Page 27 of It's Complicated

Not Bad.

On instinct, I grab my phone and take a picture of the gown in the mirror in this half-turned position. I take a few others from the front. Then I scroll my camera roll to pick the best one. The shots from the front are okay, but the one from the back makes me look sexy. And I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, why I want Jace to find me sexy, to fully see me as a woman—maybe because Aiden already rejected me in a way, or because I just want to feel desired, or because I’m just tired of being invisible to everyone—but that’s the picture I pick and send to Jace captioned:

To Jace:

This is what you’re missing out on, ghoster

Still no reply.

With a shrug, I put the phone away, preparing myself for one last interaction with the Cunningham sisters. Then I’ll be free of Bridezilla for all of three hours.

11

JACE

Instead of jogging home, I end up walking at a leisurely pace—despite the biting cold—as I read Lori’s texts.

From Lori:

So I’m standing in a changing room with an air conditioning vent that’s treating me to an unfiltered eavesdropping of the Cunningham sisters talking about me behind my back

You seriously have nothing to say to that?

I can’t believe it, not two days of fake dating and you’re already ghosting me

The next text is a picture of her in a shimmering silver gown. Lori is turned half-sideways toward the mirror so that I can see both the front and the back. She’s holding her hair up with one hand while angling her phone down with the other to take the picture.

I shake my head, smiling as I read the caption of the pic.

From Lori:

This is what you’re missing out on, ghoster

Then I stare at her image some more. I know we’re fake dating, but this is not the kind of selfie you’d send to afakeboyfriend. In the picture, she’s staring at the mirror with a twinkle in her eyes and a little mischievous grin. A far cry from the crossed-eyes, silly faces, and tongue-out poses she usually sends me.

There’s something about this picture that’s different.

My heart does a little somersault in my chest, then I drag a hand over my face. This fake-dating thing is going to be the death of me. For the first time in my life, last night, I was free to act around her like I actually want to. Touching her, every part of her—her hair, her waist, her hands, her arms—keeping her close, making her mine. But there’ll be a price to pay for every single one of those stolen touches. I’ve managed to keep myself in control for years, and now the fake dating is my enabler, allowing me to lose it all at once.

And this picture isn’t helping.

Well, you asked for it, buddy.

I did, and now I’m about to ask for some more punishment.

Next, my thumbs fly on the virtual keyboard of my phone.

To Lori:

Okay, Lola, replying to you in no particular order

I wouldn’t say not texting back for 45 minutes qualifies as ghosting

Lori’s reply comes in before I can finish answering the rest.

From Lori:

I was the ghosted one, so let me be the judge of that

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