Page 78 of Fool's Gold

“Miss Stone? Your dress for the evening has been delivered.”

She’d left the package by the door, and by the time I forced myself to push the sheets aside, afternoon light cast dusty lines across the floor. The dress is stunning; I expected no less.

Marcus chose a couture John Galliano with embroidered freshwater pearls and a plunging neckline, along with a pair of heels in the same shade as the dress.

I dove right back into bed and left the box lid half-open.

The makeup artist and hair stylist will be here soon. Marcus always sends them in with hours to spare before we have to go.

My stomach swirls sickeningly, contracting to the point where nothing besides a liquid diet will stay down. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat dinner.

We’ve been through this exact same routine before, enough times for me to know not to expect any sudden changes. The only surprise will be whatever mood he chooses to greet me with when he shows up.

It’s always a roller coaster, and right now, I’m too worn out to deal with him.

One last event and then we can be done. Exactly the way he wants to be done. I’ll turn myself off, refuse to feel anything else even when the feelings are so strong they swamp me.

My heart leapfrogs into my throat when my phone buzzes. Without looking at the screen, I know who it is. My body knows. He’ll want me ready by seven. Seeing his name sends my mind into a spiral without end.

Seven it is.

The chime of the doorbell sounds a second later, as though Marcus has timed things to perfection. Knowing him, he has. The only thing he’s happy to relinquish control over is me. Whatever happened to his promise to protect me? Is this what he really meant all along?

Another sigh, which shifts into a groan, and I force my way out of bed.

With any event, my bedroom turns into my dressing room. But this premiere is for my movie. I should be excited. I should make a big deal out of it and act grandiose.

Mom always made the entire day before the premiere into a showcase, inviting her friends over for a party at the house, spa treatments, the works. She reveled in every single one of her accomplishments without needing another, bigger goal for validation.

She’d be furious with me for hiding in bed.

Furious with the way I’ve handled everything. I’ve acted like a child in so many aspects…

There’s no way I’m going to greet the style team in my pajamas. With minutes to spare before the housekeeper lets them inside to set up, I get dressed, throwing my hair into a rough ponytail and making sure I’ve got a bra on before I open the door.

The afternoon is a hectic blur of activity.

I laugh along with their jokes and attempts to put me at ease. I let the five ladies who show up like an invading army poke and prod and primp and pluck me into some semblance of a movie star.

The reflection in the mirror might look ready to grace a magazine cover, but the closer we get to seven, the more unhinged I feel.

“Miss Stone, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look so much like your mother tonight.” The makeup artist draws the mascara wand across my lashes a final time before she steps back and sighs contentedly. “The spitting image.”

I gulp and hope none of them hear it. “Thank you. It’s quite the compliment.”

“She was a star,” the artist agrees.

In more ways than one, and in more ways than I will ever be. I never saw my mom lose control emotionally the way I have.

Granted, as a child, I highly doubt she’d have allowed that side of herself to show when I was around. She’d never have let anyone get away with treating her the way I let Marcus treat me.

She’d slap him or draw the boundary line so clearly that he’d never dream of stepping a foot over it. She was the queen of her universe, and everyone else circled around her and played by her rules.

I might look like my mother, but I am a different beast, so hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t love me back that I’ve turned him into an obsession.

Time to put a stop to it.

He’s moved on. Why can’t I? I’m the only one who can make it happen.

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