Chapter 2
I ’ve done walks of shame. Sneaking out of frat houses or dorm rooms in the wee hours of the morning.
Still dressed in my same skimpy dress and fuck-me heels.
This has nothing on that. This is me sweeping into a posh hotel in the middle of Boston looking like a fabulous cocktail between a drag queen and a zombie bride. It’s hot stuff. Let me tell you.
And the horrified looks from other patrons and staff are telling me I’m far more zombie than queen.
All I want right now is to go up to my room.
But I don’t have a key card on me. Nor do I have an ID or money or anything.
I mean, I was getting married today. No purse required for that event.
Then I had to listen to Tod my name is fucking Tod McDicklicker tell my cousin—my COUSIN!
—that he loves her and he’s so sorry, but he has to marry me for my money.
Yep. Oh, and I’m fat. He said that too.
So did she. So did my mother, in not as cruel of words as they used while she lamented squeezing me into a dress she insisted on ordering two sizes too small.
A dress I never picked out or even tried on until this morning, mind you.
They might as well have taken a baseball bat to my self-esteem and bashed its brains in.
I never had a problem with my curves until this morning. Fuckers.
I race toward the ladies’ room off the lobby, needing to clean up before I beg for a new key card to my room.
My room. All of Tod’s things are still in his suitcases, and I’ll ensure they end up with the bellhop so he’s able to retrieve them.
Because he will not step foot in that suite again.
Ha! I guess he’s stuck with my broke cousin now.
She graduated college with a degree in sociology last May and has been working at Starbucks since. Her mom has zero money.
My mother was Miss Mississippi and earned herself a scholarship to college. She caught the eye of my Heisman Trophy–winning, football-playing father, and subsequently married up in the world since he was born to a very wealthy family—her life’s aspirations.
But my broke cousin and broke Tod deserve each other.
No wonder she always wanted to spend time with us. Be my bestie.
“Ugh, I hate everyone!” I cry, running the water and catching my reflection only to wince.
I pump some soap into my hands, lather it up, and then scrub vigorously at my face.
Water pools in my hands and even as I wash the soap off, I can already tell that a lot of the makeup isn’t coming along with it. “What did she use on me? India ink?”
The door to the bathroom opens and a second later, a woman enters. Oops. This is when privacy would have been nice. I blush the same deep crimson as the walls as I reluctantly meet the woman’s eyes in the mirror, giving her a sheepish grin before dropping back to the sink.
She takes note of my dress and face dripping with water and black sludge and then sets her camel-colored ostrich Birkin down on the counter. “Here, dear.” Opening her bag, she reaches in and retrieves a pack of makeup-removing wipes, handing them over to me. “These should do the trick for you.”
I could cry. Again. And I do, sniffling and making horribly unladylike sounds. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I don’t normally have breakdowns in a wedding dress in public restrooms.”
She waves me away as she goes about washing her hands and adjusting her makeup.
She’s tall with a blonde bob and perfect designer clothes.
But there is something else about her. Something in her eyes or her regal bone structure that I can’t quite place.
A familiarity possibly. No. Can’t be. I’ve never been to Boston before.
Maybe it’s her hair? I think it might be a wig. That’s it.
No matter, I attack my face with the wipes, and they do the trick. The makeup dissolves straight into them. “You’re a lifesaver,” I moan in relief. “Thank you again. I was not relishing the idea of going to the counter looking like this.” I fluff up my already fluffed monstrosity of a ripped gown.
The hot hunk of man candy with the growly voice I hijacked was bad enough. A hotel full of people…
“Did you run out on him, or did he run out on you? I apologize if I’m being rude or intrusive,” she adds politely but doesn’t retract the question either as she dries her hand on a cloth napkin.
“Both. And I don’t mind. I kind of need intrusive right about now and you’re the furthest thing from rude. My fiancé cheated and I overheard him discussing his abhorrence over marrying me with my cousin, who was the woman he was cheating on me with. Then I ran out.”
“Good for you.” The sparkle of admiration in her eyes tells me she means it. “I imagine that was not an easy thing to do. You should be proud of yourself.”
