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Unzipping the bag, I find a designer dress that costs as much as a used car. Itisbeautiful, though. The dress is a deep red silk with a low neckline that will cling to my curves, but not unflatteringly. Jasmine may be an attorney, but she missed her calling as a fashion designer. She’s always had an eye for it and can even make me and all my curves look good. There are matching heels and, of course, shapewear. Glancing at the clock, I know I don’t have time for a nap, so I undress and shower.
By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m dressed, feeling like someone else. As I guessed, the dress fits perfectly, thanks in part to the shapewear under the gown. Who cares if I can’t breathe properly all night? At least I look good, right? I leave my long blonde hair hanging freely, though I know Jasmine prefers it pulled back. My make-up is light, which goes against the rules for events at night, but I don’t care. I hate having it caked on my skin. I don’t own jewelry fancy enough to wear, so I let my breasts do all the work as the centerpiece. I’m not dumb—that’s all men see when they look at me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a body that’s too curvy, and a rack that people pay thousands for. I know because Jasmine got her implants as big as mine, and she told me all about the cost.
Making my way to the living room of the suite, I dig through my duffel bag and find the one clutch that I can’t bring myself to sell. It was a Christmas gift from both Jasmine and Jafar when I was promoted to office manager. I’d had my eye on the white Chanel leather clutch for years, but there was no way I’d ever buy it for myself. So even though I know I could sell it for a couple of grand, I keep it, using it anytime I visit. I add my cell phone, room key, and lip gloss before making my way to the lobby.
There’s a black SUV waiting for me outside, and when I get in, I know Jafar has recently been in here. Sandalwood, leather, and cigar smoke linger in the air. It’s a scent I both love and hate at the same time. I inhale deeply because who doesn’t love to torture themselves a bit? Sometimes, back home, I get a whiff of this same scent and look around to see if he is near, which is ridiculous. I can’t think of a single thing that would make Malik Jafar come to Kansas.
The car ride takes longer than normal because Jasmine knows how to throw an event, and anyone who is anyone will be here. Finally, the car goes to the parking garage beneath the hotel, and I’m led inside. I never walk the red carpet. It makes me too nervous, especially when the photographers yell questions I can’t answer. Mainly, who am I, and what am I doing there. They’re legitimate questions and are the same ones I ask myself all the time. I don’t belong in this world. Jasmine must know this deep down because she’s fine with slipping me in unnoticed while she gets the attention that she deserves in the spotlight.
This event is at a 5-star hotel that has a waitlist over two years long. I know this because Jafar owns it, as well as a handful of others. I mean, all Made Men have to have a cover story, right? This is his, and he does surprisingly well with it.
I’m led to the massive ballroom, which is decked out in gold decorations. It’s borderline tacky but hugs the line close enough that people will say Jasmine is brilliant in her bold choices. Jasmine stands at the front of the room with a flute of champagne in her hand. She’s pointing at something and frowning. The man at her side is nodding furiously, and rushes away to fix whatever she’s deemed wrong. Tonight, she’s wearing a teal dress that makes her tan skin glow like the sun-drenched desert. Her long, black hair is braided, and the only jewelry she wears are gold hoops in her ears. Her make-up is dark, showing off her beautiful hazel eyes. And her lips, of course, are red. I don’t think she owns another shade of lipstick.
She spots me and lets out a loud squeal.
“Oh my god! Ellie! When did you get here?”
We cross the room, hugging each other. As much as I complain, I reallyamglad to see her. Despite our problems, I associate her with the wonderful moments in my youth. Moments that I will forever be grateful for. Moments that got me through nights when I wanted to curl up and die. My smile falters, but I doubt she even notices.
I say, “I got in about an hour ago. It’s been too long, Jasmine.”
The lie rolls right off my tongue.It’s been too long.We both say it every time we see each other. I haven’t been back in over six months and would have stayed away longer if she hadn’t demanded that I be here tonight. I’m being very literal, too. Her email said she wouldn’t take no for an answer and even went as far to threaten to send Jafar to get me.
I keep the smile planted on my face, though inside I’m dying to ask why we keep bothering? Our lives have been going in different directions for years. At what point do we acknowledge it and stop trying to force something that we’ve both outgrown? Yeah, we enjoy catching up, but after about five minutes, we have little to talk about. At a point, not even the enjoyable moments from our youth can keep the smiles between us.
She pulls back, eyeing me. “I knew that dress would look great on you.”
“It’s too much but thank you.”
Linking her arm through mine, she tugs me along. “There’s so much that still needs to be done. The cake hasn’t arrived yet, and some of the wine bottles are broken. Oh! Did I tell you who I ran into after my Pilates class the other day?”
I shake my head. We haven’t talked in a while but leave it to her to act like we speak every day.
“Dru. Did you know she’s back in town?”
Dru is one of my stepsisters. She and her twin, Stasia, made my life a living hell from the age of nine until I turned eighteen. I’ve made it a pointnotto stay in touch with them. Jasmine is looking at me so expectantly, and I groan inwardly.
“Please tell me she will not be here tonight.”
Jasmine sticks out her lower lip. “Ellie, it’s been seven years. I think you can let it go now.”
Jasmine has never understood why I don’t like them. She’s an only child and never had to deal with the horrors of having two awful stepsisters. But tonight isn’t about me or my traumatic past.
I force a smile. “It’s fine. I mean, what are the chances that we’re going to run into each other?”
She bumps her shoulder against mine. “That’s the spirit. Oh, there is one thing you might want to know. She’s bringing Richard with her.”
Richard Prince, Dru’s current husband, was my first love and heartbreak. He attended the all-male boarding school that my boarding school would sometimes fraternize with. I like to think it was love at first sight, but it only lasted until my stepsisters sabotaged our relationship. I stop in my tracks, blinking back the unexpected tears that fill my eyes. I’m not about to cry because I still have feelings for him but because of the sudden onslaught of memories that thinking about Richard brings. Things I wish I could forget. I’ve spent years in therapy trying to move past the emotional trauma my stepmother and stepsisters caused, but right now it doesn’t feel like I’ve made progress. Regression in one night. Just my luck.
“Come on, Ellie. They’ve been married foryears, and he didn’t even like you that much back then. I mean, we all know he only dated you because his best friend was dating me and because he felt sorry for you. You should be over it by now. Besides, I have the perfect solution. Jafar’s coworker, Al, is going to be here, and I want the two of you to meet.”
She’s wrong. Richarddidlike me until my stepsisters filled his ears with lies that he believed. He broke it off on the same night I was going to give him my virginity. The joke’s on me, though, because I haven’t found anyone who’s interested in sleeping with me since then. It’s like every guy I meet hangs around for a date or two before vanishing. I’m twenty-five, and it’s getting really embarrassing and depressing that I can’t get a man to properly screw me.
“I don’t want to meet Jafar’s coworker. It would just be a pity date.”
“But Al issodreamy. I promise you’re going to love him. Plus, he won’t mind that you’re…” Her gaze glides down my body, making my cheeks warm.
She doesn’t have to finish her sentence.He won’t mind that you’re fat.That’s what she was going to say. Never mind that I’m accomplished in my field of work, and that I work with charities in my hometown. How silly of me to think that someone might look past my body and want to get to know therealme. My mood sours. To add insult to injury, the shapewear beneath my gown is starting to feel like a python strangling its prey. I shift uncomfortably, keeping a smile on my lips. It’s like wearing a mask. You get so used to doing it that you barely notice it after a while.
