Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Shaye
“This feels good.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “Really good.”
The fabric of the champagne-colored dress that Lisbeth brought over—one of the three—fits me like a glove. The fabric is nearly stretchy and skims my curves. The little translucent beads make me sparkle in the most magical, subdued way.
I turn side to side, appreciating the way the off-the-shoulder design shows off my collarbone—something I didn’t know was a thing until now.
“Turn around,” Lisbeth says from behind me.
I make a slow turn, careful not to trip on the heels she’s letting me borrow, and catch a glimpse of the back of the dress. The way the fabric dips and bunches into a dazzling drape at the small of my back is downright incredible.
“You look stunning,” she says.
I swipe a lock of hair away from my face. My red lips break out into a wide smile. “Again, this feels good.”
“The dress or … this?” Lisbeth raises a perfectly arched brow.
Her question is clear. The answer isn’t as transparent.
The dress does feel amazing. I feel amazing wearing it all glammed up. The last time I wore something this fancy was my senior prom since Luca and I got married in jeans and T-shirts to save money.
But this—being ready and waiting for Oliver Mason to pick me up—also feels pretty damn good.
“That’s what I thought,” Lisbeth says, hopping on my bed and propping herself up against my pillows. “And, for the record, I fully support this. All of it.”
I turn back to the mirror and look at myself again. I’m radiant. I hate that word. I’ve never understood it when models utter it on television commercials. You’ll feel radiant, they say as they whip their perfectly styled long hair away from the camera and pose.
Maybe I don’t hate it. Maybe I just didn’t understand it until now.
I straighten my shoulders and take a long, deep breath.
“What are you thinking?” Lisbeth asks.
“That I thought you were supposed to be at a wedding tonight.”
She fake coughs. “Didn’t you know I’m sick?”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m going in the morning,” she says with a defeated sigh. “My flight leaves at ten. I told Lydia that I came down with something and would miss the first two days of the brouhaha.”
I laugh and turn to face her. “It’s a wedding, not a brouhaha.”
“Feels like a brouhaha. But don’t think I don’t see what you did there—changing the subject on me.”
I wrinkle my nose so I don’t have to lie to her. It would be pointless. I did change the subject, and we were both here to witness it.
“This is … a lot for you,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “I mean that nicely.”
“I know you do.”
“And, as your best friend in the whole wide world, it’s my job to make sure you’re loved and supported.” She grins. “So tell me what you’re thinking? What are you feeling? Gush. Get goopy with me.”
This time, I wrinkle my nose to express my displeasure.
She giggles. “I love you even though you refuse to talk about your feelings.”
“I talk about them. I just don’t get silly about them.”
“It’s fun to get silly about them. Pour your heart out. Cry a little. Eat an entire pint of ice cream and wallow in your feels. Get goopy, baby,” she says with a grin.
It’s my turn to laugh. “That should be on a T-shirt, but no, I won’t. I’m good.”
She groans as she sits up.
I take a bracelet out of my jewelry box and slide it over my wrist. It’s a delicate strand of blush-pink and diamond-like gems. It’s the only nice piece of jewelry that I own and, I only have it because my grandmother gave it to me just before she died.
I was fourteen. Ma told me she’d given everything she had in her life to her only child—my mother.
And she wanted me to have the one thing she’d held on to that was worth anything.
She also told me not to tell my mother that I had it. I never did.
I admire the bracelet and think about my feelings—the real ones. The deep ones. The ones that sit below the excitement of playing Barbie and waiting for Oliver.
The truth is that my emotions are all garbled. Half of them are on a high from his touch, his kisses, and the way he looks at me. The other half are cowering, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
The only relationship I’ve had before Oliver—not that what Oliver and I have is a relationship—was Luca.
And Luca started out like a storybook hero.
He was a gentleman. He was kind. He showered me with gifts and compliments as though I was a prize he had won.
That fairy-tale beginning ended like a Lifetime movie.
