Текст книги "Betrayal "
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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“SHALL WE GO check the room?” the mystery man asked, his deep voice sending more chills to my sun-kissed skin as he extended his hand.
Although the desire to take his hand and look for my nonexistent rings was growing, the part of me that I was trying to suppress came to the surface, and I shook my head. When I looked up to the way his gaze narrowed at my refusal, my heart clenched. “Why don’t you have a seat…?” I pointed to the chair Chelsea and Max had both vacated. “…dear? I’m sure they’re in the safe. I put them there last night.” My witty response floated away with the rush of the nearby surf.
What is he thinking? Is he questioning me or admonishing me with those eyes?
Holding my breath, I hid behind my painted smile and shifted slightly in my chair, suddenly very aware of the coarseness of the beach towel below the thin material of my bathing suit. His silent glare continued as I caught the back of Max’s blond head in my peripheral vision. I watched as Max approached a buxom blonde. Within seconds he was seated beside her in the pool bar. I shook my head slightly, thinking how he obviously wasn’t plagued by second-grade insecurities.
Before I could divert my gaze, Mr. Deep Voice followed my line of sight. “If you’d rather be graced with his presence, I could go tell him that we have an open marriage.”
“What?” I asked, turning back toward him, my mouth agape.
“My only condition,” he added with a grin, “is that I get to watch.”
Crossing my arms over my too-exposed breasts, I said, “Excuse me? Who the hell—?”
The vein in his neck jumped to life as he leaned closer. “No. The appropriate reply to what I just did would be to thank me for saving you from that leech.”
I opened my eyes wide before moving my sunglasses back up and laying my head upon the chair. “Thank you,” I mimicked in my most snobbishly dismissive voice.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
His shoulders stiffened. “No, Charli, with an i. Apparently I mistook you for someone who wouldn’t want to be taken by one of the club whores. You see Mike, or Max, or whatever he’s calling himself today, makes his way by seducing new arrivals. He and his friend pick out the new women who they believe will shower them with food, drinks, and whatever else. I’ve watched him work the pool decks and clubs off and on for a while now. You were about to be taken.”
I wasn’t sure if it was his condescending tone or arrogance at believing I would have been taken, but whatever it was, I was done. Straightening my neck, I said, “Well, sir, you’ve done your good deed for the day. Since I’m obviously not smart enough to spot a swindler, I better avoid all possible accomplices.” I reached for my slushy. “You may go.”
I lowered my eyes to the now melted drink and began to suck. With each slurp of cool strawberry and mango over my tongue, I waited for his shadow to move and my legs to once again be bathed in sunlight. By the time I reached the bottom of the glass, my heart was pounding in my chest, and my head was fighting a brain freeze, but the shadow hadn’t disappeared. It’d gotten bigger as he inched closer.
Whipping my face toward his, I asked, “May I help you? Would you like a tip or something for your kindness?”
The annoyance I’d seen earlier was gone. The light eyes, now merely inches from my own, danced with amusement. I wasn’t sure which emotion made me more uneasy.
“Something.” The word rolled from his lips, deep and full of promise.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “What?”
“You asked if I wanted a tip or something. I want something. I want dinner, tonight. Eight o’clock in the presidential suite. Don’t worry, Charli with an i, I’ll take care of the tip.”
“B-But—”
“Tell the doorman your name. He’ll take you up the private elevator.”
I stared incredulously, unsure what to say.
Is this guy for real? Or is this my fantasy? Charli’s fantasy?
I lifted my chin. “What if you’re no better than Max?”
One side of his full sensual lips quirked upward, diverting my gaze away from his chiseled jaw, the one covered with just enough beard growth to be abrasive to sensitive skin. My nipples hardened at the thought.
“I guarantee,” he said, “I’m much better than Max.”
Just then he turned and walked away, leaving me with a view of long, tanned legs, a tight ass covered with swim trunks, a trim waist, and broad shoulders. He wasn’t overly muscular, but definitely fit. Though older than Max and Shaun, I couldn’t gauge his age. By the sound of confidence in his tone and judging by our surroundings, he was successful. Hell, he’d told me to have dinner with him in the presidential suite. I knew how much our two-bedroom suite cost for a week. The presidential suite definitely required money.
As I continued to sit, I contemplated what had just happened or what would happen.
