24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ursula
“ I ’m sorry you what!?” Roxy practically screams at me in her cramped bathroom—the pair of us sitting on her counter beneath the tiny vent fan, smoking one of the last of her contraband joints—painting our toenails in shades of shimmering pink and vermillion.
“I know! I know! I couldn’t believe that he was suggesting that we just fuckin’ flick’n’jerk right there in the goddamn bubble—but holy shit, Rox…when I tell you it was fucking hot and I came so goddamn hard.” I hold up my hands in surrender, waiting for her to pass me the tiny smoking roach.
“Holy shit—well, now it makes sense why he turned in his key to my lounge then.” Roxy shakes her head, bewildered.
“Listen, if anyone is the most shocked by this turn of events.” I shake my head—pinching the small bit of herb out of her fingers and drawing the sweet, skunky smoke into my lungs.
“So that’s it then? You’re ready—you’ve all decided it’s time to do the big reveal and become a temporary pack?” She blinks—incredulous.
“Yeah, I mean—we haven’t come up with a name or anything, but Kimmy said that the boys are being informed and we’re going to be given call times for the reveal before lights out tonight,” I admit a little sheepishly, knowing that Roxy hasn’t made the call to go to reveals with her temporary pack just yet.
There’s an uncomfortable silence, and I’m more than a bit worried that Roxy might not be feeling so warm and fuzzy toward me just now.
Instead, she just props her chin on her knee, carefully manipulating the nail polish brush as she lays down a layer of shimmering pink on her big toe and says softly, “I don’t think I’m even gonna go to the reveals.”
I sit up straight, not sure if I’ve heard her right.
“You’re not even going to see what they look like?” I blink, somewhat mystified.
To my great surprise, Roxy sniffles back a tiny sob before she begins crying in earnest.
“Oh, honey!” I croon, jamming the brushcap back into the bottle of sparkling vermillion polish—jumping down from the counter and wrapping my arms around Roxy’s long body— folded in on itself across from me on the bathroom counter. “You wanna tell me what’s up, honey? Or you just need to cry it out?”
Roxy answers me by wrapping her arms tightly around my neck—burying her face in my sweatshirt padded shoulder—her sobs coming in shuddering bursts.
“Shh, it’s ok, honey,” I comfort her, stroking her pink and ash blonde hair. As she soaks my shoulder with tears and snot.
“Why should I even meet any of these guys if none of them are in love with me?” she wails as I rock her gently in my arms.
“What makes you think that none of them love you?” I coo soothingly, doing my best to help her calm down.
“All of them are so fucking self-involved—which, like, is that my fault? Am I just some self-centered bitch who’s attracted all these shitty dudes to her?” She sniffles loudly, pulling her face away from my shoulder to reveal her face, red and swollen with tears—mascara rivers carving their way down her regal fae-queen face. “Teddy was the only guy who might have been halfway decent, and he’s obviously moved on to greener pastures.” She gestures to me, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.
“Hey—that isn’t true!” I wipe away some of her black dripping tears with the back of my hand.
“Yeah it is, what the hell have I even talked with these idiots about? The gym? What clubs do they go to, what kind of expensive shit do they buy.” She reaches past me for the box of tissues that we typically reserve for blotting our lipstick, and grabs a handful before blowing her nose loudly.
“The only one who’s even talked about going to the reveals and the getaway is Anton—but he keeps saying shit that makes me think he’s actually a superficial douchebag in real life.” Roxy shakes her head, defeated.
“I’m sorry Rox,” I murmur into her ear as she leans in for another hug. “Sounds like none of these fucking assholes deserves you. You’re a goddamn star Roxanne, and if these fucking idiots don’t burn just as hard or as bright—fuck ‘em.” I give her a tight squeeze. “Even if I’m selfish and sorry that I won’t get to hang out with you until the stupid mixers later in the season.” My own voice is watery with tears now as I hold Roxy, still sobbing softly, against me.
“You’ll be fine without me on your little fuck-cation,” she laughs through her tears, pushing away from me to dazzle me with a trembling but still beautiful smile. “You’ll owe me a few tequila shots and some catch-up when they finally bring all of us rejects back for happy hour.” She snorts back a snot bubble, knocking me gently on the shoulder with a playful punch.
“You have my word,” I assure her.
“Oh, you had better, Ursula Goldblum-Laskaris. Remember, I know about the little barbie bungalow—I know where you live.” She winks at me—tears making her lashes stick together in wet clumps.