Even though I trust Oliver, and despite knowing that this whole adventure is good for me, I’m still a bit wobbly. There’s more … risk. And now that I’ve had a taste of Oliver’s passion, added to that list is … me.
“I’m not making the wrong decision about this, am I?” I ask, my heart beating so fast that I think I might have to sit down.
A flash of fear dances across Lisbeth’s face. “What? No. Talk.” She scrambles to the edge of the bed. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, my hair swishing against my shoulders. “I just …” I close my eyes and compose myself. I will not cry. “Things have been so good, almost too good, and I’ve been playing with a bit of fire, don’t you think?”
I open my eyes to see Lisbeth watching me.
“I think you’re living your life,” she says softly. “I think that’s head and shoulders better than you were six weeks ago.”
She’s right—to an extent. I have felt more like the me that I used to be lately. But …
“But it’s because of Oliver,” I say. “And if he has the power to make me happy, then he also has the power to—”
“No. You’re wrong.” She walks across the room and takes my hands in hers. “You are the one with the power, Shaye. Not him. You let him in. You controlled the access, and you did it because you saw something in him that was worth opening up for.”
“I haven’t really opened up to him. The thought of talking about Luca makes me nauseous.” I slip a hand out of hers and place it on my stomach. “I don’t think I can share any more than the very little I’ve said already.”
She smiles sadly. “Then you don’t, girlfriend. It’s simple. You only tell your story to people who you find worthy. And Luca? He was never worthy. Oliver might be, but that’s your choice to make. And that doesn’t have to be tonight. Tonight is about enjoying being the belle of the ball.”
Her words comfort me, massaging some of the tension out of my heart. Some—but not all.
“You’ll still love me if I get fired, right? Or if this little game of risk I’m playing doesn’t pan out, and I end up not able to make rent and have to hide from my mom and the creditors?”
She laughs. “I will love you no matter what.”
“Okay.” I force a swallow. “Cool.”
“Cool.” She laughs. “And, for the record, I’m proud of you. The you from the last few years would’ve shut down way before now. You’re making progress, my friend.”
“Yeah. Maybe I am.”
I hope I am.
Lisbeth gives my hand a shake and then releases it. She steps back and takes me in once again.
“You’re going to knock him off his feet, you know that?” she asks.
I just smile at her.
“Let’s get you a spritz of perfume and make sure you have all the essentials.” She picks up a bottle of Tom Ford’s Black Orchid perfume and pumps two sprays in the air. “Walk through the haze.”
I lift my chin like a model walking the catwalk and hold my breath. The mist lands gracefully across me as I strut to the other side of my bedroom.
It makes Lisbeth laugh.
“Black clutch or nude?” She holds two purses up in the air. “I prefer the black with the gold chain, but that’s me.”
“Definitely black.”
She tosses the nude one on the bed and busies herself adding a compact, toothpaste tabs, and God knows what else to the black one.
“When he gets here,” she says, adding a tube of the vixen red lipstick she used on me, “I’ll hide in the bathroom.”
“You don’t have to do that!”
She makes a face at me. “Yes, I do. You’ll answer the door and, once you leave, I’ll lock up and go home.”
“I …”
My protest is diluted by the sound of the doorbell.
All at once, my body stiffens, my heart races, and my stomach pools with a downright uncomfortable heat. The dress is too tight, the shoes too high. The powder—or concealer or whatever Lisbeth put on my nose—makes my face itch.
“Don’t. Panic,” Lisbeth says, stepping in front of me. “Breathe.”
I inhale and exhale, following the directions of her hands like some kind of mime.
“Again,” she says, filling her lungs slowly while staring at me.
I start to do as I’m told, and then I remember that Oliver freaking Mason is standing on my porch. I blow the breath out so hard I cough.
“Don’t die on me.” Lisbeth pats my back.
I swat her hand away, swaying on the heels. “You are terrible in an emergency,” I say, struggling to get an easy lungful of air down my now-raw throat.
