29. Sarina
twenty-nine
sarina
This Time, I’m Wearing Waterproof Mascara
“From Golf’s Trophy Wife to Baseball’s Dirty Little Secret: Sarina Arora’s Fall From Grace.” -Celeb Weekly, 6:37 AM
“Rehabbing and Rebounding! Everything you need to know about who Troy Winters is dating after his mysterious breakup from ex-fiancée, Ellie Jackson!” -Entertainment Officials, 7:02 AM
“Sources close to golf’s legend, Jamie Weston, express shock at recent pictures of his ex: ‘He recently learned about her new beau, but he had no idea about her skin disorder. Wonder what else she hid throughout their marriage.’” -Blue Buzz, 7:18 AM
“What is vitiligo? Search trends spike after photos expose Troy Winters’ new girlfriend’s skin condition.” -GossipGlow.com 7:42 AM
M y hand shakes as I scroll through my phone the next morning in my salon suite, reading one headline after another, and each worse than the last. The pictures are everywhere—me and Troy entering the little hole-in-the-wall cafe yesterday, his hand wrapped around mine, my head tilted up toward him with the biggest smile across my face. Even with his dark hoodie and his white cap slung low over his head, there’s no mistaking that bearded jaw line, those broad shoulders and lean physique. The kind of smile I’m wearing betrays all the things I’ve tried so hard to deny.
And the worst part? The pictures are focused directly on the pale patch of skin around my eye. All because I’d completely forgotten to put on makeup that morning. All because I’d lost myself in his words and his touch, completely forgetting the very thing I’ve been so careful about hiding over the past year and a half.
My throat tightens, reading the comments on social media—some are empathetic but most are cruel, discussing and dissecting my appearance like I’m a multi-headed creature.
“Of all the women that beautiful man could have, he chose her? Her?! The one with a face that looks like a world map?”
“It’s a fairly common condition she has no control of. Do one decent thing today and get off your computer. She doesn’t need your hate.”
“Is that shit contagious? Troy’s in recovery. Don’t need our man getting sick after being with this freak.”
“Wasn’t she Jaime Weston’s wife? Damn. Girl must give good head because . . . I’d have a hard time looking at her otherwise.”
A sense of déjà vu surrounds me as I suck in a breath and continue to scroll. I know I shouldn’t; the comments are nothing but vitriol written to inflict the most damage. But, like a scab I can’t help but pick at, I can’t resist the urge to make it bleed again. It’s sick and twisted . . . but it’s also self-validating.
I was doing so well for a while before this. Even after seeing my ex-husband that day at the salon when he told me the past four years hadn’t done me any favors—insulting the way I looked because that’s what Jamie always did—I told myself his opinions didn’t matter.
Did his words sting? Yes, I’m only human. But I didn’t let them take hold of me like they used to because he no longer had a right to influence my self-worth.
But now, as I look at these comments, that self-confidence I was slowly rebuilding feels shaky once again.
It’s not like I’ve never questioned why someone as gorgeous as Troy would want to pursue me. I’m not only outwardly imperfect but inwardly guarded too, while he literally looks like he walked out of the latest issue of a sports magazine. He’d need only to snap his fingers and the most beautiful women on the planet would parade themselves in front of him, probably with matching skin tones and zero emotional baggage.
But something inside me renounces those questions and thoughts when they surface, and I tell myself I’m more than what is skin deep.
I’m a business owner, a loving mother, and a woman who has learned that her worth isn’t measured in social media likes or magazine covers. It’s the same internal conversation that helped me rebuild myself, brick by painful brick, after Jaime, and it’s the same one that reminds me that being different isn’t being less.
So why am I still scrolling, reading hateful words and sabotaging everything I’ve worked to build, knowing it will only take me back to a place I left behind? Like I said, I’m a little sick and twisted.
At least I’m wearing waterproof mascara this time.
“From Beauty to Beastly: Troy Winters’ Shocking Rebound That Has Everyone Shaking Their Heads.”
Article after article compares side-by-side pictures of Ellie and me. Her perfect skin, her camera-worthy good looks, her graceful presence. And then there’s me—a woman who looks like a patchwork of colors, who hides behind makeup and shies away from cameras. And in their words, a woman who’s clearly out of her depth.
My phone buzzes with a call from Troy and I almost send it to voicemail, my brain working a mile a minute as I try to process my fears and the what-ifs.
Can I do this again? Subject myself to this kind of scrutiny and judgment? And it’s not just about me anymore—Troy is getting dragged into this right alongside me. The last thing he needs while he’s focusing on his recovery is tabloid drama.
