She's a disgraced socialite; he's a rodeo star on the rise. When they're forced to fake a relationship, what happens when the sparks feel a little too real?
***
Sophia Huntington is a socialite. She likes rooftop cocktails, perusing copies of Vogue...
"Okay." Sophia whipped around, but all the waiters seemed to have disappeared in the crush of bodies. She gritted her teeth. Great. Just great. "You know what?" She shook her head. "I'll go get it. Here." She gingerly passed Ophelia to Kit. "You watch her."
Kit looked alarmed. "I—what?"
"Watch her," Sophia repeated.
"But I—"
"Kit." She gave him a warning look. "I mean it. Don't let her out of your sight."
And with that, Sophia began shoving her way toward the bar. It wasn't a far journey — only thirty feet at most — but the guests were packed so tightly together that it took her a good twenty minutes of shoving through rhinestones, silk scarves and hideously pungent perfume to safely procure the water.
When she got back, Ophelia was sitting on a chair, alone.
"Sophia!" Ophelia crowed, lunging unsteadily to her feet. "You're back!" She slung an arm around her neck. "You're the best, you know?" She grinned, bopping her on the nose. "The bestest of the bestest!"
Sophia gritted her teeth.
She was going to kill Kit. She was going to flay him alive, and then boil him into stew. And maybe run over his designer shoes with her car, just for kicks.
"Where's Kit?" Sophia demanded.
"Who?"
"My—" Sophia broke off, exasperated. "Well, I don't know what he is. The dark-haired man. The one who was just here."
"Oh, him." Ophelia's eyes widened. "I didn't like him. He's mean."
Sophia forced herself to count to ten. "Here," she muttered, wrapping Ophelia's hands around the glass. "Drink this."
Ophelia immediately spat it out. "Yuck!"
"It's just water."
"I don't like it!"
"You know what?" Sophia slung Ophelia's arm around her neck. "Let's just go home, okay? We can order some food and—" She froze, her eyes catching on Ophelia's right hand. "Fi. What are you holding?"
"Hmmm?"
"In your hand," Sophia snapped, yanking the object toward her. "What is this?"
Her heart stopped. Because Sophia knew what the baggie filled with white powder was. And she also knew that it was very, very illegal.
"Oh, that," Ophelia said mildly, as if Sophia had merely pointed out some dandruff in her hair. "A very nice man gave it to me."
"He what?"
"Can we get poutine?" Ophelia wrinkled her nose. "I want poutine."
"Fi," Sophia said, her heart pounding, "did you take any of this?" She snatched the bag out of her cousin's hand, waggling it under her nose. "Did you eat it?"
"With extra cheese," Ophelia said dreamily, ignoring her. "And fried onions. The little crispy ones that they— oops!" She stumbled slightly, sloshing the rest of her water over Sophia's white silk top. "Oh, no."
Sophia gripped her hand. "Ophelia. Did you?"
"You're all wet!" Ophelia giggled. She actually giggled. "Like a pool. Water is wet."
Sophia prayed for a higher power to grant her patience. Gently, she rotated Ophelia until they were eye-to-eye, forcing her cousin to look at her.
"Ophelia," she said slowly. "Did you take the drugs?" Ophelia shook her head, and Sophia let out a breath. "Okay. Good."
Now, Sophia just had to get rid of them.
She glanced toward the washroom. Down the toilet, maybe? No; there was a chance that it would clog the plumbing. And there was no way in hell that she was ingesting them. Sophia had only ever done mushrooms, and that was at an Imagine Dragons concert, where she spent an hour talking to a yellow balloon with a face on it.
Never again.
Sophia's eyes landed on a door near the bar.
The alley. Of course.
"Stay here," she told Ophelia sternly. "I mean it."
Her cousin saluted her. "Aye-aye, captain."
Sophia darted toward the door. She felt the chilly September air hit her like a wave, followed by the sickly sweet smell of rotting garbage and cigarette smoke. She coughed, shivering in the night air. Her damp two-piece wasn't helping matters.
Oh, screw it.
Nobody was looking, anyway.
Sophia wiggled the top off. Then she scanned the dumpsters, her mind whirling. Should she pick a full one to disguise the drugs? Or an empty one, to—?
"Babe!"
She spun around. Kit was leaning heavily against the door frame, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. She could smell beer clinging to his clothes.
"Well, well," Kit drawled, his eyes flicking to her lacy black bra. "What a nice surprise."
"Oh, shut-up," Sophia snapped. "You left my cousin."
"Did I?"
Sophia glowered at him. Kit switched tactics.
"It was an emergency," he said solemnly. "My agent called." He sauntered toward her, grinning. "Have I told you how sexy you look?"
"Stop it, Kit."
He wrapped his arms around her. "Because you do."
"I said, stop," Sophia snapped, pushing him away. "It's only four letters. It's not that hard to understand."
"Okay!" Kit's hands flew up. "Christ. No need to get touchy."
"No need to get—?" Sophia stared at him, unable to comprehend his words. Unable to comprehend anything, except for the growing urge to stab him in the eyeball with her heel. "You know what, Kit? Go to hell."
Sophia lobbed the drugs into a sewer grate, swearing colorfully under her breath — blissfully unaware that, five feet away and concealed in a dumpster, a photographer was reviewing his photos, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
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A/N: Helloooooo readers!
Welcome to "The Wrong Path" — if you came here from "Backstage Girl," I hope you enjoyed a cameo from a certain ex-member of The Patriots in this chapter :) If you're new here, then hi! Welcome to the world of the Toronto girls.
You don't need to have read BG to read this novel, but it DOES contain major spoilers, so keep that in mind if you want to read the series.
Can't wait to hear what y'all think of Sophia's adventures!
