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“Filthy Grey Goose martini with three blue cheese olives. I know. And lemme guess. You’ll be wearing white Armani.”
I pretend I’m offended. “Are you saying I’m predictable?”
“I’m saying you’re anal, V. Why not break out some color once in a while? Maybe a floral print? Or, if you’re in the mood to really go for broke, maybe try a drink other than a Grey Goose martini?”
Because, dear friend, there’s safety in routine.
“I’ll try something else when they make something better. See you soon,” I say, and hang up.
I run a bath. When it’s ready, I strip out of the rest of my clothes and sink into the steaming water, sighing in pleasure. The only thing that mars my contentment is that my legs are too short to reach the end of the tub, and so I have to hold on to the edges so I don’t sink.
I wish I had longer legs.
In my mind, I’m six feet tall. In my mind, I’m a Viking warrior. In my mind, I’m a goddess, irresistible and powerful and, most of all, beautiful.
The reality, however, is that I’m a light-skinned Latina of average height and weight with no particularly interesting features. I admit I do have a good head of thick, dark hair, and straight white teeth. Which, like my crooked nose, weak chin, thin lips, nearsightedness, and flat chest, I had fixed years ago. Thank God for plastic surgery. Even if I don’t look like a swimsuit model, I definitely look completely different from the country mouse I used to be—and that was the goal. There’s nothing of my old life left in the new me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rule #3: Fake it ’til you make it, bitch.
I soak in the hot water until the muscles in my shoulders and lower back release their knots. Then I get out, dry off, change into a cocktail dress, do my makeup, and fluff my hair. On my way out, I shout a good-bye to Tabby, who has her head buried in a stack of my mail. I head downstairs to the lobby, where my car and driver await. In eight minutes, I’m walking into the noisy, delicious-smelling entrance of Xengu.
Which is when I see him.
Him.
And the safe, carefully constructed world I’ve inhabited for the past fifteen years ends with the abruptness of two fingers snapping.
* * *
