“Thank you?” I said, as though I was amused by this pettiness.
Harper laughed, and then, slowly, enough that I could have pulled away if my brain hadn’t short-circuited the moment I caught the scent of her perfume, Harper drew that shoelace taut and leaned forward, pulling the shoelace across my neck.
The cord was soft and worn, and Harper grasped it tight behind me. My breath hitched. She brushed my hair aside so we could both see the lace encircling me. My heart pounded an anxious staccato and almost instinctively, I found myself arching a little, surrendering to her machinations.
“Or perhaps I could tie it here?” Harper teased in that distinctly Harper way, like this was alloh so fun. “I missed you like this. Until you ruined the fun, of course. Come to think of it, that’s my price. I’ll use one shoelace to tie your dress in place and the other gets to kiss that lovely throat of yours. To remind us both of how it felt to have you on my leash.”
My rage flared quick and sharp. My elbow jammed into Harper’s gut, eliciting a sharp hiss, and she released me, the cord licking my skin as it fell.
“Why don’t I bend over if you’re so desperate to fuck me?”
She laughed. “Don’t tempt me.” She held the shoelace out. “Come on Nadine, you know how this is played.”
“I would rather walk back out there naked,” I snarled.
I could indeed walk back out there. I didn’t need to dash in humiliated, clutching desperately at my broken dress. I could drop it altogether, walk out with my skirt tight and my breasts exposed. It would be a scandal. It would be horrible, but I could ride the wave. I was a party girl now, wasn’t I? This could be a moment to step into my new skin rather than reclaiming the old.
And it would make Harper furious—just like declaring my addiction myself. Take away her leverage and the woman couldn’t cope with all that suddenly lost power.
I could also just stay in here and wait it out, but I was so angry I’d expose myself just to wrench the ground away from Harper.
“I could do more than that, couldn’t I?” I said. “Givemyself another black eye and claim you broke the dress in your frenzied attack.”
“I suppose you could. Though I hope you’ll at least let me actually do it this time. It’s not fair to accuse me and not let me lay hands on you.” Harper leaned back against an ornate column and watched me like my fury was entertainment, or perhaps like a conductor, watching her orchestra play. And now after so much crescendo, she instructed the final beat. “The only issue, however, is that you’ve won. And I don’t think you’d want to detract from your victory with that. Or by flashing half of America.”
My ire stuttered. And, to my horror, I felt my crumpled hope unfurling. Harper always managed to snatch that from me.
“You’re lying,” I said.
“No, Nadine, I’m not.”
“You couldn’t know.”
“A bribe in the right place and you can know everything. Why do you think I’m so furious?” She held that lace out again, letting it wave like a slow pendulum, like my time to take it was running out. “Why do you think I’m so delighted to lord this over you?”
“Because you’re a sadistic bitch.”
“And you’re Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. Congratulations.”
I’d beat her. I’d won.
And it didn’t fucking matter. Only it did. It was my whole future stretched out before me.
I took a breath and turned, planting my palms against the sink. The broken dress gaped, held in place only by my arms pinning it tight. “Tie the damn thing.”
Harper’s smile was acid. But I forced myself not to look away. Let it fuel me, as my disdain for Harper had often done.
Her quick fingers were cold when they brushed my spine as they threaded the shoelace through the hooks. The dress fit back in place, but considerably looser than before with the added expanse of the lace. I could breathe. It was almost like it was always meant to be worn this way, like I’d walked straight out of a Vivienne Westwood shoot.
When I turned, Harper was so close I could have kissed her. I was almost tempted—anything to wipe that self-satisfied little smirk from her face.
I snatched the other thread from her hand, looping it around my own throat before Harper had the chance to tie it for me. I wound it a few times before knotting it into a neat bow. Harper watched, pleased and victorious, but at the very least I had collared my hatred by myself.
“I’ll see you out there,” Harper beamed, somehow striding elegantly away, even with her now-loose boots.
I turned to the mirror, straightening the bow. I couldn’t discard it entirely, that’s not how this worked, and Harper’s revenge was a thing I couldn’t risk right now, not while I was rebuilding the things I’d lost. If this was her retribution for Cannes, so be it. Perhaps winning this time around wouldkeep her appeased enough that I could snag some roles and strengthen my position before she struck again.
———
