Chapter 3
Three
REGINA
I am not doing this. I chant it over in my head the entire time it takes for Quincy and Aston to arrive.
They crowd into my small condo and gaze at me with critical eyes.
“Are you sure that outfit is a good idea?”
Quincy raises a disapproving plucked brow, and I bristle with defensiveness.
“Of course, if it’s good enough for celebrities, it’s more than good enough for me.”
“But you’re not a celebrity, honey.”
Quincy’s words are careful, much like they would be said to a small child demanding the impossible, and I brush them aside.
“I have a vlog, remember, and a following of two hundred thousand. In their world I am.”
I smooth down my nonexistent dress, wondering why she isn’t gushing in awe about it. I mean, I look fantastic. The ice queen—remember. Elsa would kill to be me right now, and I’m only surprised she can’t see that.
Aston can. He can’t tear his gaze away, and I’m guessing it’s because I’m like a magnificent queen among her subjects.
Quincy sighs. “Honey, please. Don’t you have a nice black dress or something? Standard issue for events like this.”
“No.” I fold my arms, noting Aston’s flicker of regret in his eyes as I disguise the curves spilling out from under the scrap of fabric covering the important bits.
“It’s not exactly Cinderella though.”
“If you say ugly sister, I’ll stick my glass slipper through your heart.”
Aston chuckles as Quincy throws her hands in the air. “Fine, we’re wasting time anyway. Grab your purse, honey, you shall go to the ball.”
“I’m not sure.” Doubts batter against my bravado and leave me weak, and the fierce gleam in Quincy’s eyes cuts sharper than any diamond at the gala tonight.
“Just because Connor is heaped in misery right now, it doesn’t mean you have to miss out.
Hell, anyone would kill for an invitation to that place, and you owe it to the two hundred thousand to film every second of it.
You owe it to me, so I insist on you live streaming your way around that ballroom, concentrating your efforts on any outfits, interesting paintings or gossip that will keep me going for the entire year. ”
“You’re right.” I stand a little taller. “I am a professional influencer, and I owe it to my followers to shine a light on lives that we only read about. Connor’s misery will be my triumph.”
Aston snorts, and Quincy rolls her eyes.
“I kind of agree with you there. What a low blow standing you up on the most important night of your life. He’s not dead, so I don’t see the problem.
All he had to do was tug on a tuxedo and get you through the door before dashing for a cab—and not Astons—while leaving you to move around the room like a freaking glitter ball. ”
I refuse to accept that I appear anything but magical, and her disapproval is washing off me like the disappearing snowflakes on my dirty window.
I know I look impossibly chic and couture; it’s the trend. I didn’t make it up and am merely embracing it.
“Let’s go.”
My voice is loaded with false determination because I’m mindful that if I hesitate for one more second, I’m calling time on this madness.
“What about your coat?”
The fact Quincy resembles a snowman right now alerts me to the fact it may be minus figures outside.
“You have a heater in the cab, don’t you, Aston?”
He nods, and I set my jaw in grim determination.
“Then lead me to my chariot. I will not cover this masterpiece. Would any of the celebrities arrive at a gala with a padded coat over their couture? Most definitely not, and I won’t be the first to do so. I am making an entrance, so let’s go before I change my mind.”
Quincy shakes her head as I storm out of my condo in a cloud of perfume and bad decisions.
I am almost naked in the chill of winter, and I wonder if I have really thought this through. The blast of icy air is enough to cause my teeth to chatter on impact with the sidewalk, and my nipples are practically slashing the sequins away that dare to cover them.
I am madly envious of Quincy wrapped up like a yeti, but I will never admit that, and as I slide into the cab, I wrap my arms around my body in a vain attempt to muster some warmth before I freeze to death.
“So, this is the plan.”
Quincy briefs me as Aston cuts through the traffic as if we are in a movie with the villains hot on our tail.
“We pull up outside, and you make your grand exit onto the red carpet. Own it and act as if you have every right to be there. Wave at the paps and smile as if you are the queen they have been waiting for. That way, when you head through the doors, nobody will dare challenge you.”
“Will it work though?” I tug at my bottom lip with my teeth that won’t stop chattering.
“I mean, what if I end up going full circle in those revolving doors, my humiliation thrown into the gutter along with me?”
“Own it. Fake it until you make it and all those other clichés. Believe in your own importance, and others will. You can do this, honey; I have every faith in you.”
“You’re right. I can do this. I am a celebrity. I influence people in their choices in life.”
Quincy stares at me with a thoughtful expression.
“Out of interest though, honey, who influenced your choice of outfit for tonight?”
“I told you; it’s bang on trend.”
I don’t miss that Aston’s eyes linger a little too long in the mirror and I shift to cross my legs against the fact the sheer fabric may be revealing a little more than I would like it to.
Note to self—do not sit down tonight.
I must glide around the ballroom as if I am on rails, not six-inch heels that came from the thrift store and are a size too small.
Like everything in my life, they appeared to be a good idea at the time, and I am left regretting my impulsive nature as I face the fact I really shouldn’t have considered myself as an adult.
