Lydia, you’re not alone anymore.
Lydia, no one loves anyone like I love you.
I’m not as liberal with my words, whispering that I love him while he’s inside of me, sometimes when I’m under his intense stare, and in the occasional quiet moments when I place my lips right beside his ear and say it softly and slowly. My fear is fate might hear me say it and take it away. I’m plagued by love for Talent—heartsick, lovesick, obsessed—but it’s not easy for me to piece the words together and give them sound. Afraid to be too defenseless in front of anyone, they stick to my tongue like thick honey.
“You know it’s true, Talent. You know I feel it just like you,” I say instead.
I’m emotionally defective, but he doesn’t take it personally. Talent’s patient as I navigate my way across the frozen body of water. If I don’t fall in, I’ll eventually meet him on the other side, frostbitten and cold. But I’ll be there.
“I’ve known for a while, Lydia. I’ve known since the bar with the band,” he says, speaking of the night we got drunk on each other and expensive bourbon.
“How did you know then?” I ask.
“Because you told me.”
“I did not tell you.” I straighten in my seat and return both hands to the wheel with a flirty grin on my face.
Talent relaxes with his elbow out the window, cool and calm and collected, and he says, “We’d come inside from the alleyway and you were sitting on my lap. I asked if you wanted to order another bottle and you swore you’d die if we did.”
I circle the car around to do one more lap. “I remember that.”
“And then you put your face really close to mine and asked, ‘Is this what falling in love feels like?’”
“I was drunk.”
“You were honest.”
Two nights later, Camilla sits at the end of my bed with her legs crossed, dressed in a baggy pair of sweats and an old shirt, while I get ready for one of the biggest nights of my life. My hair’s in rollers, my makeup is only half-applied, and I’ve tried on every dress I own, looking for the perfect outfit to wear to a private birthday celebration Talent’s asked me to accompany him to.
Slipping my feet from a pair of metallic open-toe stilettos to a black heel, I do a quick circle for Camilla and ask, “Which pair do you like better?”
She chews on her bottom lip and points to the metallic Tom Fords. “Wear those with the gold one-shoulder gown you tried on before the black cocktail dress. The one with the split side.”
“His dad is going to be there. You don’t think it shows too much skin?”
She shakes her head and smiles, releasing her lip from between her teeth. “No, the color of the gown is amazing against your skin. You’ll look like a shooting star, Lydia. They won’t be able to take their eyes from you.”
I peel the shoes off and set them to the side before holding the gold evening gown against my body to look in the mirror. “I’m not sure I want that attention.”
She shrugs, pulling a loose string from the hem of her shirt. “I think Talent is incredibly romantic, and it’s really sweet he wants you to meet his dad after only a few weeks. If he’s secure enough to take such a big step, you should be, too.”
I hang the gown in my closet and sit at my vanity. Pulling the rollers from my hair one at a time, I admit, “It feels too good to be true.”
Camilla jumps to her feet and heads toward the bedroom door, having learned quickly that I don’t handle togetherness well. She hesitates before leaving. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I can’t imagine it gets truer than that.”
Large curls tumble around my shoulders and down my back as the rollers come out. Camilla steps outside my bedroom door, but I call her back in. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, and I say, “I’m a terrible listener, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this on your own. When you decide you’re ready to talk about how you ended up here, let me know and I’ll do my best to help.”
She smiles, holding on to the door. “Can we make it a girls’ night and exchange sob stories about our screwed-up pasts over margaritas?”
“No.”
Camilla laughs out loud and says, “I had you going for a second.”
I smooth and shape my curls to vintage waves and pin half of it back, securing it with an antique barrette. My winged eyeliner is heavy, instantly making my eyes look darker and my eyelashes longer even before applying mascara. Twisting the tube of dark red lipstick, I lean close to the mirror and press my lips together before following my lip line with crimson rouge.
Nervousness creeps in as I step into the floor-length dress and slide it up my body, fastening it over one shoulder while the other stays bare. Camilla was right when she said the gold-colored fabric looks stunning next to my skin, and I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I smooth my hands down the front of the dress, touch the ends of my curls, and trace my lips with the tips of my fingers.
Hope is terrifying, but he walks in as I’m slipping my feet back into my shoes.
Talent closes the door with a small click and stares at me in the way only he can, deep down and devouring. He’s tall and sleek in a two-buttoned forest green suit that would not look good on anyone else, but he’s a fucking deity and I’m not worthy.
Throwing another dozen roses atop my dresser, he holds both of his hands over his heart and says, “You’re a dream, Lydia.”
I sit on the edge of my bathtub and lift my dress to my knees. “Can you help me?”
In his magnificent suit, Talent Ridge kneels on my bathroom floor and slips my shoes on my feet like I’m the princess in this story and not the damn pumpkin.
“You look nice, too,” I say, forcing the words out of my lungs.
He cradles my foot in his lap and fastens the strap around my ankle, peeking at me from beneath his long eyelashes. There’s no denying the affection I feel for this man. It’s stronger than the general contempt I felt until the day I met him, when everything flipped. Talent does feel too good to be true, but while I wait for fate to realize it’s made a mistake by giving me something good, I wrap my hand around Talent’s tie and pull him close to whisper, “I love you.”
My foot falls from his lap as he leans into me, careful not to smear my lipstick.
Love is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Camilla’s standing at the kitchen counter mid-bite when Talent and I come out of my room hand-in-hand. She drops the spoon into her cereal and says, “Holy crap. You guys are so beautiful and it’s so not fair to the rest of us.”
The messy bun that was on top of her head falls free, and she smooths her hands over her hair like it’ll make a difference.
I manage a small smile, but Talent thanks her.
“Don’t leave. Let me take a picture before you go.” She runs past us in her too-large sweats and bare feet. She comes back with Dog under her arm and a cell phone in her hand. “This level of elegance needs to be documented. It feels like I’m a doting mother before the damn prom. I can’t believe I’m eating cereal for dinner when you guys look this fantastic.”
Camilla holds up the cell phone to take a picture and I automatically tense. No flash photography. No videography. I can’t remember the last time I had my picture taken, and this feels as dangerous as giving my heart to a man as prestigious as Talent.