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I sank down onto the bed, feeling the walls closing in on me.
* * *
I didn’t call Lydia back right away. I didn’t knowwhatto do, so I went and got dressed. Bryce wouldn’t be happy if I missed the boat to the Nguyen’s. Bryce wasn’t happy anyway, even though I’d followed Hazels’ advice and given to him and then given him some more.
What did my husband want from me, anyway? Besides everything?
Midge was waiting for me in the bedroom. “Oh my God, you’re late! And yourhair! And the internet! I might need a glass of wine to deal with all of this!”
“Please have one.” I threw myself into the makeup chair. “I don’t drink, but I totally understand. I’m facing off against Felicia Jones online—heiress versus peasant. Please, have wine. Have all the wine.”
“I can wait.” She eyed my hair. “I need to be sober to straightenthatout. What happened to you, anyway?” She started to detangle it.
“You know.” I shrugged.
“Your husband?” She grinned.
“Yes. My husband.” But I couldn’t force a smile.
“What’s the matter, hon? This hair didn’t getthatmessed up from nothing. Did he hurt your feelings or something?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. My feelings are definitely hurt, but I don’t know if it’s his fault. I think it might be my own fault.”
“What do you mean?” She finished detangling and started flat-ironing.
“Well, you saw the stories online. I agreed to that—they’re not true or anything.”
“Of course they’re not!” Midge snorted. “They weren’t even articles. It’s just a bunch of strung-together pictures, conjecture, and one stupid quote from an anonymous source—probably not even someone real. It’s not even a story. There’s no reporting. It’s all BS.”
“Thank you, that makes me feel better.” Still, tears pricked my eyes. “But the thing is, Midge? I don’t actually feel any better. I’m going along with this because I have to, but I hate it. I hate Felicia Jones, I hate having my picture on the internet, I hate that they’re making me go on some stupid morning talk show. I’m going to look like an idiot. Felicia Jones would probably charm the pants off of everyone and look good doing it. B-But I’m not her, you know? It’s true what they said about me. I’m from nothing. I’m no one.”
“Aw honey. That’s not true.” Midge put the flat iron down and hugged me, careful not to muss my hair. “Just because you weren’t born into money doesn’t make you nothing. You’re important. You matter. You matter to me, you matter to the rest of the staff, you matter to your brother. You matter to your husband.”
“Do I?” I blinked back the tears. “He wants me to do this. He told Olivia it was o-okay.”
Midge sighed and started doing my hair again. “I’m not saying it’s okay, him asking you to do any of this. But he’s under alotof pressure. Their company’s worth billions of dollars, Chloe. He’s responsible for a lot of people, people with families. If the business goes under, it will hurt a lot of people, you know? I can’t imagine what that’s like, that kind of responsibility.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that, all the employees who work for them. I was just thinking about myself.”
“And that’s okay.” Her voice was sympathetic, soothing. “You’re jobisto worry about yourself. You have to do that. But you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you should tell him how you feel. Give him a chance to hear you out, you know? I bet he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you talk to him, he’ll listen.”
“I already did.”
Midge nodded, smoothing the remaining locks of my hair. “Did you say no? Did you say all this crosses a line for you?”
“No, I didn’t.” I sighed. “I don’t feel like ‘no’ is an option.”
“Just talk to him, Chloe,” she counseled. “People aren’t usually as bad as we think.”
* * *
Midge stuffed me into averysexy, formfitting, spaghetti-strapped black dress and a pair of heels. “No argument on the heels,” she ordered. “That ass needs to look good tonight.”
“I thought the Nguyen’s were having a lobster bake,” I moaned. “Why do I need to look like I’m going to a club?”