And then there’s Rome, my sweet little boy. Just the thought of him being harassed or questioned at school with kids showing him these articles about his “weird-looking” mom has bile moving up my stomach. I’ve worked so hard to shield him from this exact kind of attention.
Shit. This is all just my luck, isn’t it? Of all the single men in the world, I had to go and fall in love with another famous athlete.
Except, this time around, everything feels even scarier. Because this time around, I’m not just risking my heart . . . I’m risking everything I’ve rebuilt.
My phone rings again, pulling me from my spiral. I’d inadvertently sent him to voicemail earlier. This time, I answer.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice is both concerned and resolute, like he’s expecting me to be guarded. I suppose he’s figured me out in the time we’ve been together. “Talk to me, Rina. I know you saw the articles.”
My chest tightens, but I ease in a breath. “I’m . . . processing it.”
“I figured you would be, but before you go further down a path I might not be able to reach you, can you listen to me for a second?”
“Troy, they’re dragging you through the mud because of me.”
“No, they’re trying to, but they can’t. And honestly, I don’t give a damn about any of it. You know why?”
I close my eyes, fisting the back of my salon chair. “Why?”
“Because the woman they’re talking about? The woman they think they know, based on a couple of fucking photographs, is so much more. She’s brilliant and beautiful, inside and out, with or without makeup. She’s strong and so goddamn funny. And they have no idea how crazy I am about her, how much I’ve fallen for her.”
My breath hitches. “Troy . . .”
Did he mean to say that? Was that a . . . a slip of the tongue or a stray thought spoken in the heat of the moment?
“I know you’re scared, sweetheart.” His voice warms my insides like hot cocoa on a chilly day. “I know this is probably dredging up memories from when you were with Jamie. But just remember one thing. I’m not him. And you know what else?”
“What?” I whisper, not completely sure why my chin wobbles or my eyes prick. Maybe everything I’ve just read is finally flowing through me, or maybe it’s his words, his sincere confession.
“ You’re not the same woman you were, either. You’re stronger and more resilient. Just so much more.”
I nod, knowing he can’t see the single tear that falls to my cheek. “Yeah . . . You’re right.”
“That’s my girl. Now, when can I see you?”
I rub my lips together, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of unexpected emotion—warmth intermingled with dread, dredged up by old memories. I feel found, yet lost all at once, like I’m standing on the horizon of something new but still shackled to the past. It’s all too much and yes, just as he said, it’s scary, too.
“Maybe not right now,” I say finally. “You have no idea how much your words mean to me, Troy, but I just need time to sort all this out in my head and not derail all the progress I’ve made over the past few years.”
“I understand.” His voice is soft and patient, even when I know he’s disappointed. “Just know that I’m here for you, okay? I’m waiting for you. We can tackle all this together.”
The conviction in his voice makes my heart squeeze. Together . Maybe that’s the biggest difference between my past and my present—having someone who wants to hold me through this, rather than someone who throws me into the deep end to let me flail and drown.
“Okay.”
I’ve just hung up when the door to my salon suite opens and both Nisha and Piper walk in, phones in hand and matching expressions of shock and pity on their faces.
“We just saw the news articles,” Piper says, rushing to my side. “God, these people are assholes, Sarina.”
I purse my lips, unwilling to let fresh tears sting my eyes again, reminding myself that I’m more than what a bunch of faceless idiots on the internet label me. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing I haven’t faced before, right? What’s that saying? What doesn’t kill you gives you good stories to tell at parties?”
My best friend and sister don’t laugh at my attempt at a joke.
“You shouldn’t even be reading it.” Nisha reaches for my phone, but I pull away, knowing that taking away my phone is only a temporary solution.
“Honestly, I think I need to read them,” I say. “I’m not going to lie to you guys and say their comments don’t hurt, because they hurt like a bitch. But I think reading them will force me to change the way I respond to them this time.”
Nisha leans her hip against my styling station, arms crossed over her chest. “What do you mean?”
“The last time I went through this, I allowed the comments to affect me. I allowed them to change the way I felt about myself, to feel low and worthless. But this time I want to handle things differently, I guess.” I look down at the phone in my hand, thinking about how far I’ve come. “This time I’m stronger. I’m . . . a different version of me.”
Piper and Nisha exchange looks before Piper rubs my bicep. “I’m glad, hon. Nothing they’re saying is true. They don’t know you.”
“And you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Nisha adds. “Your skin is beautiful. You are beautiful. Don’t let these people make you feel like anything less.”