“You were the one who called me in a panic.”
I turn away and grab the clutch from my dresser. “Well, I’m still panicking. He’s standing out there waiting on me.”
As if in agreement, the doorbell rings again.
Lisbeth looks at me. “It’s ready. You are ready. Go knock him dead—no! No dying. Just … turn him on and dizzy the crap out of him.”
Note to self: Lis is terrible when things get crazy.
I give myself one final look in the mirror before blowing Lisbeth a kiss. Then I head into the hallway.
My heels click against the hardwood as I make my way toward the door. With each step—each click!—my heart beats harder.
The knob feels cool in my hand as I wrap my palm around it. I take one final breath, ensuring I don’t choke this time, and tug open the door.
And I realize instantaneously that I’m not ready.
Bright, blue-green eyes. Freshly shaven skin. Perfectly coiffed hair and a suit tailored to perfection.
Oliver is downright edible.
I grip the side of the door so I don’t make a fool out of myself.
His gaze licks me up and down like a flame, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
“Oh, wow,” he says, his jaw hanging open. “You look … beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I try not to let my cheeks split with the force of my smile. “You look dashing.”
“Dashing?” He lifts a brow. “I was going for handsome, but I’ll take dashing.”
I laugh. As I release the door, I notice a single pink rose in his hand.
“For you, my lady,” he says, handing the stem to me.
The scent is heavenly—my favorite. I bring it to my nose and revel in the sweet, simple fragrance.
“It reminded me of you,” he says, his cheeks turning a shade similar to the flower.
“Because I blush all of the time?”
He chuckles. “No. But that’s true.” He waits as I set the rose on the table inside the door.
“I have a friend coming by who will put that in water for me,” I say, hoping Lisbeth overhears us.
He offers me his elbow. I take it.
“Back to the rose,” I say as we make our way to his car. “It reminded you of me how?”
“Ah, yes. The rose. It reminded me of you because it was elegant and sweet yet it had a richness to it that made me want to touch it.”
We stop at the passenger’s side door. Instead of opening it, he turns to me. His eyes twinkle with mischief.
I hold my breath as his hand reaches my cheek.
“I have a feeling,” he says, stepping closer to me, “that it’s going to be a long night.”
“Okay.”
“And I would like to kiss you now instead of just when I drop you off so I don’t think about it all night.” He grins. “Would that be okay with you?”
My knees go weak as I watch this handsome man appear to be smitten with me.
What is happening in my life?
“I think it would be helpful to both of us,” I whisper.
His grin is immediate and ravishing. He cups the other side of my face in his other hand and lowers his mouth to mine.
This kiss is slow, unrushed. It’s sweet, chaste. But the vibrations rippling off his body—the way he stands with each foot on the opposite side of me—gives off a completely different energy.
It’s a vibe I’m dying to explore.
He pulls away and opens the door.
Still breathless, I climb in the seat. Before he can close me in, I reach out and grab the end of his tie.
He grins. A glimmer of roguery is sprinkled across his features.
Gosh, he’s handsome.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I say, smiling coquettishly.
His breath is sweet, tinged with peppermint, as he drags his face closer to mine. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m always happy to come, Mr. Mason.” My heartbeat thunders in my ears. But I continue, emboldened by the look of pure desire in his eyes. “Just thought I’d throw that out there.”
He licks his lips but pulls away. A look of pure surprise washes across his face. It melts before my very eyes into a war of self-control versus unbridled desire.
It’s so wickedly hot.
My own lips part so I can get fresh air and not pass out.
I don’t know who I am with this behavior. It’s not me. But … I kind of like it. It feels powerful.
“I’m going to close this door before I throw you out of this car and make you prove yourself.” His eyes hood. “You’ll thank me later.”
I don’t respond, but I don’t think I have to. Everything I want to say is written on my face.
And if everything he has to say is written across his. Tonight should be a lot of fun indeed.