8. Elle

Margot looksevery bit as incredible as I thought she would.

And so out of place.

Not physically—I more than have that covered—but I can tell she doesn't feel like she fits in here, and I'm glad for it.

The gala is fundraising for diabetes, and I appreciate that it's a good cause, but there are so many better ways to go about it than serving expensive food and booking headliners for the entertainment.

"Giselle, darling," Aunt Sheryl calls, shoving through the crowd to get to me. She's a nosy busybody, and I'm sure she was self-appointed to come and see who my date is for tonight. The plus-one was supposed to encourage me to find a partner—I bet none of them expected me to show up with a woman. "Who is …" Sheryl stutters to a stop when she glimpses Margot.

Normally, my brother is at these events with me, and we make up the most ridiculous rumors for people to circulate. They're all bullshit, but it's hilarious to see how far we can push it before anyone catches on, and I've just had an idea.

I smile at Sheryl as I lean toward Margot and slide my hand into hers. It sends a ripple through my palm, and I have to take a breath to steady myself against the rush of … of … something. "This is my girlfriend, Margot. We're extremely serious, and I was hoping to introduce her to all the family tonight."

From beside me, I feel Margot go stiff. I probably should have given her the heads-up about this game.

"Your … your girlfriend?"

"Oh yes. We're completely committed."

Sheryl's gaping as she looks Margot over. With my brother being queer, I doubt anyone would be surprised or openly bigoted, but I've always rejected the idea of commitment, so it's probably blowing her bloody brains out.

"Nice to meet you," Sheryl says icily. I'm a little taken aback by the tone, and then Sheryl drops her voice, like she's trying to cut Margot out of the conversation. "Acting out again, Elle?"

"Excuse me?"

She sighs like she can't believe we're having this conversation again when we've never had it to begin with. "Your parents have had about enough. Now you're parading some … some … woman around here in another bid for your father's attention?—"

"I certainly am not."

Sheryl sneers Margot's way. "I think you should leave."

"I think you should mind your goddamn business."

"Giselle—"

"Why?" Margot asks, finally speaking up as she tugs her hand from mine and crosses her arms. "Why should I leave?"

"You shouldn't," I reassure her as Aunt Sheryl says, "You're not welcome."

"Because I'm a lesbian?"

It's the first time I've heard Margot use the word, and it makes my head spin just a little.

"Nobody cares that you're a lesbian," Sheryl explains like Margot's two. "But Giselle isn't. This is an embarrassing cry for attention, and it's taking all the attention away from what we're here for." She sniffs and straightens her dress. "The charity."

"Charity." I scoff, indignation burning under my skin. I'm just an attention whore? That's really what they think of me. "You're all ridiculous. Maybe I'm bisexual. Or a lesbian and never felt comfortable saying anything before." My voice is getting louder, catching the attention of the people beside us. "Or maybe I'm pansexual or asexual or adoorknobafuckingsexual. But it doesn't matter because all you are is a homophobic snob, and you, dear aunt, will never change. Nor will my parents. I came here to have a lovely evening with my girlfriend, and we fully intend to do just that."

"You've always been an ungrateful child," Aunt Sheryl snaps before leaving. I'd put money down that she's reporting back to my parents, and it's only a matter of time before Dad appears. I'm not sure I can face him. I know for certain I don't want Margot to.

"I'm sorry about?—"

"We need to talk. Somewhere private."

I blink at Margot and the scowl she's throwing my way. "Ah … okay. I mean, I'm sorry about her, but you don't have to leave."

"It's not her I want to talk about."

Margot fixes me with a look, and my stomach sinks. Me. She's annoyed with me. The whole time I lead her out of the room and down the hall, checking closed doors as we go, I'm racking my mind trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong.

The first unlocked door I find—a deserted hallway—I pull her in behind me and quickly close the door again. I can't meet her eye.

"What did you want to discuss?"

"What the hell was that bullshit?" she growls.

"I warned you they'd be rude?—"

"Not them. You. We're dating now? Thanks for the heads-up, babe."

Relief fills me that my joke is all she's mad about. "Oh. That. I'm so sorry—I definitely would have said something beforehand if I'd known I was going to say that. See, my brother and I do this thing where we make up ridiculous rumors about?—"

"Stop. Stop talking. Because I swear to god if you say that you being queer is a ridiculous rumor, I'll walk out of here, and you'll never see me again."

"W-what?"

"Elle, you can be naive about a lot of fucking things, but joking about being in a relationship with a woman is where I draw the line. Queer people aren't jokes. We're not a way for you to make your parents mad, and I bet your brother would say the same damn thing. I have been looked at like that so many fucking times in my life. You have no idea. And for you to use it as some cute joke …"

The more Margot says, the more I want to curl into a little ball and die. I'd never, never thought about it like that. Never meant to put her in that kind of position.

"I just thought it would make people talk," I whisper.

"You wanted scandal. Well, sorry, but I didn't consent to being the butt of your joke."

Oh my god.

Disgust crashes into me. Sheer fucking mortification that none of that even occurred to me. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I try to blink back the tears pricking my eyes. I don't want to cry. This isn't about me. But the thought of Margot being mad, of never seeing her again, is overriding everything else.

There are no more happy tingles in my palm.

Just panic.

So much panic.

"I won't do it again," I promise.

"Right."

"Please don't be mad."

"Elle …"

"Please." I reach for hand, desperate to make sure she stays. Listens. "Margot, I?—"

Her eyes snap up to meet mine. "You what?"

"I … well, I know this whole situation has been unorthodox, and I'm literally paying you, but … we're friends. Aren't we?"

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't look away.

I try to sniff back the tears. "Please say yes. I … I don't know what I'd do. If you left. Every day, I wake up looking forward to seeing you. The only times I don't feel wildly depressed are when you're around."

Her eyebrows pull together. "Depressed?"

"I'm being dramatic." I'm not so sure I am. "But you know what I mean. Don't you?"

I hold my breath while I wait, and then, very slowly, Margot shakes her head.

My heart sinks, and I hiccup a sob. "Oh."

"I don't want to be your friend, Elle."

"Oh." It seems to be the only thing I can say. I drop her hand like it's zapped me. "Fine. Well. Maybe you should bloody well go, then."

Don't cry. Hold your shit together.

"I don't want to go."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

I've barely got the words out when Margot steps forward, cups my face, and brings her mouth down on mine.

My heart surges, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I immediately open my mouth and meet her tongue with mine. She tastes like mint and strawberry gloss. Kisses in a way that makes me want more. We tumble into the wall, and I grip her waist, pull her closer, feeling new and different and light and scared all at once.

Her body is warm, heat seeping through our clothes. Frame softer and smaller than I'm used to. Same height, breasts flush with mine. My whole body heats, head to toe, feeling slightly detached from reality.

Margot pulls back with a gasp, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, never looking more beautiful.

"That's what I want," she says before stepping back and grabbing the door.

She disappears out of it before I can say a word.

I'm still crying, struggling to catch my breath, not so sure I won't collapse onto the fancy carpet.

Margot kissed me.

And I wish she was still doing it.

I wait for the familiar disgust to crawl over me like it's always done when I've been with someone. Sure, we didn't sleep together, but that felt more intimate to me than anything I've experienced before.

I lick my lips, tasting her there.

Wondering what the fuck I'm supposed to do now.