Chapter 25 - Evania
I was halfway through my second glass of pineapple juice when the doorbell rang.
I set my glass down slowly and took a steadying breath before standing, nerves making my hands tense. Maria was already on her way to the door, but I followed behind her, curiosity battling with mild dread tugging me reluctantly along.
Christina looked polished just as the last time I saw her—perfect makeup, smooth blonde hair that fell in glossy waves over her shoulders, and a bright smile that immediately stretched wider when she stepped inside.
"Evania!" she said cheerfully.
"Christina," I smiled politely.
Her eyes immediately scanned the foyer, then the living room, the staircase, and finally the enormous windows overlooking the garden.
"Oh wow," she breathed, stepping further inside. "This place is incredible."
I felt a small knot in my chest loosen with relief. The genuine amazement on her face reassured me. She had never been here before, and I hadn't realized until now how much I'd been silently worrying about it.
For some reason, that knowledge settled something restless in my mind. Until that moment, I hadn't realized I'd been worried that she might have visited Callahan's house before me.
Which would have been ridiculous. But still. She continued turning in slow circles like someone touring a museum.
Maria closed the door behind her and gave me a look. The kind that said she was already preparing herself for nonsense.
Christina clapped her hands together suddenly. "Okay! Let's see the dresses."
And just like that, the small relief I'd felt was instantly replaced by a wave of anxiety.
Maria led us upstairs, where the guest bedroom had been temporarily transformed into a boutique dressing room. Several dresses hung neatly on a rack near the windows, and a full-length mirror had been dragged closer to the center of the room.
Christina gasped again.
"Oh my God, these are gorgeous."
Maria gave a polite nod. "You should know, you had them delivered this morning."
I stifled a laugh as Christina began flipping through them, acting as if Maria hadn't spoken.
"Oh, this one is stunning."
"Oh my God, try this one first."
"Wait—no—this one."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be a long afternoon.
"Alright," I sighed, grabbing the first dress she thrust toward me.
The next hour was... exhausting. Not because of the dresses. The dresses themselves were beautiful. But Christina had apparently decided that her role in this situation was to narrate every detail of my body and how it fit into each dress.
The first dress was a deep emerald gown that hugged my waist and flowed softly to the floor. I stepped out of the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Before I could even process how I felt about it, Christina spoke.
"Oh wow, your hips really fill that out."
I blinked, not sure if that was a backhanded compliment or not. "Uh... thanks?"
She tilted her head. "It's very... curvy."
Maria's eyes flicked to mine in the mirror. Annoyance simmered in her expression, perfectly matching the restrained irritation I felt tightening in my chest.
"Turn around," Christina said eagerly.
I turned slowly.
"Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "Your waist is smaller than I thought."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. So I just moved on to the next dress. This one was a soft champagne color. I stepped out again.
Christina clasped her hands. "Okay, see—this one really shows your chest."
Maria coughed.
I stared at my reflection. "I hadn't noticed."
Christina walked around me in a slow circle, as if she were evaluating a sculpture. "Your body type is very... different from mine," she said thoughtfully.
Maria muttered under her breath, "That's one way to put it."
I pressed my lips together hard, holding back a scathing remark as irritation simmered just beneath the surface.
The third dress.
"The fabric really stretches around the middle."
The fourth dress.
"Your waist-to-hip ratio is crazy."
The fifth dress.
"Oh wow, your thighs look amazing in this one."
By the sixth dress, I was starting to regret every life decision that had led to this moment. Maria leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, her expression growing more irritated by the minute.
I stepped out in a sleek black gown and stared at myself in the mirror.
"This one is nice," I said cautiously.
Christina tilted her head. "Mmm... It's okay. But I feel like your body needs something more... structured."
Maria raised an eyebrow.
"Her body doesn't need anything," Maria grumbled.
Christina waved a dismissive hand. "You know what I mean."
No. We did not know what she meant. I took the dress off and changed into another one, deciding silently that I would choose whatever I liked and ignore everything she said. Eventually, we narrowed it down to two dresses.
Christina flopped dramatically onto the edge of the bed. "So what are you doing with your hair?"
I froze. My hand automatically touched the shower cap covering my head.
"I was planning on doing a sleek bun," I said.
Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Oh... really?"
A spark of irritation jumped up inside me at her tone.