My choices sometimes lack common sense, and I hate to admit it, but a little black dress is mighty appealing right now.
“We’re there!” Quincy gasps as the cab joins the line of limos that snake up to the red carpet of the Diamond Hotel.
“Oh my God!” I squeal as the ice palace comes into view, a projection of diamonds and ice covering the exclusive facade with magic, transforming it into Cinderella’s castle or Elsa’s magic one in the Arctic.
“I’m really doing this?” I grip her arm tightly, wishing the padded fabric was wrapped around my body and not hers right now because what the hell was I thinking? I’m practically naked.
“I can’t do this.”
My voice falters, and Quincy actually growls. “You can. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? They refuse you entry. You will be notorious and can film indignantly from the entrance, telling your followers about the injustice you have been done at Christmas no less.”
“I’m not going through with this.”
“Go for it, honey.” Aston’s gruff voice comes from the driver’s seat like an act of God.
I stare at Quincy in surprise as he says gruffly, “This is your opportunity. Don’t turn away from the ones that do come your way because not many do in life.”
Quincy’s eyes widen. “Wow, Aston, since when were you a philosopher?”
He shrugs. “I’m a cab driver. I hear it all and know enough to repeat that you shouldn’t shy away from opportunity. Only the brave get to reap the rewards outside their comfort zone.”
“God, I love you.”
Quincy leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Your philosophy is seriously turning me on right now.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you mind? I am here, you know.”
“Not for much longer.” Quincy drawls as the car stops and a security guard wrenches the door open, the icy blast of winter reminding me that I only make bad choices in life.
“You go, girl, and remember to own it.”
“I–”
“Now!”
With a superhuman push, Quincy propels me out of the cab, and as I teeter on my heels, I desperately attempt to cover my important parts from the flashing cameras.
The cab speeds off quickly, probably in case I change my mind, leaving me to face the results of my madness.
The noise is overwhelming as the paps call out, urging me to stand in front of their cameras to share my humiliation with the entire world.
As I attempt to move on my heels, the slackening of the fabric around my breasts informs me that my outfit is rebelling against me and they may get more than they bargained for.
I clench my teeth as I hold my purse up against my breast in a vain attempt to disguise my failing creation and the fact it’s positively freezing my tits off, I attempt to move in the direction of the warm hotel and safety.
As I stagger along the red carpet, the revolving doors mock me as they get ever closer, the tears in my eyes freezing in the chill of winter as my mortification consumes me.
Everything is going wrong. I should never have come because who the hell do I think I am? A wannabe celebrity who gets it wrong every single time.
I reach the doorman, who stares at me with a quizzical brow, and I attempt to own my position here as I flash him with what I hope is a confident smile.
He holds the door open for me, and as I stagger inside, a woman steps forward with a clipboard.
“Name?”
“Um–” My voice is shaking so hard and my teeth are chattering as I whisper, “Regina Stone.”
Her eyes scan the list.
“Can you spell that, please?”
“Um, R.E.G.I.N.A S.T.O.N.E.”
She raises a quizzical eyebrow.
“You’re not on the list.”
“Excuse me.”
I clutch my purse to my chilled breast that is straining against the confines for exposure.
“There must be some mistake. I’m with Connor East—I’m his plus one.”
She trails her finger down the list and huffs, “He is on the list, but your name is not beside his.”
“Excuse me?” I blink in surprise. “It must be. He invited me.”
“But he’s not here — um — with you.”
Her brows are arched in a constant reminder of how stupid she thinks I am, and she says with an air of boredom, “He has arrived already with a–” She peers at the infernal list again.
“Jessica Sykes.”
“He’s here!” My gasp is loud, causing the doorman to shift beside me, probably itching to get his hands on my near-naked body and toss me out of those revolving doors like my worst nightmare.
“Yes, they’re ticked off. I’m sorry, I must ask you to leave.”
“Connor’s here? There must be a mistake. He’s got COVID. It’s why I’m here solo.”
“COVID?” She appears alarmed. “You mean he’s contagious.”
A grim determination settles over her expression, and she whispers into her headset, “Connor East may be infectious. Put out a call for him to report to main reception, and if he fails the test, ask him to leave.”
My heart is thumping as I stare at her in shock, and she points to the door with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sorry, I must ask you to leave.”
“But–” Tears blind me as I face the fact my worst nightmare is about to come true.
“Please.” I’m almost crying, and I probably would be if there wasn’t a block of ice inside me right now.
“Is there another exit I can use? I can’t, well, it would be humiliating to go back out there.”
“The hotel is sealed; only the invited get to pass this point. I’m sorry, that is your only option.”
“But–” The doorman moves beside me and touches my arm.
“Allow me to show you to the door, ma’am.”
The woman turns her attention to the next person, and as I am propelled back through the doors, the icy chill of winter hits me square in every part of me that screams bad decisions.
As I hit the red carpet, it takes all of my nonexistent gymnastic skills to remain upright and attempt to wrestle the fabric into decorum as I face the fact that this is the most humiliating night of my life.