Page 44 of The Version You Hide

It fills me with purpose.

We enter through the wide, double front doors, echoes of laughter and music filling the space. I’d thought the exterior of the house was impressive, but the interior is exquisite. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

Decorative woodwork adorns the ceiling and every wall. Fancy pendant lights and chandeliers hang from above, but what really captures my attention is the art. There are multiple original paintings in immaculate frames. I might be passionate about art, but I’m still learning. I don’t know all that much about it. Still, if I had to guess, these pieces are worth thousands of dollars. Maybe even hundreds of thousands.

A less than subtle squeeze of my hand has me turning my attention to Dylan, his expression stoic as we approach his parents.

“Oh, Dylan! You made it!” his mother turns to greet us. Well, him. She greets him. She throws her arms around her son lovingly, but I hear the words she says through gritted teeth. “You’re late.”

I grimace inwardly knowing that I contributed to his tardiness.

“Hi, Mum,” he says, his discomfort obvious as he pulls away awkwardly from her and his father takes his hand in his. “Dad. Happy anniversary to you both.”

“Happy anniversary, Mr and Mrs. Abbott,” I say as confidently as I can.

“Mackenzie.” His mother smiles stiffly. The judgmental way her eyes survey me from head to toe isn’t lost on me. “So nice to see you, dear.”

Her tone tells me she’d rather not be seeing me at all.

One glance around the party is all it takes for me to realise that I’m severely under dressed for the event, but I won’t allow it to phase me. I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I haven’t been enough.

Not enough for my mother to stick around.

Not enough for my dad to stop drinking.

Never enough for Ethan.

This world is filled with all kinds of people but at the end of the day, that’s all we are. People. Regardless of status, income or fashion. I am enough. And dammit, so is my store-bought Target dress.

“Dylan, why don’t you show Mackenzie to the champagne tower,” Dylan’s father suggests. “I’m sure she could use a drink after the drive here.”

“Oh, thank you but…” I begin, waving a hand in front of me. Champagne has never been my drink of choice.

“Sure.” Dylan interrupts me, curling his arm around my waist as he steers me away from his parents.

He directs me to the corner of the room where a literal tower of champagne glasses has been set up. It’s taller than I am. Knowing my luck, it can’t be safe for me to be anywhere in its vicinity.

Much to my relief, Dylan stops us before we reach it, moving around in front of me, his arm still looped around the small of my back protectively.

“I don’t drink champagne, Dylan,” I say.

“I figured.” He says, leaning into me. I catch the scent of his cologne, a summery blend of cedarwood with a hint of something fruity. “But they gave us an out and I took it.”

“I see.”

I know this display of closeness is for his parent’s benefit. We’re supposed to be dating after all. So why this sudden onset of arrythmia that seems to increase in severity when his hand comes up to comb a stray curl behind my ear?

“But you do need a drink,” he says, his fingertips gliding along my jaw before his hands fall to his sides. “What can I get you?”

“What do you have?”

“Literally anything. There’s an open bar out the back.”

“There is?” I ask, peering toward the back of the house.

I see a pool illuminated by bright aqua lights, and sure enough, there’s a bar set up on one side. I can just make out two bartenders mixing drinks behind it between the groups of mingling people.

“I’ll just get a Coke or something,” I tell him. “I’ll come with you.”

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