5. All That Glitters （Hattie）
ALL THAT GLITTERS (HATTIE)
“ I t looks amazing!”
I slide a hand down my belly, always my problem area when it’s rocking that stubborn chub.
Well, that and my thighs.
But this dress is elegant and hip-hugging, and that’s the issue.
You don’t want fabric hugs from anything when the world sees every roll and dimple like a flaw. And the world will soon be staring at me with wide, curious eyes.
Ethan, too.
No, don’t think about Ethan!
Not easy when he’s all I’ve been able to think about, ever since I woke up this morning with a migraine and this off-kilter feeling.
It’s like when you accidentally skip forward a few chapters in a good book and you no longer have any clue what’s happening.
Margot smiles at me in the mirror.
I try to ignore the angry bees humming around my stomach. The moment I tumbled out of bed, she dragged me outside for some retail therapy in one of the biggest boutique malls in Portland.
“Are you sure?” I ask, turning to the side and sucking in my stomach. No matter how hard I try, it’ll never be flat.
Sigh.
“Are you kidding, girl? Your ass will give all the old dudes a heart attack. You’ll be the star of the show.” Margot turns to the assistant, who’s looking at me with a critical expression. “Accessories?”
“Gold,” she says immediately. “Subtle.”
“Find me something nice,” Margot instructs, and the woman scuttles off.
I look at my best friend, who’s totally energized by the challenge.
Me.
I’m the challenge.
A doll for her to dress up. And it’s not that I don’t trust her fashion sense, but I’m not sure her sense of fashion is me .
See: this dress.
On the hanger, it looked incredible. All red satin, off one shoulder with a slit up the opposite leg, skirting the line between elegant and showy. The chic girls in Margot’s world of money and fashion wouldn’t look out of place in it.
I’m so not a chic chick.
The assistant returns with an elegant gold necklace and matching earrings with—holy shit, are those diamonds ?
I’m going pale, thinking about the cost. But did she really say Ethan gave me an unlimited wardrobe allowance?
“I don’t know. The dress is an attention grabber, do I really need earrings?” I hesitate, but Margot grabs my hand before I can hand them back.
“Wear it all! You want the attention. Besides, it’s all on Ethan’s dime.”
“What if I break them?”
“You won’t.” Margot’s tone is dismissive. “Okay, let’s see. Yeah, I think we should bring up the hem a little. What do you think?”
The assistant nods and pulls out some pins. I stand still as they map out a couple alterations—shortening the hem and subtly changing the angle of the single shoulder.
“I’ll have it ready this afternoon, Miss Blackthorn.”
“Perfect!” Margot claps her hands. “In the meantime, we’ll work on your makeup.”
Makeup?
Oh God.
But before I can fuss I’m manhandled out of my dress and Margot reveals the arsenal of high-end makeup she’s brought with her, filling in the gaps with new cosmetics she needs from the store.
“The Blackthorns have worked with this place forever. Even Mom still orders from here with everything in New York,” she says. “By the time we’re done, they’ll have your alterations wrapped up.”
I shake my head, biting my lip.
“Margot, I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. All you have to do is pretend my darling brother isn’t an enormous jackass and be your gorgeous self. You’ve got that down.”
“But everyone there will be rich. Like, daughters of former presidents and women way smarter than me.” All thrown together in a palatial Maine compound everyone else will be used to.
Not to mention a date with Ethan flipping Blackthorn of all people, however fake.
A date.
It’s the sort of thing half the girls in Portland would’ve killed for.
How many lined up for him years ago, begging for it before he joined the Army? And since he became the literal heir to a multibillion-dollar company—
Holy crap, I feel vertigo.
Margot sits me down and gets to work, using more makeup than I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’m a ‘slap on some mascara and I’ll be fine’ kind of girl.
Margot? No way.
Our complexions are so different with her getting sun in her travels and daily walks, plus the odd trip to Arizona or the Caribbean a few times a year.
She has some new foundation and applies it with a heavy hand, concealing flaws I didn’t know I had.
At least this way, they won’t see it when I blush.
Which I inevitably will.
She sculpts and contours my face, fashioning cheekbones from hills. My eyes are artificially widened, the subtle smoky eye she’s gone for deepening their natural green.
By the time she’s finished, I barely recognize myself.
But I do look like the Hattie Sage my mom would love, the girl with money and confidence overflowing.
“See?” Margot coos, blowing on her brush like it’s a smoking gun. “Stunning!”
I look like a mermaid with arched brows and tinted lips, big eyes, and highlights that make me sparkle.
