Page 65 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
My father says something in response. I have no idea what it is. The conversation becomes nothing but background noise because my thoughts are screaming things about a secret date, the swan boats, and a full moon. Gray’s words are running through my head in a heavenly, continuous loop.
Tonight would be nice...
It would be lovely.
Itwouldbe lovely. It would also be dangerous and borderline insane.
I can’t show up at the swan boats. I know that. But I also know that I will, and as much as I’d love to blame this potentially self-destructive act on the mysterious forces of the full moon, it wouldn’t be fair. Nor would it be fair to blame my parents and their humiliating assessment of my plunge into solitude following my breakup with Adam.
The choice is mine, and mine alone. And even though I know I should barricade myself in my hotel room with Ginny, I won’t. Because I want this—more than I’ve wanted anything in such a long time. I wanthim.
And this little rendezvous he’s hinting at is something I can’t resist, because it’s not an accidental meeting in the stairwell or a chance encounter in the ice closet. It’s not me throwing myself at him again and catching him unaware. Quite the opposite. It’s steeped in intention, which can only mean one thing.
He wants me too.
Maybe there’s a way this won’t end in disaster. It’s possible, isn’t it? It has to be, although I can’t see how. I’m at a crossroads. At some point, I’m going to have to choose between myself and my twin. Between my dreams and hers.
“Nice to meet you both,” Gray says to my dad and Susan, dragging my thoughts back to the present. Before he leaves, he turns toward me. “Best of luck, Miss Texas. I’ll see you later?”
Later, as in onstage in the evening-gown competition? Or later tonight, in a swan boat beneath a moonlit sky?
Either way, my answer is the same.
“You certainly will.”
16
Ispend the majority of the day preparing for the evening-gown competition, which is set to begin at six o’clock.
Ginny assures me it’s the easiest of all the prelims. I’m not required to say anything, twirl anything, or bare any part of my body that hasn’t been seen in public since I was a small child. All I have to do is glide up and down the runway in a fabulous gown. No problem, I think.
Naturally, I’m wrong.
First, Ginny informs me that I can’t wear the pageant shoes I’ve finally managed to master. Mostly. I still live in fear that I’ll tumble off them and fall to my death in a bedazzled pile of glitter, chiffon, and chandelier earrings. But my feet haven’t actively bled in twenty-four hours, which sadly, is a major win.
“I don’t get it. Why can’t I wear these?” I say, stepping down from my nude patent leather frenemies.
“The heel isn’t high enough. The gown is long. You need another inch of platform. Minimum.” She hands me a silver sparkly pair of platform stilettos nearly identical in style to the ones I’ve just discarded.
But the new ones are definitely taller. “If I put these on, my updo will be in danger of hitting the ceiling.”
I’m only half joking. As soon as I returned from my awkward breakfast, Ginny sat me down and got to work on my hair. Countless bobby pins and a full can of hair spray later, I’m sporting an artfully created ballerina bun that somehow manages to look glamorous and a little bit messy all at the same time. Ginny calls this look “elegantly just got out of bed,” and even though the description might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, I get the reference. I look like a woman in a perfume ad—barefoot in a ball gown, accompanied by a George Clooney look-alike in a tuxedo with his bow tie hanging loose around his neck.
I wonder idly if any of the beautiful couples in those advertisements ever got busy in a small, paddle-powered watercraft. You know, swan boat and chill.
“Your face is beet red.” Ginny frowns at me. “And the skin on your chest is all splotchy, like it gets when you’re anxious. What’s wrong with you?”
I’m terrified, that’s what’s wrong with me.
It’s been a while since I’ve been intimate with a man. A long while. After Adam and I broke up, I spent months wondering if he’d been pretending I was Ginny every time we made love. The thought filled me with such shame and loathing that I completely shut down in the intimacy department. It’s been months since I’ve let myself contemplate kissing a man, much less getting undressed in front of one.
Until yesterday in the ice closet, anyway.
Now I’m contemplating doing all sorts of things with Gray. Something about him makes me feel safe. It doesn’t make sense, particularly since he thinks I’m my sister.
But somehow he also seems to see through the charade. He noticed me when I was still Charlotte. Every time I close my eyes, I see the way he looked at me in the stairwell on that very first night.
Later, Hermione.
