Page 27 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
I’ve said too much. All notions of sticking to the script are out the window. I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like I’ve been given some sort of truth serum.
But he seems intrigued. He leans in close, and I go a little breathless. Who is he, and what’s he doing here? Chiseled good looks aside, he seems almost as out of place as I do.
I steal a glance at his binder, just in case his bio is in it somewhere. It’s not.
When I look back up, I realize he’s followed my gaze and is now inspecting the papers in front of him—the dreaded questionnaire, which all my previous judges ignored, for the most part.
He meets my gaze again, but this time, there’s not a trace of warmth in his expression. “It says here your favorite book isFifty Shades of Grey.”
Oh. My. God.
Seriously, Ginny?
“Oh, well, that...” How can I possibly make sense of that answer after all I’ve just said?
He interrupts before I can give it a try. “It also says that your platform is animal rescue and that part of your volunteerism in that regard has been adopting a French bulldog mix.”
He’s changed the subject.Thank God. Nevertheless, something about the tense set of his jaw sends a trickle of dread coursing through me. What else has Ginny written on those pages?
The problem isn’t with Ginny’s answers, though.
“Would this be the same French bulldog mix that I’ve seen you walking around the premises?” He lifts an accusatory brow. “The one you said doesn’t actually belong to you?”
Great. Now he thinks I’m a liar.
My face goes hot. I’m no longer a beauty queen with aspirations of being a librarian. I’m a lying liar who lies and also has horrible taste in literature. “Not really.”
His gaze narrows. “So you’ve got another Frenchie mix tucked away somewhere?”
“No, just the one. The situation is a bit complicated.” My smile freezes in place. I’ve heard better excuses from elementary school kids who lost their library books.
“Is it?” He angles his head, and an angry knot forms in his perfect, square jaw.
He’s giving me the full Mr. Darcy treatment now. Not the evolved Darcy who meditates on fine eyes and takes a sexy plunge in the pond at Pemberley, but the haughty, judgmental Darcy from the first half ofPride and Prejudice. Any minute now I expect him to declare that I’m tolerable, but not pretty enough to tempt him.
Scratch that. I probably don’t even rank as tolerable since nothing on the questionnaire rings true.
“The dog is mine. I was joking earlier. It’s a little game Buttercup and I play. We pretend not to know each other,” I say in an attempt to salvage any small shred of this interaction.
But it’s a ridiculous assertion, and now I sound crazy in addition to deceitful. I cast a desperate glance at the timekeeper. How has she not called time yet? This is officially the longest three minutes of my life.
“This is really too bad.” He closes the binder. It feels fatal somehow, as if Ginny’s lifelong dream has just died. Because I killed it.
Tears pool in my eyes. Why was I ever foolish enough to believe I could do this? The pageant... the flirting... all of it has been such a foolish mistake.
“I thought you were something special.” His gaze bores into mine, and I know without a doubt that we’re no longer talking about the crown. Nor Ginny.
We’re talking about me.
My lips part, and I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to say. I just know I can’t leave things like this. “I...”
But I’m too late.
“Time.”
“How did it go?”
Miss Nevada is hot on my heels the minute our group exits the ballroom. She obviously doesn’t realize I’m dying inside, because she’s giving me a blow-by-blow of her answers and nodding excitedly.