The attendant brings the dress back while we make more adjustments, and with Margot’s help, I stuff myself into it.
Margot then does her own makeup, spending a lot less time on her own face (and still looking incredible), and then sliding into her own black dress far more gracefully.
Compared to me, she looks radiant, yet subdued.
The wick beside the flame.
How weird when it’s always been the opposite.
Again, I can’t do this.
“Just have fun. You’ve got this,” Margot says brightly. As if I’m not seconds from vomiting all over this very fancy tiled floor.
“I don’t have anything.”
Her phone chirps. “The limo’s here. Are you ready?”
Hell no.
I’m wearing heels that threaten to break my ankle with every step. The dress reflects the light and my thigh is visible.
Despite the expensive perfume, I’m positive someone will still smell my sweat under it.
“Come on, let’s go dazzle,” she says as she leads me through the shop, hips swaying with every movement.
I try to inhale some courage as we emerge outside and find a limo pulled up beside the sidewalk. A white limo with tinted windows and a crisply dressed driver standing by the door, ready to help us inside.
“Keep smiling. Focus on that. Look pretty, but that won’t take much effort now,” Margot whispers as we slide inside the car.
“Easy for you to say!” I whisper back.
She smiles.
“Don’t worry, Hatgirl. I’ll handle the condolences. I’ll also bail you out if anyone gets too nosy. Whatever you do, don’t let my idiot brother ruin a good time.”
There’s a ring on my finger and it’s weirding me out.
It isn’t a cookie-cutter masterpiece or dripping in diamonds, which shocks me to my core. The piece he picked out, it’s actually tasteful.
All brilliant etched gold with a halo of smaller diamonds around a beautiful pine-green tourmaline rock, the state gemstone. Elegant, intricate, and yes, expensive, but not some outrageous antique thing which belonged to a Tsarsina once. Or peppered with so many diamonds it weighs down my hand.
Of course, he didn’t hand it over in person.
But the note it arrived with—dear God.
Green like your eyes. Let me know at once if it isn’t suitable.
I’m still flipping spinning.
Also, I think I’ve stepped into a billionaire romance novel.
Kennebunkport is a small, quaint town with pretty wooden buildings and rustic vibes. The mansion that’s hosting the event bustles with the rich and famous.
Very rich, very famous people. Modern day Gatsby stuff.
There’s art plastered on the walls of the ballroom in the large mansion hosting this gathering, and I already know it’s the type that costs millions by real talents. I like the old-school paintings more than the modern splatter art, but it all screams heady and expensive.
I wonder if Ethan ever developed a taste for interpreting this stuff.
Oh, yes. Ethan.
He looks incredible.
No surprise.
Navy suit that looks like it grew onto his body organically—seriously, why is he so tall and why are his shoulders so wide?—and dark coppery hair slicked back.
Refined. Clever. Intimidating.
Someone who fits in with a crowd intimately connected to major Atlantic real estate.
Predictably, he’s barely said a single word to me beyond the brief ‘hello’ when he first saw me.
After sizing up my outfit and giving a little nod of approval to say I passed muster, he just put his hand on my arm and that was that.
But the man did stare.
A lingering, cutting glance that made me feel all kinds of confused.
His eyes didn’t match his neutral, disinterested tone, though, so maybe it’s just my imagination.
We float around the massive ballroom, moving between people like frenzied hummingbirds.
“This is Hattie Sage, my lovely fiancée,” Ethan says for the third time without a glance.
I pin on a smile at the warm murmurs of approval and the odd smile sent my way. Their eyes focus, digging in, scanning for flaws.
I know what they’re thinking—who the hell is this girl to bag the eligible Blackthorn bachelor?
All my fancy words meant to impress dry up in my mouth.
Fiancée is such a big word. Especially when you’re suffering major imposter syndrome.
Who am I to be here, hanging on Ethan Blackthorn’s arm?
I feel like a fraud.
Honestly, it’s a relief he isn’t paying more attention. If he did, I’d probably wilt like the delicate, out of place flower I am.
I never had an acting bone in my body, and pretending to like a man I can’t stand is a bridge too far, leading straight to hell.
Just another smile, though.
Another nod.
One more tiny lie.
A few more words where I try to sound like I know the first thing about high society.
Thank God for those summers with Margot and her grandfather, or I’d be so screwed.
“I hate to hear about his passing,” a man with silver hair says.
Leonidas.
Everyone keeps bringing him up, and every mention of his name feels loaded. Even beyond the grave, he’s the center of attention.
After all, he’s the whole reason I’m here .
Why did he make Ethan do this again?
And why me ?