Page 99 of Loved By The Bad Boy

“What’s Ben wearing?”

Butterflies swamp my belly. Oh, Ben. “A tux?”

Maria frowns. I like her excitement since I’m too nervous to process everything fully. Her entire face occupies my phone’s screen. Mom settles down on the dresser, and Maria massages her forehead.

“What makeup do you have?” she asks.

Close to none? But Mom showed up for me. We lift the pallets of eyeshadow, primer, bronzer, and other fancy things for a full face beat. I’m thankful Mom is the opposite of her daughter.

“Mrs. Mower, can you do a smoky look?” I turn to Mom. Maria knows better than to ask me. I am shit at makeup except for applying mascara and lipstick. On some great days, I draw the perfect eyeliner. Mom picks up the pallet to show her the colors. “Gold and black will do.”

On Mom’s instructions, I tilt my head and allow her to work on my bare face. She hums under her breath as she fills my eyebrows. I burst out laughing when it’s time to apply my mascara.

“Theresa.” But she also smiles. My eyes water when she tries to line my eyes. “Beauty is pain,” she sings. This is another reason I’m not a big fan of makeup. Minutes later, I hear, “All done.”

I stare at the ceiling for a few more seconds until the urge to cry subsides. Mom watches with a grin. I am not sure she tears up while applying her makeup. I look in the mirror, and my breath seizes.

Oh my God. I look so pretty.

The gold eyeshadow blends with the black, making my brown eyes appear bolder. I look sexy. Sexy and confident and deserving of the attention my interview with Vogue got me. I granted Mom access to my social media accounts. She took over, doing better than I did with her replies.

Mom is like my manager until I can navigate this new lifestyle without help, which is probably never. With the unending requests for an interview and photoshoots, I am glad I have my family, boyfriend, and best friend. Maria calls ahead to give ideas on how to dodge questions or pose. She’s horrible like that. My best friend forever. Imani, Mira, and Calum also help when they can.

“Don’t you dare cry, sweetheart,” Mom says. I close my eyes, fighting back the tears. My heart slows, and warmth surrounds me. It’s not just the feeling of contentment, it’s the knowledge that I have them, and they also have my back. Always. “I am almost done. Don’t ruin your makeup.”

“Okay.”

Mom finishes in silence. I dial Maria so she can have a look at the final effect. Once the phone connects, her scream has me plugging my ears.

“You look like a princess,” my best friend says. I do. I love everything about my looks, even the false eyelashes that helped to create a bolder, edgier Tessa. “Turn around. Girl, give me a pose!”

Mom laughs. Maria’s excitement isthatinfectious. Mom grabs my phone and switches to the back camera while I spin. I walk back to Mom while my best friend squeaks. She sets her phone on a flat surface and exaggerates a bow.

“My queen, I will gladly bend the knees.”

“You may rise,” I tell her.

She plays along, demonstrating a perfect curtsey before sitting. “You did a great job, Mrs. Mower.”

Finally, they agree on something. Mom sandwiches my hand between hers after the call ends. Her eyes shine with tears as she smiles. “You’ve grown so much, sweetheart.” My mom is one to exaggerate my achievements, but she’s right this time. I have. Not only physically but in other areas of my life. People are sending emails to thank me for displaying my vitiligo in a photoshoot. Wild. “I am so proud of you, Theresa Grace Mower. Come, let’s get you dressed up.”

Hand in hand, we continue to the bed. I play with the sequins of my dress, holding it against my chest as I twirl in front of the mirror. Excitement bursts through me. I put on the floor-length dress and turn my back to Mom so she can zip it up. Ben will worry about taking it down later.

I take a seat on the bed while Mom helps with my shoes. I am wearing actual heels. Stilettos. I practiced walking on them all night yesterday. Mom hoists the duffel bag on the floor to the bed.

“You got everything you need?” Mom asks. I nod. Standing akimbo, her eyes narrow. Ben and I are going away for the weekend. He is planning a surprise for me. He won’t give me a location, but I was asked to pack for a weekend. Mom seems to be in on his plans. She wasn’t bothered by my lack of information. Plus, those two have grown close. “You will be back by Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Our eyes meet again. She smiles widely and engulfs me in a hug. “Have fun, okay?” She swipes her hands on her dress and looks away, saying, “No grandbabies for me yet. Please. Thanks.”

“Mom.”

Her laughter follows her out of the room. I sit alone for a while before taking some selfies. Ben texts me to know if I’m ready because he is. I reply with a selfie, and he responds with two heart-eyed emojis. They are just emojis, but my pulse jumps. I smile sheepishly when my phone pings.

Ben sent me a picture.

A picture of him grinning. My boyfriend is the most handsome guy in the world. I send him another selfie of me, then tuck the phone into my clutch and leave the room before he replies.

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