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the feeling he'd had this conversation before, with a lot of other girls.
Jacqui's heart clenched in her chest. Another sucker punch. "But you said--to move with you to Paris," she said dumbly, drawing her hands out of his.
"I said for you to move to Paris and be a model and that you could stay with me," he corrected, carefully enunciating each word.
Jacqui shook her head, more disappointed in herself than in Marcus. She'd thought that he loved her and had let herself be swept right off her feet. But when she stopped to think about it, his words had always been so vaguely stated that there were no promises of the future, just empty remarks. Hungry for romance, she had filled in the rest.
"Darling. You know how much I adore you. And the two of us, it was great for business. Great for the shoot," he drawled, stroking her cheek. "And look at you, you're a star." He gestured to the enormous photographs on the walls.
She looked at all the photographs, the intimate shots he'd captured--of her in his bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes, sitting wistfully by the window and looking out at the stars. Her eyes closed, waiting for his kiss. Marcus had made it look personal, like he knew her. But in reality he had only presented to the world a perfectly packaged image, sold as the real thing.
"Reality fashion" indeed. It was all scripted, all staged, as fake as her relationship had been. Women look more beautiful when they're in love, he'd told her. But for him it was just the way the
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industry worked. A way to get a better picture. He had used her, and worst of all, she had let him.
"C'mon. If we leave now, we can wake up tomorrow on the Champs-Elysees." Marcus stood, holding out his hand. He didn't seem to notice anything was wrong.
"Marcus, are you ready?" Rupert Thorne appeared at his side. His eyes lit up immediately when he saw Jacqui. "Is this your friend?"
Jacqui felt like she might throw up. What an idiot she had been. She stood up from the couch, grabbed her drink, and threw it in Marcus's face. The surrounding partygoers gasped. Who was making a scene at such a civilized event?
Marcus shrugged as he wiped his face with a jet-black napkin. "I'm sorry you feel that way."
She turned on her heel and left the party, catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. Her hair was put up in a complicated pouf, and she was wearing so much makeup it felt like her face was going to crack. Her dress was too short, and her heels hurt. She looked like a beautiful doll. Exactly what she'd never wanted to be.
This wasn't her. The real Jacqui lived in jeans and flats because it was easier to run around after the kids in those clothes. The real Jacqui was hardworking and determined and never took the easy way out. Mara and Eliza were right. Pete Rockwood was right. She shook her head, unable to believe that a stranger had known her better than she had known herself.
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BEST FRIENDS ALWAYS KNOW BEST
MARA TIPTOED THROUGH THE DARKENED FOYER OF THE
Finnemore mansion, making a beeline for the kitchen. She'd arrived at the Vogue party just as it was winding down and, after a disappointing lap of the party, realizing she'd missed Eliza and Jacqui, she'd come straight home. She'd missed dinner and was starving from the four-hour Jitney ride--which, she thought sadly, had all been for nothing. The house was dark and silent, so she was surprised to see a light on in the kitchen.
She found Eliza sitting by herself at the counter, wearing a bright red gown with puffed sleeves, a chicken sandwich in hand.
"Hey. What are you doing here?" she asked. Only Eliza would be casually eating a sandwich wearing a gown that looked like it had come straight off the runway.
"I could ask you the same thing," Eliza said simply, wiping mayonnaise from her lips with a napkin. Chunks of chicken salad fell onto the floor around her, but she didn't seem to notice or care. "How was your dinner party?" she asked dryly.
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"I didn't go. I went to the Vogue party instead, tried to find you." Mara took a seat across from her friend.
"You did?" Eliza asked, her face lighting up.
"Why aren't you over there?" Mara asked. She reached for the bag of potato chips next to Eliza's plate, and Eliza moved it closer. Without even having to say anything, they both knew the fight between them was over.
"I have so much to tell you." Eliza sighed.
"Me too." Mara nodded. She raised an eyebrow. "Got any more of that chicken salad?"
"Left drawer." Eliza smiled.
"Where's Jacqui?" Mara got up and moved over to the Sub-Zero.