I pause, thinking about that. Hot hunk of man candy in the car said something similar, and you know what?
I think both of them are right. “Honestly, it’s what I should have done months ago.
I wasn’t… excited when he proposed. I didn’t cry or squeal.
Come to think of it, he didn’t even propose, so much as slide a ring on my finger one day and told me we had to get married.
I was fine with that. I never expected much from love or wanted anything real out of it. ”
“Why’s that?”
“Looooong story. Bad role models. Innocence stolen. Crushing heartache blanketing my world.”
“Hmm.” She twists to face me, folding her arms and pursing her lips as she peruses me. “But you’re not against love, correct?”
“Against love? How can anyone be against love? I’m being dramatic. I realize this. Love is beautiful. I just haven’t seen or experienced enough of it. Obviously.”
“If you were my daughter, I’d press on that. Something I wish I had done sooner with her. But you seem strong. Unflappable in your own right. I hope you hang on to that. Were you getting married here in the hotel?”
I shake my head, a strange sort of warmth spreading through me at this stranger’s assurance in me.
“No. At a church and the reception was in some chic warehouse-type place across town my mother insisted was the ‘it’ place to party. I’m staying here in the hotel.
” My gaze casts down to the stone countertop, my vision growing fuzzy.
“Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m going to do now.
I only just moved to Boston a week ago.”
Turning back to the mirror, she reapplies her lipstick, which was already pristine.
I’m not sure why she’s continuing to talk to me or even why she came into the bathroom to start with, but I’m grateful.
I always wanted a relationship like this with my own mother, but as fucked up as it is, I feel more comfortable confiding in this stranger than I do her.
Not to mention, I know my mother’s six thousand shades of furious she’s not able to attend the reception and socialize and network with Tod’s side the way she was looking forward to.
I’m seriously dreading walking out there. Of what will come next for me.
“Where did you move here from?”
Her voice snaps me away from my dark thoughts and when I catch her reflection in the mirror, I can tell that was her intent.
“I just got my master’s degree from UCLA in business and finance.
My bachelor’s is in fine arts from the same school.
It’s how I met my jerk of a fiancé. He was a finance major.
But I’m really an artist. I work with metal, but my third stepdad, Duke, insisted I earn a secondary degree in business if I wanted to know how to run one. ”
And I just dropped a pretty penny on a lease for six months of studio space that has a forge.
Places like that are nearly impossible to find, especially in a city.
I was so excited when I found it. I’ve been using a blowtorch since I began working with metal as my medium, but I’ve been desperate to try out forge welding and finding that studio felt like a sign that Boston wouldn’t be so bad.
She nods, smiling in that polite way rich women do, not showing too many teeth and not wide enough to crinkle and make their faces show wrinkles.
“That’s impressive to have graduated with a master’s in both business and finance as well as managing a bachelor’s in fine arts.
Are you currently looking for employment in those fields, or do you plan on making a living from your art? ”
I shift my stance, leaning a hip against the counter.
“Well, I don’t need to work. Not for money at least. But I’d like to.
I don’t enjoy living off my trust funds unless absolutely necessary.
I’d love to do something part time that uses my degrees.
I’m not a sit still and do nothing type of person.
Doesn’t work well with me. Ideally, I’d love a job that helps others while affording me flexibility to still be able to work on my art. ”
Plus, I’m not one of those artists who can work for ten hours straight on a piece. I tend to go a little stir-crazy when I do that. I’m also far more creative at night than I am during the day.
“I see.” She puts her lipstick back in her purse, and I hand her the package of wipes she gave me.
This poor woman has very kindly indulged me when she likely just wants to get the hell out of here.
Who can blame her? We’re in a ladies’ room and I can’t seem to shut off my verbal diarrhea about my disaster of a personal life.
Seems to be the thing I’m doing today with unsuspecting strangers.
I’m shocked she hasn’t run out of here screaming yet, but she seems a bit too polished and refined for that. A lady of money and breeding.
I should know. I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by rich people.
Three stepfathers, each one wealthier than the last will do that.