Chapter 8
MELODY
Iexcused myself to use the restroom after another dance with Austin.
My feet ached but I was having too good of a time dancing to tell him I needed to sit down.
The champagne had gone straight to my head, or maybe it was the surreal nature of the entire evening.
Either way, I needed a moment to collect myself.
The Plume estate’s powder room was as over-the-top as the rest of the wedding. Marble countertops, gold fixtures, and enough mirror space for an entire bridal party. I was washing my hands when three women walked in wearing their fancy designer dresses that showcased their perfect bodies.
I recognized them vaguely from the ceremony. Society types. The kind of women who probably had trust funds and summer houses in the Hamptons. They stopped talking the moment they saw me.
“Oh,” one of them said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It’s her.”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral. I dried my hands slowly, deliberately, buying myself time. Never show fear.
If I ever went on that African safari I’d been dreaming about, I had a feeling it would be a lot like this. A pack of hyenas ready to pounce had just walked in. If I looked afraid, they would tear me apart.
“I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face here,” another woman said. She had dark hair with a very expensive blowout and a dress I knew was Prada.
“In the restroom?” I asked innocently.
“After what you did,” she replied.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said evenly, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
“Right.” The third woman laughed, bitter and sharp. “You just took money from a brand to promote body positivity and then let them Photoshop you into oblivion. Very authentic.”
“I didn’t know they were editing the photos.” I turned to face them directly, refusing to cower. “I would never have agreed to that campaign if I’d known.”
“Sure you wouldn’t have.” The first woman crossed her arms. “That’s why you signed the contract, right? Took the money and ran?”
“The contract didn’t include anything about photo manipulation. They did it without my permission or knowledge.”
“Oh please.” Dark-hair rolled her eyes. “You expect us to believe you had no idea? You’re a professional influencer. You know how this works.”
“I know how it’s supposed to work. With integrity and transparency.” My voice was steady even though my heart was racing. “I would never compromise my values for a paycheck.”
“Your values?” The third woman stepped closer. “You built your entire platform on being ‘real’ and ‘authentic.’ And the first chance you got to work with a major brand, you sold out. You made every plus-size woman who trusted you feel like shit.”
That one hurt. Because it was true—not the selling out part, but the fact that women had been hurt. My community, my followers, and the people who’d trusted me. They felt betrayed, and I understood why, even if the betrayal hadn’t been intentional.
“I didn’t sell out,” I said quietly. “I was used. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Dark-hair examined her manicure, utterly dismissive. “Because from where I’m standing, you got paid to lie to thousands of women about what real bodies look like. That makes you a fraud.”
“It makes me a victim of a brand that prioritized profit over principles.”
“God, listen to her.” The first woman laughed. “You sound like a press release. If you’re going to try to save your career, you’re going to need better PR representation than that.”
“I’m not trying to save anything. I’m telling you the truth.”
“The truth?” The third woman’s smile was cruel.
“The truth is you’re exactly like every other influencer out there.
You talk a big game about authenticity and self-love, but the second real money comes calling, you’ll do whatever they tell you to do.
Including photoshopping yourself into a completely different body. ”
“I didn’t—”
“Save it.” Dark-hair waved a hand dismissively. “We all know how this works. And honestly? The fact that you’re here tonight, clinging to Austin Bancroft like he’s your life raft? It’s pathetic. You’re a pawn. And when he’s done with you, you’ll be even more canceled than you already are.”
The words landed like a knockout punch in a prize fight. But I refused to let them see me break.
“Are you finished?” I asked, my voice cold.
The three women exchanged glances. Then Dark-hair shrugged. “For now. Though you should probably get used to this. Nobody likes a sell-out.”
They swept past me, their perfume a cloud of expensive floral notes, and disappeared into the stalls.
I stood there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was still perfect. Cleo had taught me well. But my eyes looked haunted. I would not cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and walked out of the bathroom with as much dignity as I could muster.
And nearly ran straight into Austin.
He was leaning against the wall across from the bathroom entrance, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his pockets.
His suit jacket was gone, discarded somewhere during the evening.
His tie hung loose around his neck, the top few buttons of his white shirt undone.
His dark hair looked like he’d run his hands through it multiple times.
He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life.
And this was absolutely the worst possible time. Our eyes met, and he held my gaze. Something in his expression shifted. Concern, maybe, or understanding. Like he could see right through the brave face I was wearing.
The bathroom door opened behind me, and the three women emerged, their conversation dissolving into giggles the moment they spotted Austin.
“Oh my god,” one of them whispered, not quietly enough.
“Austin Bancroft,” another breathed.
They stopped in their tracks, practically preening. One of them actually adjusted her cleavage. Austin’s eyes never left mine.