I clasp her hand in mine, and we shake on it.
When Kimmy had told me that my reveal wouldn’t be until nearly seven at night the next day—I had been equal parts relieved and wound tight with anxiety.
Since she was planning to tell her prospective pack members that she would not be continuing with the ‘experience,’ Roxy volunteered to help me style my hair and get me into my dress before she got to the bittersweet business of packing her things for the next stage of production for the non-continuing cast members.
Together we set my hair into bouncy raven curls, painted my short, almond-shaped nails the same shade of hot vermilion as our tear stained pedicure the night before—Roxy helped to zip me into the preposterous reveal gown Julian made for me before my departure.
“Holy shit, Ur-zilla,” she marvels as she steps back from our handiwork. “You look like a million bucks!” She beams, her pink and blonde messy bun bouncing gently as she hops up and down.
“If I had to pay for this bespoke Julian St. James piece —it would have probably set me back about a million bucks, but it is putting in WORK—goddamn!” I exclaim appreciatively as I look myself over in the mirrored closet doors; the gold glittering fabric of the dress slung low across my bare shoulders—my snowy white decolletage nearly overflowing from the ultra-flattering plunging sweetheart neckline—the beautiful drapery of the full a-line skirt wrapped in a sultry surplice—revealing nearly the entirety of my left leg; the slit of open draped material overlapping high up on my thigh.
The dress is tight and flowy in all the right places—the beautiful shimmering material almost glowing in the light.
Roxy actually gasps when she sees me dip a hand into one of the two pockets hidden amidst the drapery pooled around my waist.
“And it has pockets!?” she shrieks gleefully.
“I insisted, much to Mr. St. James’ chagrin,” I laugh, stepping into a pair of sandy gold, round toed, platform heels—pulling a tube of trusty old ‘russian red’ lipstick from one of my glorious pockets.
“Well, if they weren’t smitten with you before—they’re going to be head over heels once they actually see you!” Roxy drifts in behind me, making eye contact through our shared reflection.
“Thanks Rox—I wouldn’t have gotten myself to look half this good without your help.” I smack my newly painted lips together as Roxy passes a tissue over my shoulder for me to blot with.
“Hardly,” she scoffs, giving my upper arms a squeeze. “Maybe this pack of idiots can help you realize how great you are.” She sniffles back a happy tear.
“Maybe,” I sigh, nuzzling one of her hands affectionately.
“Alright! Now that we’ve gotten the pre-reveal interview shots done, we’re going to get just a little more b-roll of you in front of the vanity—putting the final touches on; the last lipstick and hairspray etcetera,” Kimmy explains to me as the camera crew bustles around the small space of my waiting area.
“And then what? It’s time?” I’m swaying from foot to foot, the designer stiletto sandals making the balls of my feet sting and my shins scream—even if my legs and my ass do look incredible as a result.
Kimmy smiles, “Yeah, then it’s time! You’ll just stand right there,” she points to a small strip of electrical tape that production has put down to spike the shot location. “We get our anticipatory shots of you behind the doors—then, when the guys are ready on the other side, we’ll count down from three and swing open the doors. All the guys will be in the other doorway —you’ll meet in the middle where the available seating is. Once you’re there, take your time,” Kimmy explains calmy, soberly as I practically hop from one foot to the other, my head bobbing as if on a string. “Oh, and Ursula?” She reaches out and touches my shoulder gently.
“Yeah?” I still, as if her touch suddenly reminds me that my whole body should not be whirring with nervous motion.
“Good Luck!”
“Thanks.” I swallow, watching Kimmy skitter out of the line of the lens and out of my view.
Silently, I fluff my hair in the big vanity window and touch up the curves of my cupid’s bow with blue-hued-red-lipstick. Just like the production team coached me, I’ve waited until now to put on my dangling earrings; teardrops of beautifully faceted garnet that once belonged to my maternal grandmother.
Even though Roxy had begged me to wear contacts, I had refused, opting to wear a pair of oversized octagonal gold wire frames that complimented my muted pinup style makeup.
I felt like my face without glasses Is somehow a lie. The dress, the shoes, the nails, the makeup—they were bits of theater, but they all served to highlight and enhance the real me. No corsets to make me look skinnier, no choking elastic shapewear—just beautifully draped and tailored fabric, some overpriced makeup, and a metric fuckload of shimmery lotion lovingly smoothed on to every visible inch of me.