I nod, forcing myself to feel braver than I really do, but I know that sometimes feigning bravery is the only way to believe it and rise above it all. “I’m honestly relieved, in a way. I’ve been hiding my face behind makeup for so long. And now I can finally be free to be who I am. Maybe they did me a favor.”
Nisha closes the distance between us, and both she and Piper pull me into a hug. “I’m proud of you, sis. We love you so much, and we’re always here for you.”
My throat closes up as I let myself relax in their arms. “I know.”
They both release me, but Piper still holds on to my hand. Of the three of us, she’s always been the most affectionate; never one to shy away from showing her love. “Have you spoken to Troy yet?”
I sniffle. “Yeah. Right before you both came in.”
“What did he say?”
“That he wants to tackle this with me. That I’m not alone. And that he’s, um . . .” I take a shaky breath before clearing my throat. “Falling for me.”
An instant smile takes over Piper’s face. “Well, that’s hardly news.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Nisha asks, peering into my eyes like she’ll glean the answer, even if I don’t speak it aloud. “Do you love him, too?”
My shoulders hitch up and down before I release a resigned breath. “Yeah, I love him. Somewhere in the middle of us spending ‘casual’ time together, the man seeped into my system. I’m crazy about him.”
He’s a beautiful man, inside and out, a doting father, a generous lover, and a true friend. Truly, I’ve tried to find a flaw, and aside from the fact that his ‘flaw’ is not one at all for anyone but me—that he’s a famous athlete—he’s perfect. In every way.
I bite the corner of my lip as I say the words my mind has been rolling around since I saw the online shit-storm this morning. “But this is just the beginning, isn’t it? The articles, the mean comments, the media frenzy . . . We might get over this one, but another one will show up at some point. If anything, they’ll get worse when Troy goes back to the MLB.”
“But you just said you’re going to handle things differently,” Nisha points out. “That you’re stronger this time around.”
“For now, yes.” I nod. “One morning of this and sure, I’m holding it together. But what about if something else happens in a week? A month? A year?” I shake my head. “And what if next time it’s about Rome? It’s my duty as a parent to protect him; it’s one of the biggest reasons I got out of my marriage with Jamie.”
“That, and because he was a sleazeball who flirted with anyone who’d give him an ounce of attention and constantly scrutinized everything about you—from your weight to the way you looked and spoke,” Nisha reminds me.
“Babe, I know what happened today has been one of your biggest fears with getting involved with Troy,” Piper chimes in, her expression somber, “but you know Troy is different. He’s not going to let you hang out to dry and get roasted in the media alone, like Jamie did. He’ll also never humiliate you or make you worry that he’s stepping out on your relationship?—”
“No, I know you’re right about that,” I cut in, agreeing with her. “But neither he nor I nor our children deserve any of this.”
The door to my suite opens, cutting off their response, and Joshua bursts inside, his eyes finding me. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation. There is a shitload of reporters gathering outside.”
My stomach drops. “For fuck’s sake.”
“They’re asking about you and Troy. But they’re also asking about Rome.” Joshua runs his hand over his forehead. “I’ve locked the front doors, but they’re pretty persistent.”
My breaths hasten as my fears get tested again. If they’re here at my business, then what if they’ve figured out where Rome goes to school, too?
God, I keep saying I’m stronger than before, but am I really? And just because I’m strong today, can I be strong tomorrow? Or the day after that?
I quickly hitch my purse onto my shoulder before turning to Joshua. “Can you cancel my clients for today? Maybe even tomorrow? I need to call Rome’s school on my way, but I’m going to take him out this week. I don’t know what these assholes are capable of.”
Actually, I do know. I know all too well.
“You got it.”
“And I’m going to call Dev to get us more security,” Piper adds, following me. “In fact, I think you should stay with me and Dev until this dies down.”
“But—” I start to protest, though I know in the back of my head, she’s right. I’ve seen paparazzi lingering a time or two around my house, and that’s in spite of what happened today. This will only have them waiting for me to get home.
“It’s honestly the most secure place you guys can be. The gate operator already knows you, so he’ll let you in. I’ll just call Dev to tell him you guys are headed there.”
I pull her in for a hug. “You’re the best.”
“And go through the back door. Actually, wait one sec.” Nisha rushes past me and Piper to her suite, coming back with a black hoodie. “Put this on before you sneak out, just in case.”
I take the hoodie from her, pulling it on before covering my head with the hood. I give Nisha a quick hug.
“Text me when you’re at Dev and Piper’s,” Nisha calls behind me as I reach for the back door.
I nod, telling myself everything will be okay, that I’ll get through this, but feeling the new foundation I’ve worked hard to build teeter beneath my feet.