"Yes," I said carefully.
She tilted her head, examining me like she was mentally styling me. "I actually think it would look better if you wore a wig."
The room went quiet.
Maria's head slowly turned toward Christina.
I blinked once.
Twice.
Now, normally, that suggestion wouldn't bother me.
I wore wigs all the time.
Being a Black woman with kinky hair meant wigs were practically a lifestyle accessory. Protective styles, convenience, versatility—I had an entire collection.
But something about the way Christina said it...
Maybe it was the tone.
Maybe it was the slight wrinkle of her nose.
Or maybe it was the fact that the suggestion was coming from a Caucasian woman with bone-straight hair who had probably never had to think about protective styling a day in her life. Whatever it was, irritation prickled along my spine.
"I like my hair in a bun," I said calmly.
She waved a hand again. "But imagine a long straight wig with this dress," she insisted. "It would look so elegant."
Maria spoke before I could. "A sleek bun is also elegant."
Christina smiled tightly. "I'm just making a suggestion."
I took a slow breath. Did I want to argue about hair tonight? No. Did I want to make things uncomfortable? Also no. Especially not when this whole situation existed because of Callahan.
Or Cal.
Or... Han?
Hannie?
God.
I really needed to pick a nickname for him.
I sighed.
"Fine," I said. "I'll wear a wig."
Christina clapped happily. "Perfect!"
Maria looked like she wanted to throw something.
The rest of the evening passed with slightly less commentary on my body, though Christina still insisted on discussing accessories, makeup, and shoes as if we were preparing for a royal gala rather than a birthday dinner.
Christina stood near the door gathering her purse.
"Remember the wig," she said brightly. "It's more acceptable."
I wanted nothing more than to reach out and snatch her blonde locs from the root. Using her hair to make the very wig she insisted on me wearing, but I stopped myself. simply nodded.
"Well," she continued, "I'll see you before the ball."
The moment the door closed behind her, the entire house seemed to exhale. Maria turned slowly toward me. "You need to tell Mr. Sterling about her."
I blinked. "About what exactly?"
She crossed her arms. "That woman has a crush on your husband."
"How do you know?" I laughed. "He's completely oblivious to it."
"That doesn't mean you should ignore it."
I shrugged. "It's not a big deal."
Maria stared at me in disbelief, her face incredulous as if I had just said the sky was green. "She spent the entire evening criticizing your body and telling you how to style yourself."
"She was trying to help." I forced the words out, not believing them for a second.
Maria made a noise that clearly communicated she did not believe me.
I sighed, leaning against the wall. "I don't want to make it a thing."
"You're his wife," Maria said firmly. "It is already a thing."
Maybe, but I still shook my head. "I don't want to come across as... problematic. I already don't get along with his mother."
Maria's expression softened slightly. "You're still allowed to have boundaries."
"I know. I won't see her unless there's an event anyway, so it's fine for now."
Maria looked unconvinced. "Alright."
My phone vibrated softly against the vanity table.
I glanced down, half expecting it to be one of my sisters flooding the family group chat again. Instead, Callahan’s name lit up the screen.
I’ll pick you up in three hours.
A small smile crept onto my lips before I could stop it. I turned in my chair just as Maria was stepping out of the room, her hand already reaching for the door handle.
“Maria,” I called.
She paused, turning back with the polite attentiveness she always carried. “Yes, Mrs. Sterling?”
I waved her over, excitement bubbling in my chest. “You’ll never guess what I did yesterday.”
Maria raised a brow but stepped closer. “Should I be concerned or impressed?”
“Both,” I said brightly.
She folded her hands in front of her apron. “That’s never a comforting combination.”
I leaned forward conspiratorially. “I bought a supermarket.”
For a full three seconds, Maria just stared at me. “You did what?”
“I bought a supermarket,” I repeated, as if it were as normal as buying bread.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.
“Why?” she asked finally, the word leaving her slowly, carefully, like she was trying to make sense of something that absolutely refused to make sense.
I waved a dismissive hand. “That's not important. What matters is that we’re going shopping there before dinner with my family.”
Maria stared at me harder. “You bought a supermarket,” she repeated. “And now… You want to shop there.”
“Yes.”
She squinted slightly. “Like a customer?”
“Exactly like a customer.”
Her lips twitched.