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Ace Jagger was a mistake.
One I vow never to make again.
By the time I drag myself downstairs, Mom is pacing the kitchen. “There you are,” she smiles. “I was getting worried.”
“What’s up, Mom?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Whatever is the matter?” She rushes over to me, brushing the hair from my face.
“I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Remi, what is it?”
“Me and Ace.” I choke over his name. The rest of the words get stuck, and I shake my head, desperately trying to swallow the tears.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Despite my misgivings about the two of you, I could see how much you cared for him. Want to talk about it?”
“No, I really don’t.” My eyes drop to the floor.
“I hate to ask this, baby, but he didn’t—“
“What, no!” I rush out, the instinctive urge to defend him still swarming in my chest. “You were right all along. We’re too different. It could never work.”
“Oh, sweetheart, come here.” She pulls me into her arms. “And on your birthday no less. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
“I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, sweetheart, but it’s probably for the best. It’s senior year, you need to stay focused. And there’s plenty of other boys out—“
I jerk back. “I swear, Mom, if you say Bexley’s name, I will scream.”
“I wasn’t going to mention him.” But the glimmer of guilt in her eyes tells me otherwise. “I had planned a girls’ day for the two of us, but I should imagine you’re not feeling in the mood now.” Sadness etches into her expression.
“You did?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise, but I booked us in at La Dolce Vita for mani-pedis and facials.”
“That’s nice, Mom.” I fight a grimace.
“I know it’s not really your thing, but you used to love getting pampered when you were a little girl. I thought it would be nice.”
“Sure thing, Mom.” I don’t have the heart to tell her no. Besides, maybe it’ll give me a distraction.
“Really?” Her eyes light up. “I’m so excited. I had started breakfast,” she glances over to the plate of pancakes, “but why don’t we go crazy and get something on the way?”
“Are you sure, I don’t want—“
“Oh hush, now. I can afford to spoil my only daughter for her birthday. Besides, James is treating us to the pamper session. He told us to get whatever we wanted.”
I press my lips together and force a smile.
Of course he did.
La Dolce Vita is exactly as I remember it: spacious and opulent with high ceilings and a rich gold and black color decor. It screams luxury, and reminds me of a time when we didn’t have to worry about the price tag of the various treatments on offer.
As it is, we don’t have to worry. James is picking up the tab. I realize the second I’m swept away by a glamorous beautician called Shelbie that coming here was a mistake. I don’t want to sit and make small talk with a woman who is preened and primped within an inch of her life.
“So sweetie,” she sing-songs, “I thought we’d start with the mani and then move onto the pedi. And then we’ll get you in the chair for your facial. ‘Kay?” Her plump lips curve revealing a set of pearly white teeth.