Am I even considering going to dinner with him in the presidential suite?
“Who was that?” Chelsea asked as she slid back into her chair, an icy pink drink in her hand.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Weren’t you talking to him?”
“Yes,” I answered, unsure why I hadn’t asked his name or why he hadn’t offered.
“Max whispered something to Shaun, and he asked if he was your husband.”
I started laughing. “Well, actually, he’s not mine. He’s Charli’s.”
“What?” she asked, turning toward me with a big smile. “Wow! Charli moves fast! I think it’s the i. Women with names that end in i get to have all the fun.”
“What happened with Shaun? Why aren’t you two over there whispering sickening things to one another?”
Chelsea pursed her lips together. “He ordered our drinks and then asked for our room number. The creep was going to charge them to me!”
I smirked. Maybe the things Mr. Deep Voice said were true. “Oh Chelsea, tell me you didn’t give it to him. I don’t want him or Max showing up at our door.”
“No.” She laughed. “I’ve been the player too many times to be played. I gave him a sob story about my being here with my boyfriend. I said he was up in the room sleeping off too many drinks from last night, and if he saw the drinks on our tab I’d be in big trouble.” She leaned closer. “I made him out to be a real badass. Shaun felt sorry for me and bought the drinks.”
“Not sorry enough to stick around?”
“No! I think I scared him off. My imaginary boyfriend was going to kick his ass.”
“Good riddance!”
“Yeah. Remember,” Chelsea said, “this week is about us. I’m sorry I left you. From now on it’s just us.”
“Well, about that…” As I filled Chelsea in on what happened in her absence, she trembled with excitement.
“Oh my God! Alex—I mean, Charli—that stuff just doesn’t happen to you. I mean, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never gone out on a date until you’ve had the prospective guy fill out a ten-page résumé.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not true.”
“No. It’s not, but seriously, I saw that guy over here. I couldn’t see him that well because I was a little busy getting my drink paid for, but the parts I saw were hot! He’s tall and buff. I’m sure he works out.”
“The sun was in my eyes. I’m really not sure.” I tried to sound unimpressed. “He could be hideous without the glare.”
“Right. I’m sure. That’s why you agreed to go to dinner with him, and not even in a public place but in the presidential suite!”
My stomach twisted. “Oh shit. That wasn’t smart. I-I don’t think I should go. And technically, I didn’t agree. I didn’t answer.”
“What?”
“I don’t even know his name. How can I go to the presidential suite if I don’t even know who I’m going to see?”
“You said that he told you what to do… he said to say your name to the doorman.”
I nodded as the twisting in my stomach moved lower. He had. He’d told me what to do. I hated to admit that it excited me more than scared me. I shouldn’t like that. Alexandria knew that and so did Alex. That was why Alex was always careful about whom she dated. They were all nice men or boys, and all respected Alex as a classmate and friend. None of them would have told her where to be. They would have asked. That’s what women were supposed to want.
Why then are my insides melting at the thought of Mr. Deep Voice?
“Who do you think he is?” Chelsea asked.
I lifted my shoulders. “I have no idea, but I think I want to find out.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh! I love Alex, but I think that maybe even I could learn a thing or two from Charli.”
“With an i,” I added with a grin.
“DON’T LET ON that you’re nervous,” Chelsea said as she spun me around for the hundredth time.
“I’m not nervous. You’re making me dizzy.” With each turn, the skirt of the simple yet elegant blue dress billowed as it flowed from the halter bodice. The high, wide sash accentuated my waist while the bodice dipped between my breasts. It showed enough cleavage to be sexy but not enough to be slutty. That was what Chelsea said. I pulled the material together hoping she was right.
“He saw you in a bikini. You’re not showing any more in this dress. Besides, it still leaves something to the imagination.”
As Chelsea continued to play with my long auburn hair, the style in the mirror began to grow on me. “I don’t usually wear my hair up.”
“And you don’t usually meet perfect strangers for dinner and dessert,” she added, allowing her voice to emphasize the last word.
I shook my head. “No dessert. Charli may be spending this week discovering life, but she’s not spending it on her back.”
“No one said you had to be on your back. Come on, there are a lot better positions than that!”
I playfully hit her shoulder. “You know what I mean. Alex still has standards.”
