Page 18 of The Paradise Problem

“I can’t wear that! What if I lose it? What if I’m robbed, or held for ransom?”

“Insurance,” she says. “These people insure everything.” While I continue to stare at the rock, she returns to the list and laughs. “Get this: ‘Anna, please feel free to schedule any hair, nails, spa, or grooming appointments and use the card to pay for those.’ ”

It takes a beat for one very specific word to land. “Grooming? Why is that separate from hair, nails, and spa?”

Vivi whistles and motions to my bikini area. “Rich ladies lack wrinkles, self-awareness, and body hair.”

“Oh God.”

Vivi already has her phone out. “I gotta google this guy now.” Three seconds later she’s scrolling wide-eyed through a browser full of Dr. William Westons. “I hope this is him because he is delicious.” She turns the screen to show me a faculty profile. It’s him. In the photo, he’s wearing a suit and tie and has all that luscious hair combed off his forehead. To my shock and delight, there’s something vaguely naughty in his gaze.

“Is West the hot professor?” I ask, taking her phone to look more closely. “Imagine his poor, slobbering students.”

“He’s got the Theo James down-to-fuck look but with those wild butterscotch eyes and a better hairline.” Vivi blows out a breath. “Jesus, Anna. Maybe you should bang him. Make the most of this trip.”

“Despite the vibe of these photos, I’m convinced the man himself only performs perfunctory missionary with his eyes closed.” I’m devastated that I can’t even banter about banging West. I’m starting to get overwhelmed again. I fall back on the couch. “There’s not enough time to prepare for this. I have three and a half days.”

Vivi sits down beside me and opens her Notes app. “Let’s make a plan. We need to shop for all these clothes. You need to get your hair colored, nails done, a pedicure, waxing above and below the hood, and a facial.”

“In three days?”

“Three days is plenty. It’s not like you have a job.”

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I also have to go to Dad’s and let him know that I’ll be gone, pay the balance on his bills, and find someone to check in with him while I’m gone.”

“Me,” Vivi says. “I’ll do that. I also know that you suck at shopping, so I’ll take the list and do that in the next couple days. You just focus on your transformation into a billionaire’s wife.” She leans forward and hugs me. “This is going to be a disaster. I’m so excited!”

Six

LIAM

There are two kinds of airport people: those who like to get to the airport three hours before departure to sit within eyesight of the gate, and Anna Green.

Even though I sent a car to pick her up, even though I texted her a QR code to enter the Singapore Airlines lounge to relax before our flight, even though I warned her when I sent her boarding pass that the Bradley terminal at LAX is unpredictably chaotic, with only twenty minutes remaining until we board, I remain alone in the plush leather chair, nursing a strong Manhattan. I’m waffling between anxiety that she’s going to accidentally miss our flight, and anxiety that she is going to intentionally miss our flight. Fuck.

I know she’s been preparing for this trip, at least. The check I sent her was deposited on Saturday. And she’s been steadily using the credit card, too: at a salon, a spa, and at a whole range of stores on Rodeo Drive. She signed the contract, I tell myself. She won’t miss the flight.

Trying to relax, I sip my drink, sending warmth across my tongue and down my throat. A pair of shapely legs enters my line of sight, and I direct my attention to this much preferable fixation, lifting my gaze from pink-tipped toes, across the straps of gold high-heeled sandals, up smooth, toned legs to crisp white shorts, a soft short-sleeved blue shirt, the gentle curve of breasts, a long neck, full red lips, soft pink hair—

Pink hair.

Oh my fuck.

My eyes go wide, meeting Anna’s just as she stumbles, ankle twisting awkwardly on the skinny, murder-sharp heel of her shoe.

“Motherfucker,” she cries, collapsing into the seat beside me, seemingly unaware of the attention she’s garnered from both her incredible hotness and loud swearing. “Vivi said these would be easy to walk in. She’s a fucking liar. I almost flagged down one of those little airport cars.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “No swearing. My bad.”

I can’t find words. Now that she’s here, I realize I hadn’t even tried to imagine who might show up today. But this person in front of me is unlike any version of Anna Green I’ve ever seen. During the tenure of our roommateship, she never wore much makeup, and of course a few days ago in her apartment, she looked—I’m so sorry to say it—like a demented Care Bear. Today she looks like she stepped out of a Vogue spread. I half expected she’d change her hair, but now I’m glad that she didn’t. It’s bubblegum pink and falls around her shoulders in shiny waves. Her skin is glowing, eyes bright, nails…

“Wow, Green.” I stare at her hands and the sharp, shell-pink talons tipping each finger. “Those are—”

“Terrible,” she admits glumly. “I feel like a cat with tape on its paws.”

I bite back a laugh. “Why did you get them, then?”

“Vivi’s always look so fun and glamorous. Besides, I needed claws. I should be a lioness if I’m heading into the den.”

I can’t entirely refute this idea. I’ve been out of my parents’ circle long enough to understand how disorienting it will be for Anna to step into it. She bends her fingers, turning her hand and looking at them from another angle. Frankly, they’re so pointy I’m worried she’ll scratch her own cornea. “But I asked the woman at the spa what the really rich ladies get, and she said it’s this fancy hard gel. I think I get the urge to have fake nails. I feel like a badass.” Twisting in her seat, she deposits her purse in my lap. “Watch this for a sec?”

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