Chapter 7
chapter seven
sure, universe, traumatise me some more
At age five, my year one teacher told me being a princess wasn’t a real job.
At age eleven, Teddy Burrows told me my nose was too big to ever be a good kisser.
At nineteen, Jamie told me to wear sunglasses every time I stepped outside because my eyes were too pretty.
And at twenty-one, Marcus Romano told me I couldn’t survive on my own.
Men never seemed to fail at defining me on their terms. What I was, what I wasn’t, what I should be.
And somewhere along the way, I started believing there wasn’t space left for what I wanted.
Romance became one of those things. Something I watched from the outside, in my friends’ relationships, but never let myself reach for.
It had been so long since I’d been with anyone, girl or guy, that I sometimes wondered if I’d forgotten how.
Romance to me now was just something I saw when Finn looked at Rory from across the room. I saw it in the way Tristan sang a song I knew he’d written about Goldie. I saw it in my favourite paintings. But never in my own life.
My therapist, Alice, had reassured me it was normal.
Healthy, even. That avoiding romance after what happened wasn’t weakness but self-preservation.
Although, it didn’t feel healthy. It felt like backtracking.
As though I were a mosquito preserved in amber, watching the world evolve while I stayed trapped in the past.
Don’t get me wrong, hiding had helped when I needed it to help.
Clinging to the shadows had kept me safe.
But, as I made sure Marcus knew before I stormed off, I felt safe with myself.
With my choices. Strong enough to shatter those walls that had once been everything, trapping in the belief that the world was against me, when really it wasn’t the world at all, just a handful of shitty people who’d taken up too much space in it.
I wasn’t disregarding what happened. I wasn’t forgetting. I was just… trying to live again.
And if I wanted to prove Marcus wrong, if I wanted to prove to myself I could survive on my own, and I wanted to start chasing my dreams again, it had to start somewhere. Even if that somewhere was a too-loud party filled with people who’d already decided who I was.
Long story short? A man told me I couldn’t do something, and all I wanted to do was prove him wrong.
What can I say? I’m my mother's daughter.
And something about Marcus Romano pissed me off enough to get a grip of myself and stop letting the past control me.
His name was enough to make me shiver. His deep, smoky scent felt like a ghost clinging to my shoulders, even now as I drenched my black silk midi dress with the lace trim in my go-to perfume.
Before I knew it I was pulling up at a building that looked as regal as the line of people walking down the carpet that led through the entrance. My hands grew shaky in my lap, dampness clinging to them as I over thought everything.
Think of Nouvelle, girl. Think of your dream.
With that tiny surge of motivation, I slipped out of the car as the driver opened the door. I muttered a thank you, before lifting my head and striding over to the end of the line, to the lady with the clipboard.
Her smile beamed as I reached her. “Name?”
I sucked in a breath, pulling at the silk hugging my thighs. “Cora Holland.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Oh, yeah. I know you.” The head tilt came next. “So lovely to see you here.”
Translation: I saw the news just like the rest of the world and really wasn’t expecting to see you here.
I bit my tongue and smiled back. “Thank you for having me.”
Her eyes fell up and down me in a quick motion as she hummed, before something buzzed in her headset. She raised a hand to her ear before looking back at me. “What you're going to want to do is head down the carpet, stop for the marked reporters, and then head on in. Enjoy the event, Miss Holland.”
My smile pulled tight as she moved swiftly on to the people behind me, and I sucked in another precise breath as I braved the white carpet.
Just get past this part, Cora, and then you can try and enjoy yourself. You’re doing great.
Talking to reporters was only fine once you made peace with the fact that whatever you said was never what they’d print.
They’d twist and tangle your words into what they wanted you to say.
Which was probably why most of them didn’t really like me, because I told them exactly what they didn’t want to hear.
The familiar burn from the camera flashes made the corners of my eyes ache, and the urge to bolt surge through me. But I didn’t, and instead floated towards the first reporter. Then the next. And just like that I was sinking into the safety of the aircon as I made it inside.
The subway-tiled room was lit solely by candlesticks, all in different colours and dotted around every surface of the place. A giant moon hung in the centre from the ceiling, acting as the disco ball, shining spotlights directly onto the new fragrance we were here to celebrate.