“But this week Charli is taking over.” She backed me toward the bed in my room. As I sat, Chelsea sat beside me and squeezed my hands. “I’m not saying to go against your moral code, but come on and live a little. Have some fun. Be daring.”
“Be you?”
“Yeah,” she said with a smile.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly the daring kind.”
“Do you want to know what I’d do?”
I shrugged my shoulder, and the long silver chain around my neck moved between my breasts sending a cool shiver down my spine. I was curious. After all, I knew what Alex would do. I knew what Alexandria had done. I wondered exactly what someone else, someone not haunted with a split personality, would do. Then again, Chelsea may not be the one to ask. She had always been more daring than, well, than anyone I’d ever known.
“First,” she said, standing and strutting a circle before me. “I wouldn’t let his deep, velvet, sexy voice make me all wet and weak in the knees.”
“I didn’t say that it did. And I never used the word velvet.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s pretty obvious. I mean, I’d recommend going pantyless, but damn girl, the way you fidget when you talk about him, I’d be afraid the material of your dress would give you away.”
I raised my chin. “I disagree.” I sounded confident, but the memory of the beach towel forced me to face the fact—I was at the very least mildly turned on by this man.
“So you’re willing to take off—”
“No! Tonight isn’t going that far. My panties or lack thereof won’t be a conversation topic.”
“No one said anything about conversation topics,” she added as she leaned against the far wall, crossed her arms over her chest and stared me up and down. “Face it. You’re beautiful, and in that outfit you’re stunning. Listen to me. I know you have shit you’ve never told me. It’s none of my business. That shit is Alex’s or maybe Alexandria’s—I don’t know. Tonight, be Charli. Be bold, be fun, and play out your fantasy.
“How often does some hot man walk into your life without any hold on your future? You’re leaving for Columbia soon. You don’t need this guy. Have fun with him. Hell, use him. Men have been doing it to women forever. This is our fun, no-regret week. You only get one of those in a lifetime.”
I sat taller. “You still haven’t said what you’d do.”
“I’d find out as little as I could about him. The less you know, the less connected you’ll be. I’d eat a little, drink a little too much, and I’d explore every position—except missionary—that I’ve ever known or he was willing to teach me.”
I glanced over at the clock. “Well, if I’m really doing this, this shit is about to get real. I’m supposed to be there in less than an hour.”
“The presidential suite isn’t that far away.” Chelsea reached for my hand. “Let’s go to the bar and have a pre-mystery-date drink, a liquid boost of courage. My treat.”
I wasn’t much of a drinker, but if I was really going to go through with this, liquid courage sounded like a great idea. “Your treat?”
I loved Chelsea, but Stanford wasn’t her college because she could afford it. Actually, she’d only attended there her freshman year by the grace of scholarships. That’s when we met, paired together by fate. Some of her choices didn’t sit well with the administration and her grades wouldn’t allow her to keep her scholarships. After our freshman year, she transferred to a state college. Even though we didn’t take classes together, we’d become too close to part ways. We found an apartment together, off campus.
I’d like to think that we’ve helped each other. My determination rubbed off and she worked hard. The fact that she still graduated in four years made me as proud of her as my own achievements did of me. We both accomplished our goal. Her degree just had a different school’s name at the top.
While I was the studier, she was the survivor. She knew more about the game of people like Shaun because she did what she needed to do. And even though she was now a college graduate, extra money wasn’t one of her luxuries.
“Well,” she said with a wink. “I was going to sign the receipt. You did book this room in my name after all.”
I stood. “I did. If Alex or Alexandria isn’t who I am this week, I didn’t want my name on the reservation. I mean, Charli with an i can’t be listed on the reservation.” I shrugged. “She doesn’t have a last name.”
“Oh! I know! We could be sisters! You can share my last name.”
As I grabbed my small purse and took one last look at the creation in the mirror, I shrugged. “Our eyes are different colors. Yours are hazel and mine are some weird shade of brown.”
Chelsea hugged my shoulder and looked at us in the mirror. With her head close to mine, she said, “Our hair could be the same color. I’ve changed mine so many times, I forget what it really is. And hazel is close to gold. That’s the color I’ve always used to describe your eyes—golden.”
“Okay, sisters it is. And if I’m not back by midnight—”
“Oh no. I’m not sending out the cavalry until tomorrow. Charli with an i has some life to discover. I’m not the type of sister to put her on a time clock. There’s no magic pumpkin or glass slipper. Charli will be here all week. The stroke of midnight will have no bearing.”