It’s hard to ignore the cameras as I look at my reflection in the tall mirror against the wall made explicitly for this purpose. I worry that it’s too much, that I’m too much.
Ever since I was a pre-teen, I’ve felt like I take up too much space. Not just because I’m short, heavy-breasted, too soft and dimpled to be the sleek curved hourglass—lost in a cloud of thick, snarling curls; gaze obscured behind the full-moon reflection of spectacle lenses.
Even though I’m still me, I can hardly recognize the woman in the reflection—glowing, soft, inviting; a palpable thrumming of hope shimmering just below the surface. Yes, it’s still possible that the men I’ve begun to create bonds with will see me, will see the very best version of myself that I have ever been, and still reject me.
But for the first time, I think things are going to work out. Maybe I’m a fool, but something deep in my heart tells me, this time, I’ll win.
As I take my place on the electrical tape marker, my adrenals have spiked so high that I can feel my heartbeat behind my eyes and there’s a low ringing in my ears that almost makes me worried I’ll faint.
“Ok, you ready?” One of the setworkers asks as they prepare to open the frosted doors and reveal my potential pack.
I can scarcely manage breathing, let alone speaking—so I just nod, trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my hands, since keeping them balled in petrified fists doesn’t seem like the right move.
“Alright, we’re going to count down from three. Ok?” He confirms, and I bobble another nod.
“3, 2, 1—”
And the doors swing open.
The hallway set lighting is so much brighter that I actually have to work not to raise my hand and block my eyes instinctively—then, I see them.
Five men stand on the opposite side of the room and I’m not sure where to look first. Mavren had said something about me not having an obvious ‘type’ of guy, and already I can see a little bit of what he was getting at.
“Oh my god,” I murmur under my breath as I put one foot in front of the other—doing my best to keep moving forward without dropping my jaw and tripping over it.
For an awful second—I’m worried they’ll just stand there, silent and frozen. Would such an obvious rejection hurt less than a disingenuous one? In the next blessed breath, my name seems to come from each of them in a hurried chorus, hands stretching toward me as I draw closer. I could cry under the staggering weight of my joy—but I’m doing my absolute best to hold it together.
“Ok, now—I’m at a distinct disadvantage here,” I laugh continuing my approach on increasingly unsteady legs.
The second tallest of the lot, a man with a shining black pompadour, dark almond shaped eyes, and an obviously well maintained tan—jostled the shortest of my suitors; compact, athletic but sleek, sharply dressed in an expensive suit, cut in impeccable lines with his chocolate curls and beautiful, sharp features. The pair shared a glance, then practically raced one another across the short distance of carpet between us.
The taller of the two men grinned at me, a shark-sharp smile of dazzling white teeth, and I knew him straight away.
“Teddy?” I can scarcely catch enough breath for the laugh that follows.
His smile only widens, the beautiful boy beside him looking on hopefully.
“Lysander?” I nearly sob, the joy springing up from deep within me threatening to overflow.
The two don’t bother to confirm or introduce themselves—they just throw themselves at me wrapping their arms around me in a tight hug.
“What are you idiots waiting for? Get over here!” Teddy shouts, waving over the rest of the guys.
The tallest of the group, a beautiful man with deep brown skin and long dreadlocks twisted into an elaborate coil atop his head, steps forward and offers one of his work worn palms to me—a litany of tattoos in crisp black ink visible on his forearms; tufts of fresh coriander leaves, a bunch of needled rosemary springs, a chef’s knife, a balloon whisk, the tiny Kewpie doll baby of a mayonnaise mascot.
“Hey,” Mavren purrs low in his chest as I throw myself into his arms.
“Hey, yourself.” I blink back tears as I sink into his embrace—his hands moving up my back to cradle the crown of my head gently.
I can tell he lets me go reluctantly—a man with paper white skin, glacial blue eyes, and beautifully styled lavender blonde hair so fair it’s nearly silver. His alabaster lashes fan up and down as he looks me over—a dreamy smile stretched across his lips—a silver and opal septum ring dangling from his nose and glittering piercings visible up and down his ears as he leans in to pull me from Mavren’s arms.
“Should I be surprised you look like you belong behind a microphone in a jazz club? I can’t believe no one’s said it yet—you look incredible, Ursula,” he hums, low and resonant, as he folds me in his arms.
“Ash,” I sigh his name against his ear—doing my best to keep my tears from spilling over and destroying my makeup.
