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She breathed out slowly, lingering on my kiss. “Okay. I really want to wear my dress.”
I cracked up, and English arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to want to see this.”
“So, we’ll do it?”
A flicker of reluctance flashed across her face before she nodded. I just hoped we were doing the right thing.
35
Blaire
“All right, that’s it. You look like a masterpiece,” the makeup artist said. “Let’s get this girl into a dress.” He kissed his fingers. “Perfection.”
I laughed. “Thank you.”
I chanced a glance in the mirror and gaped at myself. I still looked like myself but somehow better. So much more dramatic and defined. My cheeks were plump and rosy. My blue eyes luminescent. My lips wide and fire-engine red. It was better than I ever could have imagined.
I turned away from the mirror and reached for the dress. English was there with a smile, holding it out for me. Finally, I stepped into the jeweled Jimmy Choos she had talked me into.
English zipped me up and then took a step back. “Damn, girl, I can’t wait to see Campbell’s reaction.”
I ran my hands down the silky material. “You think he’ll like it?”
“If he doesn’t fall on his knees in supplication, then return the whole man.”
I cackled at her. “You know just what to say.”
She dipped into a small curtsy with a wink.
Having English the last couple days had been a lifesaver. I wasn’t sure I would have survived without her. Not with the alarming amount of comments, emails, and shocking phone calls. People were psychopaths. We’d quickly scrubbed all of my information from the internet and limited all forms of contact.
I’d posted a photo of Campbell and me together, per English’s suggestion, and closed commenting on the post. It was confirmation the world had apparently wanted, but I’d signaled that I wasn’t interested in anyone’s comment on my relationship.
Nate had also posted his video. And though some people had commented hateful things, they were far nicer to Nate than to me. Wasn’t internalized misogyny delightful?
“Thanks for all you’ve done, English.”
She grinned at me. “Hey, this is what I live for. There isn’t a problem I can’t fix. You are going to have a great time tonight. Forget everything else and just enjoy the night.”
I nodded. That was the plan. A few questions and then a fun night. Felt worth it.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Campbell had rented a room at The Beverly Hills Hotel for the evening. Both for us to get ready and to have a room nearby to crash in after the event. I hadn’t been looking forward to driving forty-five minutes back up to his place after a night out.
“Ready in there?” Court called.
English arched an eyebrow. “Are we ready?”
“Yep.”
I swallowed, and then English pulled the door open. Campbell waited for me when I crossed the threshold. He was dressed in a tuxedo, looking as dapper as I’d ever seen him. His artfully messy hair had been brushed off his face. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers. And my heart stopped as our eyes met.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
I thought he might actually fall onto his knees before me, as English had suggested. His eyes were wide and mouth gaped. We were long past prom, and I certainly hadn’t gone in a dress of this quality or this expensive. Nothing could compare to what I was wearing.
The dress was ruby-red silk that flowed around my hips like a waterfall. The straps were paper-thin strips of lace that fell off my shoulders. The neckline was purposely droopy, revealing the top crests of my breasts. I looked somehow taller and curvier and thinner and everything, all at once. It was a fucking miracle dress, and I felt like a queen in it.
“I am the luckiest fucking guy in the world,” he told me as he drew me into him and dropped his mouth onto mine.
I almost protested about my lipstick but fuck it. It was supposed to be smudge- and waterproof. If it wasn’t, I wanted my money back.
“All right, kids,” English joked. “Let’s get you into a limo. Have a great time.”
“What’s your plan for the night?” I asked, pulling away from Campbell.
Court got a look in his eyes that said dirty, dirty things.
English swatted at him. “I’ll be available if you need me. But you won’t need me.”
“Have fun,” Campbell said.
Then, Campbell whisked me downstairs and into the limo. The anxiety about the gala I’d been holding off all day suddenly hit me again.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Campbell wrapped his fingers with mine. “I want nothing more than to be seen with you.”
“It’s just a lot.”
“I know,” he said. “I know it is. Are you okay with it all?”
“No,” I told him truthfully. “I don’t really know how to react. People on the internet hate me.”