“ALEXANDRIA!”
Alex, I silently corrected.
My mother’s greeting echoed through the enormous foyer as she stepped quickly from the sitting room. Her high heels clicking across the floor as she made her way toward me, arms open wide.
The brief pleasure I felt at seeing her evaporated as soon as Alton turned the corner only a few steps behind her. Of course he’d be on her heels. Heaven forbid that I’d have even a few seconds alone with my mother outside of his earshot.
“Mom,” I murmured against her shoulder as she wrapped me in her arms.
Almost immediately, she stiffened and held me at arm’s length. “Look at you. Are you ill? You look pale. I thought you were supposed to be resting before moving to New York. It’s that horrid girl, isn’t it? What does she have you doing?”
“Alexandria.” Alton’s icy tone sent a chill through the air.
Ignoring him, I kept my gaze focused on my mother. “I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve been flying most of the day.”
“My dear, that’s why you should have flown privately and not commercial, all those layovers are ridiculous. You should rest, but first we can eat. I had Martha hold dinner.”
The idea of sitting in the dining room with my mother and Alton made any possible twinge of hunger evaporate. “Really, Mom, I’d like to settle whatever business you deemed so important it warranted my immediate trip to Savannah. Then I’d like to go.”
“Go?” Her perfectly painted face scrunched as her eyes narrowed. I wasn’t sure how many appointments she’d had with her plastic surgeon, but I wondered if her skin could be pulled any tighter. “Nonsense. Brantley! Brantley!”
“Yes, madam.”
It was an amazing feat that all well-instructed house staff possessed. They could materialize out of thin air. One moment, they weren’t there, and you were alone. The next, they’re beside you. If they were truly well-trained and well-paid, they also had the ability to be blind and mute to their surroundings. The employees of Montague Manor were among the best-trained staff on the face of the earth.
“Where are Alexandria’s bags? Have you taken them to her room?”
“Madam—”
“Mother, I asked Brantley to leave them in the car. I was hoping that we could conclude this family meeting and I could be back in the air. There’s a flight scheduled—”
“Brantley,” Alton’s voice superseded our discussion. “Retrieve Miss Collin’s bags and put them in her room. You may retire the car for the evening. We won’t be leaving the property.”
Though my neck straightened in defiance, my lips remained still, glued together by experience. Just like that, Alton had declared the future and sentenced me to prison behind the gates of Montague Manor.
Mother reached for Alton’s hand and turned back to me. “Dear, have you said hello to your father?”
“No, my father is deceased. I hate to be the one to break the news to you.”
Alton’s glare narrowed while Adelaide did her best to make light of my comment. “Alexandria, you always did get cranky when you were tired. Now show Alton the respect he deserves.”
If only I truly could, but I was quite certain that my mother wasn’t speaking literally.
“Alton, hello. You can only imagine my disappointment when I learned that you wouldn’t be out of town on one of those meetings of yours this weekend.”
“And miss this family reunion? I wouldn’t think of it.”
My skin turned to ice as he reached out and patted my shoulder. Keeping his hand there, in a silent reminder of his dominance, he scanned me up and down. Slowly his beady eyes moved from my flat ballet-styled shoes, blue jeans, and top, to my hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t accept your mother’s offer of the private jet. I’m most certain they would’ve assumed you were the help. Then again, if you’d flown privately at least the entire world wouldn’t have seen you gallivanting around airports like some common…”
Mother’s glare stopped his assessment.
“Common twenty-something?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Well, dear, you do look a little haggard. Why don’t you go up to your room and clean up? We’ll meet you in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”
I turned around for Brantley, ready to tell him to forget Alton Fitzgerald’s decree and take me back to the airport, but of course he had disappeared, evaporated into the mystical invisible plain. More than likely he was delivering my bags to my room. If I didn’t hurry, some poor young woman on the staff would be unpacking before I ever made it up the stairs. I wondered what that same person would think of my vibrator. It was the first thought since I’d been picked up at the airport that put a smile on my face. Honestly, I didn’t care if it was the talk of the kitchen. Montague Manor needed a good laugh.