I sank right into the aesthetic, feeling oddly at home in a place where I didn’t know a single soul and knew I didn’t truly belong.
The faces I was surrounded by all looked familiar, but I put that down to simply interacting with them online for the benefit of growing our platforms. Sweet comments on our posts were our version of business deals, and being seen together at these events were the handshakes.
It was a weird charade, but one I’d learned to perfect. What had gotten my accounts to a combined number of over nine-hundred-thousand. What had meant mum was looked after for the next two years at least.
The other reminder of who I was doing this for made my feet move for me, what weaved me between the tables decorated with more candle sticks and star-shaped favour cookies as I found my name place at the one closest to the centre of the room.
As I held my breath and sat down, I let the subtle string quartet stuffed into the corner be the lullaby to calm me down.
“Are you at this table?” I turned around at the sweet, airy voice, finding a girl around my age with short auburn curls, midnight blue silk jumpsuit, and green eyes darker than Daisy’s.
I flashed her my name card, along with a smile. “Yep.” I popped the ‘p’, tracing her friendly smile as it grew. “You?”
She nodded, not taking her eyes off me. “That’s me there.” She pointed to the gold name card sitting on the place setting to mine. “I’m Rainie, by the way. Extremely new and beyond terrified of everyone in here.” Her American accent slicked her words, but not in a way that felt obnoxious.
I lifted my hand in a little wave. “Cora. Also equally terrified, but now new. Stick with me and I’ll show you just how to get through these with your sanity, and dignity, still intact.”
She smiled, a sweet laugh slipping from her glossed lips as her head fell for a moment. Her eyes were back on me soon enough though. “I know who you are. And it’s very cool to meet you.”
“Pleasure to meet you too.” I said, honestly. She didn’t seen like the type to be here, and that already made her my favourite person in the room. “So,” I started, breaking the air that felt oddly tense. But not the scary kind of tense. This was… fun. “What brings you here?”
She took a sip of her water before she swept a hand through her fiery hair. “I’ve just recently moved from California, and it felt like my following kind of boomed overnight. Although compared to everyone here in more of a micro influencer. This is actually the first event I’ve been invited to.”
I tilted my head, savouring the doe-eyed bambi look in her eyes whilst it was still there. I’d give it three more of these events before the wonder wears off. “Well, you’re doing great so far. You’re polite, you’re smiling, and that outfit is stunning.”
Her smile shone on her lap, her eyes roaming the almost-navy silk.
“I was terrified of not following the dress code. I wanted to make a good first impression.” Her eyes flitted to me, before dipping down my dress in a way that didn’t feel as innocent as her voice.
“But it seems I’m sitting with the rule-breaker. ”
My smirk peaked. “Blue isn’t my colour.”
But it sure is hers.
Her elbow rested on the table, her hand resting against her cheek as she eyes turned foxy. “Somehow I think black was made for you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Like there was a flirty mist hanging over her that suddenly cleared, Rainie’s eyes widened, her stare falling back to her lap. “Oh, God that was really forward wasn’t it? Who am I kidding, of course it was.” She let a laugh slip between us. “Was that really stupid?”
Reaching for her hand, I shook my head. “Don’t be daft. It’s okay.” I shrugged as she looked up to me. “It’s the first time someone’s tried to pull me in a few months and it was actually nice to feel normal again.” My smile was reassuring, enough to pull one out of her. “I promise.”
Bashfulness became her. “I’m very happy I hit on you and not anyone else who would just blab and turn me into the internet’s new pariah.
” Her eyes softened, candle light flickering in them.
“Also, I only just… recently, accidentally found out I’m bi and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Obviously testing the waters here probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas but…
” her eyes found mine, and I smiled on instinct. “Just… thank you. For being so nice.”
I shrugged, my eyes rolling for no other purpose than to show her what a big deal it wasn’t.
“It’s just nice knowing that at least someone in here knows I’m not a total bitch.
” The awkward curves of the chair met my back as a comfortable silence descend around our corner of the table, until a thought popped into my head.
“How do you accidentally find out you also like girls?”
Pink invaded her cheeks. “I re-watched the live action Scooby Doo.”
My eyes narrowed. “Daphne?”
Hers widened. “Velma.”