Page 69 of Little Monster
And though I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. The dress is...
“Stunning.”
The stylist, whose name I’ve learned is Eric, gazes at me in the mirror, clucking his tongue quietly to himself.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?” I ask, voice a bit dreamy. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from my reflection.
“Knew it’d look perfect.” He puts a hand on my elbow and offers me a small smile.
The dress is a rich shimmery silver, and it catches the flecks of green in my eyes and makes the contour on my cheeks even more prominent. The silky fabric hugs my figure, tight like a glove. When I turn to see it from another angle, the split in the dress shifts to reveal my bare leg all the way up to my thigh.
And my first thought—my first stupid,stupidthought—is that Dex would like it.
But I shouldn’t care what he likes anymore, shouldn’t give him a second thought.
Trouble is, it seems like he’s mostly my first thought, and everything else comes second to him. Everything is backward and upside down. And I hate it.
There’s a small gasp from behind me, and Ashton is standing there, mouth gaping open. She brought me food earlier, as promised, then had to dash away again for something or other. But now she’s drifting across the trailer, hands out as if she wants to touch the glimmery silver material.
“Eric,” she says, still staring at me, “it’s perfect.”
He gives me anI told you solook.
“Is she ready?”
“She’s all yours.”
“Fantastic, because the director is ready for you.”
My stomach twists into another knot, which makes me wonder if that yogurt and bowl of fruit were such a good idea. I’m not going to be able to hide in these trailers any longer; I’m going to have to face Dex, have to look into those stormy blue eyes and try not to think of all the times I’ve looked into them before.
“Oh, one last thing,” Eric says, scrambling to fetch a shoebox from the bottom of a rack. “These are for you, my star.” Holding the box out, he opens the lid to reveal a pair of silver high heels with a one-inch platform.
Ashton must see the look on my face, because she touches my arm. “You’ll do fine. We’re not going to ask you to dance in them or anything.” Her laughter is bubbly, but it doesn’t quite chase the nerves from my stomach.
Eric kneels, and I lift one foot, then the other, to let him slip them on. Now I’m suddenly three inches taller, and even though I’m not a fan of heels, they do make me feel better, stronger.
I glance back at myself one last time, and the woman staring at me in the mirror looks fierce. She doesn’t look like someone who would let a man make her feel small. And though I might not feel like that woman on the inside, I’m going to do my best to channel her on the outside. I’ve just got to get through the shoot, and then I won’t ever have to see Dex Reid again.
“All right,” I say, catching Ashton’s eye in the mirror. “I’m ready.”
chapter 24
WE LEAVE THE TRAILER, AND Ashton walks with me—slowly because of the heels—toward the manor. Its crumbling vine-covered facade and stained glass windows make it feel old, haunted. Ashton holds a hand out to help me up the steps, but I don’t take it, determined to do this on my own—to face Dex with some shred of dignity left.
The rounded doorway looms over my head as I pass through it and into the foyer. It looks even more degraded in here, with scaffolding and other equipment set up around the perimeter of the room to keep the walls from falling away further. The two twin staircases seem to be in working condition, given the group of people standing around on one. A man talks in a big voice, gesturing with his arms, and I get the distinct feeling he’s the director. Then the man shifts to one side, and a pair of blue eyes find mine across the space.
My stomach twists, and butterflies burst to life.
Stupid butterflies. They don’t know that he’s abandoned us.
Standing a bit taller, I hold Dex’s stare. I refuse to glance away first, to be the small broken thing he tossed aside in favor of his more expensive toy.
“Ah, Ms. Miller,” the director says, noticing me for the first time. He hustles down the stairs, which gives me my first full look at Dex.
He’s wearing a black three-piece suit, one hand tucked into the front pocket of his pants. His long blond hair has been left down, styled to look carelessly perfect, and it takes effort not to think about touching it, running my hands through it.