There are choruses of compliments from the others after Ash’s callout, but they all blend and smear together.
After a long moment pressed together in a tight hug, he lets me go—a man with a toss of fiery red hair, his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose crowded with freckles, fixes his cool quartz gray gaze on me—his arms outstretched.
“Well, look at you, our little gold star.” That soft twang, those vowels straight from West Virginia—Ronan.
He takes my hands in his and draws me toward him, a devilish grin curling his lips as he pulls me closer.
“Speaking of things I can’t believe y’all haven’t done yet,” he purrs, one of his hands letting go of mine—his fingers suddenly in the hollow of my throat, then in my hair—coiling back to the nape of my neck as he pulls my face toward his in a kiss.
His lips are full and soft when they meet mine, my spine softening and knees weakening as he dips me backward slightly—one hand cupping the back of my head, the other still clasping mine—our fingers knitted together.
It’s full on bells, whistles, and fireworks—the crescendo to the big musical number; just like they show in the movies.
I’ve barely surfaced from the first kiss, Ronan setting me upright back on my own two feet—before I’m being passed into the waiting arms of Mavren—a look somewhere between embarrassment and frustration drawing his regal features.
“I didn’t know what protocol was, I wasn’t trying to—“ he begins to explain, but I cut him off with a giggle and a gentle press of my index finger to his beautiful, full lips.
“No need to apologize, Chef—just kiss me if you want to kiss me.”
Before I can take a breath, he stoops down, shaking off my finger and pressing his mouth to mine.
His sweet maple, amber, cider scent washes over me and I can’t help but moan a little into the kiss—his alpha aura expanding through me like an electric current—a coiling throb pounding from between my legs.
I nearly stumble backward as our faces part—but I’m caught just as quickly by Ash, a sheepish expression on his face.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever kissed someone for the first time around so many people,” his laugh is breathy, but I can see the beading of perspiration at his hairline—pooling in his deep cupid’s bow before he nervously wipes his face with the cuff of his sleeve—realizing what he’s done only a second later; rolling the silk sweater up a few times to hide the bit of damp. I reach a hand up and smooth a bit of his platinum tresses away from his forehead.
“We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable or if—”
But he cuts me off, snatching my hand from his brow as I move to clear a few more pieces of hair—plastered to his forehead. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles sweetly.
“No, I want to. Trust me,” he assures me, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on my waiting lips.
Teddy and Lysander, the first to approach me, have become last in line for kisses—a fact that has obviously tortured poor Lysander—who looks as if he might simply melt like an icecream sundae—fudge, whip, and red cherry left to ruination in the heat of a sunny day.
Without thinking—I reach out my arms to him—my voice almost takes on the tone with which you’d call a beloved puppy as I call him: “Come here, let me help.”
His big saucer eyes, like bottomless cups of fancy chocolat-chaud, fix on me—wet with love, and I nearly lose my breath.
We reach for one another, Lysander nearly the same height as I—our bodies falling into one another with a harmonious ease; our arms woven together—clasping tightly to one another—our tongues sweeping into one another’s mouths—so much glorious potential to explore already blossoming between us.
Our kiss must go on for a while—because I hear Teddy crow loudly, “And what am I? Chopped liver!?” somewhere in the distance.
Lysander and I break the kiss because we both begin to laugh, rather than out of shame.
I turn to face Teddy, really looking at him now.
My word, but he is gorgeous.
Each one of these men is beautiful—but Teddy has it. That ungettable get—that je ne sais quois—the ‘X’ Factor. Everything about him screams, pack lead.
I stand before him, incredulous that such a man sees anything in me—and yet, he moves toward me; a gravitational pull drawing at me, like the moon calls the sea.
“Alright, Princess,” he rumbles, his broad shoulders blocking the others from view as he towers over me—his face slowly lowering toward mine. “What do you say? Do we make the grade?” His hands crawl over the widest part of my hips—those calloused palms and strong fingers curving their way around to grab two generous handfuls of my ample ass as he pulls me against him—the rippling stone of his chest, his stomach.
“How will I know if you don’t shut up and kiss me, Teddy Wong?” I ask huskily—my hands slip gingerly up his sides—over his lats, until I can rest my palms against his back—our bodies fitted tightly together.
Teddy brings his lips to mine, and in a wash of satsuma, green grass, orange blossom, and smoky clove; I officially have my first kiss with each member of my new pack.