Page 67 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
“Don’t give me that look.” She holds up the top of the gown, and it’s undeniably gorgeous. The delicate chiffon is gathered in a diagonal ruching pattern, allowing the faintest glimpse of the structured corset beneath. “The corset is fully lined. I’m not going to send you down the runway naked. Trust me.”
Trust me.
I’ve heard that a lot this week, and somehow I feel less inclined to put my blind faith in my twin right now than I did a few days ago. But what choice do I have?
I hold out my hand. “Give it to me. I’ll try it on.”
This time, my sister is right.
The gown isn’t at all similar to any of Ginny’s other dresses. Actually, I’ve never seen anything like it. Ever. Which is pretty remarkable considering I’ve spent most of my life beauty pageant-adjacent.
“This is...” I shake my head, unable to continue. The pink gown isspecial. Its innocent color, combined with a thick layer of handcrafted flowery tulle rosettes along the hem makes the chiffon’s sheerness seem sweet rather than sultry. I feel like I’m wearing something made of spun sugar. I feel... beautiful. And yet, somehow, like Charlotte instead of Ginny.
“I don’t know what to say.” I press my fingertips to my mouth so Ginny can’t see the tremble in my lower lip. This isn’t like me. I don’t get emotional over fashion. Unlike most brides, I didn’t shed a tear when I tried on my wedding gown.
But this feels different. I’m not sure why, but it does. A lump has lodged itself in my throat and my hands are shaking. I want to take this feeling and bottle it, so that when this charade is over and everything falls apart, I can remember that I didn’t just do it for Ginny. I also did it for me, and there were moments it was worth it—in spite of whatever reckoning is coming my way.
“Keep it,” Ginny whispers.
“What? Why?”
“Because it looks like it was made for you. It’s beautiful, but it’s not right for me. I look like I’m trying too hard when I put it on. On you, it’s perfect.” She smiles.
I catch her gaze in the mirror and for a second, it looks like she might cry. “You look stunning as hell and at the same time, sweet like cotton candy. All sugar and spice and everything nice.”
If she only knew.
The evening-gown competition passes in a blur. I don’t win, but I feel magnificent onstage. The pink chiffon swishes around my legs, soft as rose petals, and for once, I have no trouble whatsoever making eye contact with Gray as he sits at the judges’ table.
He freezes when he sees me. The air between us is electric, and every muscle in his body goes tight. Rigid. He doesn’t even write down a score in his binder until the judge beside him prods him to do so.
I suck in a breath, do my final twirl, and glide toward the stage exit.
Don’t look back.
My fingernails dig into my palms.
Don’t do it.
I look. The expression I’m aiming for is a coy peek over my shoulder, one last smile for the audience. But my gaze flits immediately to Gray. He’s the only judge still watching me. All the others are sitting with their heads bent, scribbling on the pages of their judge’s books. The last thing I see before I disappear behind the thick velvet curtain is the corner of his mouth quirking into a secret smile.
This is a dangerous game we’re playing.
Someone is going to notice all our subtle communication. Whether it’s my parents, the judges, the Miss American Treasure officials, or one of the pageant girls, it’s going to happen... unless I put a stop to things and quit before someone gets hurt.
The trouble is, even if I cut off all communication with Gray, someonewillget hurt.
And that someone is me.
I’m breathless by the time I take my place in the wings and watch the last contestants take the stage. Only seven states remain. While they float before the judging panel in a variety of beaded, bedazzled, bespoke gowns, I try and force myself to believe whatever is happening between Gray and me is harmless.
But it’s not.
As much as I want to believe we’re not hurting anyone, we are. This pageant is important to a lot of people, and now that I’ve experienced it myself—now that I’ve gotten to know these women—I can’t dismiss it quite as easily as I used to.
But I’m notreallycheating, am I? And Gray and I are consenting adults. My attraction to him has nothing to do with the pageant. I’m certainly not planning on meeting him at the swan boats because I’m angling for a higher score.
Somehow I doubt my fellow contestants would see it that way.