“Mother, you know I’m in the middle of getting things set in New York. I have a lot that needs to be done before classes begin. I don’t have time to spend wandering around Montague Manor.”
She reached for my hand and led me toward the large staircase. “No one’s asking you to wander, dear: straight up to your room and back down. It’s been so long since you’ve been home. Don’t forget to wear appropriate clothes for dinner.” She squeezed my hand, like she was doing me a favor. “I may have done a little shopping. Besides, I’m sure the things in your suitcase are wrinkled.” She kissed my cheek. “Just peek in the closet.”
With each step up the stairs, I lost a piece of my life. When I’d entered the front gates I was Alex, a twenty-three-year-old college graduate. In less than ten minutes, I’d regressed to Alexandria Charles Montague Collins, a teenager caught in the tower of lies and deceit. If only the stairs went higher and higher. Instead of a teenager, I could go back further to a time of pure innocence.
How far back would I need to go?
I closed my eyes and inhaled the familiar scents. Even after four years, nothing had changed. The closed doors to unused rooms were like soldiers along the corridor, assuring that I did as I was told. They didn’t need rifles upon their shoulders. The glass doorknobs that glistened from the crystal lighting were their weapons, locked portals to destitute lands.
Before the loss of innocence, I pretended that Montague Manor was truly a castle and I was the princess. It was the name my mother said my father called me, his princess. But the princess I imagined was more like the one from storybooks I was read as a child, trapped in a tower.
A memory hit, stilling my steps. I hadn’t thought of it in years, but it was as vivid as if it were happening.
I was ten years old, and I’d embarrassed my mother by refusing to let a stylist cut my hair. It was the princess thing. I believed that if it grew long enough I could escape my room high in the sky. The second floor wasn’t that high, but it was to a ten-year-old.
Every time she’d talk about having my hair trimmed I’d cry and stomp. Thinking she could lull me into it, she made reservations for us at an upscale spa. We had pedicures and manicures. However, it was as they moved me to a stylist’s chair that I figured out their devious plan. I screamed at the stylist and my mother as I ran to the car.
Even now I remembered her ashen expression of disappointment and embarrassment. Per her usual response, I was sent to my room. It was all right: my hair would eventually get me to freedom.
That evening after Alton came home, I was summoned to the grand hall. When I arrived there was a chair. I didn’t understand at first and asked where my mother was. He said she was resting, too upset over my behavior to leave her room. Then he told me to sit in the chair. One by one the entire Montague Manor staff materialized around me until the hall was full of eyes.
That was when I learned about the staff’s ability to see and yet not see. That was my first lesson. He told me matter-of-factly that neither a Montague nor a Fitzgerald behaved in the manner I had. I reminded him I wasn’t a Montague or a Fitzgerald. I was a Collins.
He said that my behavior was unacceptable in public or in private, and if I wanted to behave like a common street urchin, then I could look the part. It wasn’t until he stood back and a man I recognized as one of the gardeners came forward with large shears that I understood what he was saying.
Alton wasn’t the one who cut my hair, and the cut wasn’t a trim. He and the rest of the staff watched as two other members of the grounds crew held me down and the other man cut. By the time he was done, my tears and fright had faded to whimpers and the room of eyes had disappeared, evaporated away. I was left alone with my stepfather in the grand hall in a chair surrounded by chunks of red hair.
“You will not tell your mother about this.” It was the first time he told me that, but not the last.
I wondered how he thought she wouldn’t know. After all, the entire staff had witnessed what had happened and with one glance she’d see that my once-long hair had been butchered. But my lesson in Fitzgerald / Montague living wasn’t complete.
After Alton made me sweep the lengths of hair from the floor, he handed me off to Jane, both my nanny and friend. She was the one who read me my bedtime stories when I was little and tucked me into bed. As I aged, her role in the household morphed. Her responsibilities grew, but always she was there for me.
That evening, as she held me, she promised to make it better. She wouldn’t let me look in the mirror, but I could feel it. It was almost my bedtime when Jane brought a woman to my room and explained that the woman would do the best she could to make my hair pretty. I was only ten, but I was certain that pretty wasn’t possible.
With delicate scissors, the woman snipped and clipped. When she was done, it was the smile on Jane’s face that gave me the courage to look at myself in the mirror. The cut was even and maybe even stylish, but it was short and I felt like a boy. It wasn’t until Jane tucked me in that I finally understood: my hair wasn’t the only thing that was gone. So was any hope of escape.
