6. Ivy Jade
Ivy Jade
Earlier, the girls squealed about my scrapes, wanting to know everything that had happened: why I had bandages, where I got them, and if I was okay.
Surprisingly, the attention felt like too much for me.
I only told them I fell, and one of the nurses helped me.
Could you imagine if I told them what really happened?
I’d never hear the end of it, and I just wanted to be alone.
With a broken Louboutin heel in hand, a cream dress that was more like dusty grey now, and my disheveled hair, I finally closed the door to my private bedroom in the chateau.
Alone at last. I could cry, kick, scream, all of it without judgment or the lingering eyes of others.
Today had been one of the most humiliating days of my life.
Falling into a ditch because a clown scared me into tumbling and breaking my heels?
I shut my eyes and sighed deeply–the memory played on repeat.
And to make things worse, I wore these dumb sneakers that he gave me from the lost and found. It was awful.
I threaded my fingers through my hair.
Really? I pulled a whole twig out of it. Did my hair have this freaking bird’s nest when I was with him in that brightly lit room?
Oh god.
I wanted to make him pay for another pair of heels, but from the looks of where he worked, there was no way he’d be able to afford a pair on his salary.
Did someone in that position even know what a salary was?
I wasn’t cruel enough to sue him because…
he was kind of nice, in a non-creepy clown kind of way.
It wasn’t like anything happened to me, other than losing an entire wardrobe piece, my bruised ego, and just a few scrapes along the back of my arms, hands, knees, and legs.
Stop it, he was only being nice so that he wouldn't get in trouble. Clowns are super sketchy. You hate clowns; you’re afraid of them…
But he was sweet and kind for taking care of me. He could have left me in the ditch and continued with his night, but he didn’t. He tended to my wounds.
My hands slid down the back of my arms in a hug, feeling the scratches and bandages he gently laid over my skin with the utmost care.
My skin turned flush red, just thinking about his touch, as if his warmth still radiated on me.
The way his long fingers gently held my arm, wrapping gauze around my wounds.
I brushed my fingertips along my smiling lips.
There was only one other time I felt a crush like this…
Never mind.
I took my shoes off, tossed my dress and purse on the floor. I was in nothing but my underwear now. I walked over to my suitcase, pulling out my cozy pink blanket to relax before I hit the shower, because I needed to address the mental state my head was in.
I curled up onto the bed, looking out at the starry night from my window. The full moon was out tonight.
High Jynx?
I may be afraid of clowns, but I’d never seen one like him.
He was dressed in loosely fitted black slacks, black boots, and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Sure, his outfit wasn’t part of the Marc Jacobs spring collection, but it was kind of chic, right?
And his black suspenders? They were sophisticated.
Could clowns be charming? He sorta was. And tall. Very, very tall. Noticeably strong.
Oh my god, Ivy Jade, chill. I swear I must have hit my head or something. Was I passed out in the ditch, hallucinating?
I pulled my book out, one nail tucked between my lips.
Why did he keep calling me princess? I wasn't sure if I enjoyed his teasing me like that.
It stirred my stomach; my fingers buzzed, as if I were on a roller coaster, which was to say, it could be either fun or nauseating. The jury was still out.
Regardless, the man was still a horror junkie, which was an obvious red flag–if being a clown wasn't already one. And his tattoos… they were far too dark. Too intricate as they spread through his exposed forearms, like little black roadmaps to his biceps.
What a coincidence he was also reading ‘Unmasking My Bright Night’? He was a guy—a muscly, broody, scary kind of man, whom I never would’ve pinned as a romance reader. And he was on book five as well, one of the best in the series. Funny…
I contained myself because his reading the series I loved didn’t mean anything.
It’s not like we would ever hang around in the same social circles.
Or be friends. Or like… be anything else to each other.
We were from completely opposite worlds.
And honestly, I didn’t know why my brain was even thinking about him that much.
I opened my book, picking up where I left off, the chapter where Roman saved Princess Isla from the pits of despair.
Maybe it was corny to love this book as much as I did.
Still, it always fascinated me how the princess found her knight in shining armor—or, better yet, how Roman rescued Princess Isla from something seemingly hopeless, giving her the courage to find her own path to freedom.
I liked that. I liked the mystery and that he was a knight rather than a prince.
That fact would probably shock anyone who knew me.
A prince had no choice but to be royalty because he was born into that life.
Not a knight, though; a knight worked toward his rank, and it showed his courage and bravery, and though I always saw myself as a princess—as High Jynx so annoyingly pointed out—I often wished I were more like a knight instead.
Never mind, I’m just talking nonsense.
Because really, none of what I read mattered.
In real life, I wasn’t expected to find my own prince charming or knight in shining armor. That’s what Antonio was for. He was a man Papi wanted me to marry, and our prescheduled nuptials were as romantic and whimsical as the Cheesecake Factory. Like, ew…
Would Antonio be anything like how I met High Jynx tonight?
Scary but somewhat intriguing? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
High Jynx… was kind of pretty in his own way, which was totally an unhinged thing to say.
His voice was deep, throaty, and strong.
He smelled really good, like oakwood and lavender, maybe citrus.
And when I looked into his eyes for a short moment–although eerie because of his makeup–I found a softness in the dark blue color.
His pupils were dilated, making his eyes almost pitch black.
Maybe my mind played tricks on me, but his eyes seemed so familiar.
What was I even thinking? It was literally useless to think about him. I was never going to see him again, anyway. By this time tomorrow, he’d be old news.