morozov is downstairs.”

“What?!” Alicia springs up, dropping the plushie somewhere on the floor. She almost trips on her heels on her way out.

Second mistake: believing Landon King. 

Because when Alicia makes her way downstairs, she doesn’t find Vaughn—whom she wouldn’t mind seeing now, actually—but finds her cousins, brothers, and friends, all in their pajamas. 

Her brows furrow. “What is this?”

“A slumber party.” Glyn grins. “You remember those, don’t you? Ours were epic.”

“They were. But why now?”

They look at Eli. Her brother shrugs, hands in the pockets of his blue-and-black plaid pajama pants. “I thought you might need one. They used to make you feel better.”

There’s an alarming prickling behind her eyes. “You hated those slumber parties. Yet, you invited them all here?”

He shrugs again, but over Eli’s shoulder, Creighton nods. 

Rubbing at the dampness around her eyes, Alicia chuckles. “You old softie. I knew you had a heart somewhere.”

“I do not,” he denies.

“He doesn’t,” Ava denies it, too. 

She ignores her husband's stare and approaches Alicia with a wide grin, her pink silk night-gown reflecting the foyers lights. “Now, let's get you into the most comfortable pajamas you have and get this party started!”

Three hours later, the party—rewatching Alicia’s interview and laughing mercilessly at her misery—stops because news from the Morozov family’s publicist hits all media sites:

The party then shifted into an intervention to talk Eli and Creighton down from their murderous intentions; a valiant, failing endeavor. Especially with Landon there stoking the fire. 

For now, Ava was able to taunt Eli enough into ignoring the issue, and Creighton calmed down after getting offered one of Brandon’s delicious, warm hot chocolates.

Sometime past midnight, everyone—minus Creighton and Eli who left to sleep in their rooms—spread out their sleeping bags.

It’s dark in the living room, except for the light blaring from Alicia’s phone. 

She blinks at the message Vaughn sent, a giddy feeling building in her stomach. 

Vaughn: You should’ve told me about the interview.

Vaughn: We could’ve kissed and gotten the rumors cleared up way faster.

Alicia: Is that so?

Vaughn: I’m being practical, Dragotsennaya. 

Vaughn: So, who should we scandalize first: the US or English public?

Alicia: good night Vaughn

That night, reminded of her family and her partner’s love and support, even after keeping secrets from them, she sleeps with a light feeling in her chest.