Jane explained that I’d thrown a temper tantrum about the salon. In my own rage I’d taken scissors to my long hair. I cut some places so short that the only way to fix it was to cut it all off. Though she told me the story with determination in her voice, I saw the sadness in her eyes and knew that she was telling me the story my mother would hear. And it was.
I straightened my neck, my long ponytail sliding across my back, and resumed my walk toward my room. The memory reminded my why I’d successfully avoided this house and room for nearly four years. Though my stomach turned, I was now an adult. I could make it for one night.
“Oh!” I exclaimed as I entered my room. It wasn’t the sight of my canopy bed or flowered wallpaper that excited me. My heart leapt at the sight of the woman standing beside my bed. Her smooth, dark skin had a few wrinkles and her brown eyes were older, but they’d been my anchor. I’d assumed that after I left Savannah, her job would no longer exist, or Alton would find a way to get rid of her. “Jane! You’re still here.”
She wrapped me in the warmest hug I’d had since I arrived. “Child, of course I’m still here. Where did you think I’d go?”
When I was little, Jane seemed so old, but now I saw her as closer to my mother’s age, actually younger. Memories spun through my mind like a carousel. It was everything: the bedroom, the house, and the grounds. It was the sense of imprisonment and the love of the woman squeezing my shoulders.
“I don’t know.” I squeezed her too. “You’re the best surprise I’ve had since I arrived.”
Her cheeks rose and a dimple appeared. “Look at you! You’re all grown up.” She tapped the top drawer of my bedside stand and let out a low whistle. “I’m glad I was the one who unpacked your things.”
My cheeks filled with crimson. “I guess I am. Grown up and also glad it was you.”
She spun me around. “And look at you! So pretty! You’re going to be a big, fancy lawyer.”
I nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” It was the sincerest statement I’d made since I returned.
She walked into the closet and came out with a pink sundress. “Your momma’s been real excited about your visit. She’s been shopping.”
“Oh please, Jane. We all know my momma doesn’t need a reason to shop.”
Jane winked at me. “Did I hear that you’re not Alexandria anymore?”
I nodded. “That’s right. I’m Alex.” Just saying the name gave me strength. “I’m Alex Collins.”
“Well, look at you, all-grown-up Alex Collins. I know you don’t need no nanny, but maybe for tonight, could you settle for an old friend? After your dinner, maybe I can come back up here and we can catch up. You can tell me all about California.”
The black hole of Montague Manor evaporated. In a room I hated, I remembered how I’d survived. “Under one condition,” I said with a grin.
“What would that be?” she asked with a wink.
“You sneak some mint chocolate chip ice cream up here and we find my old DVD of A Knight’s Tale.”
Jane walked to the bookcase and immediately pulled out the DVD. In a low voice she whispered, “I bought two pints! Now hurry up: the sooner that dinner’s over, the sooner we can eat that ice cream and ogle at Heath Ledger.”
“Thank you, Jane.”
“Really? A pretty woman like you willing to spend the night with an old lady like me? I should be thanking you.”
As she spoke I walked into the attached bathroom. All my toiletries from my suitcase were neatly arranged on the counter. When I looked into the mirror, the haunted girl who’d walked up the stairs was gone. In her place was Alex Collins. I splashed my face with water and let down my hair. It wasn’t as red as it’d been when I was ten, but it was long and flowed over my shoulders with waves that spilled down my back. After a few swipes with the brush I said, “Okay, I’m ready to get this dog and pony show going.”
Jane’s smile monopolized her entire face. It was a phrase she’d used for most of my youth. She’d remind me that the Montague way of life was nothing more than show, a display for the outside world. Whenever I’d be forced to attend a public function or do something I didn’t want to do, she’d make me feel better by reminding me that it was all a dog and pony show. It helped. I could do whatever I was supposed to do as long as I remembered who I really was. She’d tell me that pretty on the outside wasn’t as important as pretty on the inside. And she’d always remind me of how beautiful she thought I was.
Her smile dimmed. “You forgot to put on that dress your momma bought.”
“No,” I said with the confidence I’d almost forgotten I possessed. “I didn’t forget. Alexandria doesn’t live here anymore.”
“You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”
“Thank you, Jane. So are you.”