Then he pushed off the wall and walked straight to me, ignoring the other women completely. He stopped so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undid me. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Liar.” But he said it with a small smile. “Ready to get out of here, baby?” He said it loud enough for the women to hear.
I could practically feel the three women deflating behind me.
And something shifted in my chest. Something fierce and reckless.
These women thought I was pathetic. But right now?
Right now, Austin Bancroft was looking at me like I was the only person on the entire estate.
And those women were watching with barely concealed jealousy.
I decided to lean into it. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me. “More than ready.”
I kissed him. For half a second, he seemed surprised. His body went still, like he hadn’t expected me to make the first move. But then his hands found my waist. He pulled my body against his. To my shock, his tongue forced my lips open and then was inside my mouth.
His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that made my knees weak. One of his hands slid up my back, the other tightened on my hip, pulling me flush against him. I heard one of the women make a strangled sound behind us.
Perfect.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Austin’s eyes were dark. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice rough.
“For them,” I whispered, glancing behind me.
The three women stood frozen, watching us with expressions ranging from shock to envy to pure hatred.
Austin’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. He glanced at them, then back at me. “In that case—”
He kissed me again, deeper this time. I forgot all about the women. Forgot about the bathroom confrontation. Forgot about everything except the way Austin’s hands felt on my body and the way he kissed like he was trying to make me his main course.
When we broke apart the second time, the women had scurried away.
“Nice performance,” Austin said, but something in his voice suggested he wasn’t entirely sure it had been just a performance.
Neither was I. He very purposely wiped his mouth with a grin. Yes, there had been a bit of my lipstick there. And now it was on his thumb. And holy shit, why was that so sexy? It was like I branded him. He was wearing my brand.
Mine.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“The wedding’s not over.”
“So? We made our appearance. Let them talk.” He tugged me toward the exit. “I know a place that makes the best greasy burgers in the city. You game?”
I hesitated. Burgers.
Was he assuming I’d want greasy burgers because of my size? Did he think all plus-size women just sat around eating junk food? The thought made my skin crawl, made that old familiar shame creep in. The feeling I’d worked so hard to overcome and thought I had left behind.
But Austin was already pulling me toward the parking lot, completely oblivious to my internal spiral.
“Trust me, this place is amazing. They do this thing with the bacon where they candy it first, and the buns are brioche, and they smother it with this special sauce that I’m pretty sure is just mayo and ketchup.”
He kept talking, enthusiastic and genuine, as we made our way to where a long line of limousines, sports cars, and dark SUVs waited.
He paused and looked up and down the row and then pointed. “That’s mine.”
He was practically dragging me down the driveway. His driver was leaning against the hood, talking to another driver wearing all black. When he spotted us, he quickly stood. “Mr. Bancroft.”
“We’re hungry, Jessie,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” He jogged to open the back door for us.
We slid inside and the door was quickly closed behind us. I barely had time to register what was happening when the car pulled away.
“You’re going to love this place,” Austin said as we merged onto the main road. “Best late-night food in Manhattan. Maybe all of New York.”
I stared out the window. Inside my head, that cruel voice whispered: He thinks you’re fat. That’s why he suggested burgers. He’s making fun of you.
“Melody?”
I turned to look at him. “Hmm?”
“You okay? You got quiet.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out automatically. “Just thinking.”
“About those women in the bathroom?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t about to completely bare my soul to him. Yeah, we’d swapped some saliva but that didn’t mean anything.
“They’re assholes. Ignore them.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know,” he sighed. “Trust me, I know.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For tonight. For all of this. Even if it did put me in an even more ridiculous position.”
“How so?”
I laughed, but it sounded hollow to my ears. “Austin, you just made our fake relationship very public. Now I have to explain to everyone why a woman like me is with a Bancroft.”
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘a woman like you’?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, why did you get cancelled again? You didn’t say something racist, did you?”
“No.” I shook my head and gestured at myself. “I’m just saying that I’m not exactly your usual type.”
“My usual type?”
“I’ve seen the pictures of you,” I said. “You’re little babysitter is definitely more your type.”
“Summer sucked,” he said with a derisive snort. “And fuck all that. I don’t have a type. Don’t act like you know me or what I want.”
His reaction was not what I expected. He seemed genuinely offended which made me feel bad. “Sorry. I guess I’m just having trouble processing all this. You move fast.”
He grinned. “It’s fine. The only decision you need to make right now is, do you want curly fries or onion rings?”
I was hungry. And a greasy burger with onion rings did sound really good.
Who cared if he thought that’s how I ate? It wasn’t like I was ever going to see him again. “How about you get fries and I get onion rings and we can share?” I suggested.
Austin pretended to be shocked. “We’re already sharing food? Now who’s moving fast?”