Page 21 of Date and Switch

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“Oh my God, Mom! No. Seriously. We sleep in separate beds, Mom.” I heard her whisper. Such a fucking angel. “Felicity is calling in. I love you too. Be on the lookout for my pictures! Bye. Bye. Mom, I don’t want to miss her call. Love you!”

Little Miss Popularity dropped the call with her mom only to pick up and begin singing loudly to her sister as a greeting. We had to meet the tour guide in a little over an hour, but I didn’t want her to lose a second of bonding with her sister or her family on her birthday. Instead, I grabbed a pair of cotton pants, a tank top, gym shoes, and socks and set them out while she continued to chatter. She watched me as I set out her clothes on the bedroom chair, as if her clothing sat in the corner watching her: shirt on the top of her chair, pants “sitting” on the seat, and gym shoes with socks tucked in beneath the hem of the stretch pants. I forwent panties. Both because the thought of her without them was too tantalizing to resist, but knowing how sweaty she’d get in the humidity of Brazil, I figured less chafing against her blistered skin the better.

“A—hold on just one second.”

She put her hand up to her phone as if shielding her sister from our conversation, apparently forgetting about the “mute” feature.

“What are you doing with my clothes, and where are my underwear?”

“Oh my God!” we both heard coming from the phone. “You had sex with the broken-hearted heartthrob? Why would he know where your underwear is, Seraphim Claire! You’ve been holding out on me.”

“See what you’ve done,” she hissed in my direction before taking a lungful of air and focusing on her sister.

“We have to be at our tender station at eight sharp,” I whispered, tapping my watch. “You’ve got about fifty minutes. I brought you breakfast; it’s on the table.”

She nodded and held up a hand to silence me.

“Felicity, we’re on a ship. We share drawers. It’s not like I have a closet. Yes, he’s seen my underwear since they have to share real estate with his. He’s never seen them on me. Or coming off me.”

Technically that was true. I’d never taken her underwear off or seen her put any on. As if she could read my mind, she cast a sideways glance in my direction a sultry smirk on her lips.

“Look I’m going to have to call you later and download all the rest of my trip so far. We have to meet up with the tour group. I’ll call you tonight.”

fourteen

I don’t think there is quite possibly a more perfect place to be on Christmas Eve than Rio. While it was hard trying to wrap my brain around being hot on Christmas, seeing something as stupendous as the statue of Cristo Redentor couldn’t accurately be put into words. Also I would have never guessed it was possible to sweat in as many places as I did. My chapped and abused skin did not appreciate all of the salt laden sweat clogging up those healing wounds, but I would have been more upset if I’d missed all of the magnificence the day brought.

“Originally, that was supposed to be a statue of Princess Isabel. Could you imagine coming home and your dad being like, Hi honey, hope your day went well. By the way, had a sculptor here today, and in honor of your birthday and the fact that you’re my favorite daughter, I’m erecting a super-sized statue of you so large that ships coming in from hundreds of miles away will be able to see you.”

“Musta been a helluva daddy’s girl,” I replied with a giggle. “Could you imagine if she had a little sister? No fair Daddy! Isabel got a whole monster sized statue and all you built for me was a church?”

The statue itself was crazy tall. Viewing it from the base, I nearly fell over trying to look up. Bryce stood behind me to keep me balanced, and the two of us stayed that way in companionable silence for a few minutes. It felt too nice. The kind of nice I needed to stop accepting otherwise I really would convince myself he felt something for me.

After the arduous descent back down to the ground—which, zero stars, do not recommend—we spent the rest of the day taking in as much of Rio as we could. I can say the highlight of Bryce’s day was when I misread Maracana Stadium as Macarena stadium. I managed to capture Bryce’s poor attempt at the Macarena in front of Maracana Stadium. I’d get justice when it went up on the Instagram page.

“These came this morning while you were chatting with your family.”

The moment we made it back to the room, Bryce made a beeline for a garment bag that hung from our balcony. He unzipped the gray material, pushing it away from the fabric to reveal a full set of colorful, beaded and lace evening gowns. He unhooked them one by one, reaffixing them to the curtain rod so I could appreciate them individually.

“Who are these for?” I asked though I had a hunch.

“Don’t be silly. They’re for you. I had my assistant forward them.”

I watched him inspect the sequin trimmed hem of the most stunning green and gold dress I’d probably ever seen. It was Oscar worthy. Starburst gold and silver sequins with floral appliqués—the dress could pass for a Christmas tree.

“Since the inept shopgirl couldn’t be bothered to carry people appropriate sizes, I had Esther source them. This one appears to be from Neiman’s. It’s a Mac Duggal—I don’t know if that means anything to you.”

As if I followed designers or kept up with what was trendy.

“Matching shoes are in the boxes on the bottom of the garment bags.” Bryce pointed toward the floor. “Tonight, is one of three upcoming captain’s formals. Today, tomorrow, and New Year’s Eve. I’ll be in a black tux. I have a few options for bowties, so let me know which you think will work best for tonight.”

I couldn’t stop staring at the dresses. I was afraid to touch them considering my sweat had sweat. My phone rang pulling me out of my dazed stupor.

“I’m going to run downstairs real quick.” Bryce said as I went to answer my phone. “I’ll be back in twenty. Bathroom is all yours!”

“Raven! Hi!”

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