28. CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 28

“Nobody makes me feel this way, I never thought I’d land the part, I’m feeling like a movie star”

Movie Star – Trousdale

Nathalie

T he scent of slightly charred hair permeates the bathroom as I curl the last few pieces of hair to frame my face. Deon’s bathroom turned into a ransacked beauty store. A cloud of hairspray lingers in the air and my makeup is scattered across the countertop. I spritz the Dutch braids on the top of my head one last time, adding to the fumes.

Twisting my head, the loose curls bob with the movement and I give myself a moment to admire my handiwork. I had no chance with my makeup and spent the afternoon with Sawyer and Maren, who expertly applied blush, bronzer, and dark smokey eyeshadow to compliment the gown I chose for the auction.

Sawyer completed the look with a glob of glitter on my eyelids. I haven't stopped staring at myself in the mirror. It’s so far from what I usually look like. The braids are the only part of myself I recognize, but I feel beautiful like I belong in a room with athletes, millionaires, and celebrities.

Frankly, I’m shitting myself.

Not only is it an event far out of my social status, but it’s also an opportunity to network with people who would support GameChangers. It’s also the last time Deon and I will be a fake couple, but if I focus on that, I’ll ruin my sparkly makeup and that would be criminal.

I want to enjoy the night, not wallow in the fact that tomorrow it will be over.

My eyes linger on my necklace before a sharp whistle bounces against the walls of the bathroom and I spin, my chest fluttering as Deon leans against the doorframe, dress shirt hugging his corded muscles and pulling against his wide shoulders.

“Wow,” I say, pushing onto my tiptoes to kiss him. If it’s the last night of our deal, I intend to push it to the limits, to touch him and kiss him when I want like it’s the last time because, well, it is. I’m tossing our rules out the window. It’s not like they’ll mean anything tomorrow anyway.

Deon’s hands dart out and I slap them away.

“Don’t ruin my hair!” I squeal, bolting away as his arms reach out to trap me in his embrace.

“Get back here,” Deon yells as I hide in the closet, unzipping my gown and stepping in before he rounds the corner and stops in his tracks. “Holy hell.”

Deon’s eyes ravish my body as I slowly zip the blood-red gown. The neckline dips low, nearly to my navel, and the fabric is covered in intricate beadwork, flowers, and swirls created with the same blood-red color.

I snag my comfortable heels and a small clutch from my suitcase and slide past Deon, who stands like a statue.

Deon stands mute, watching with hooded lids as I bend down to slide on my heels and maybe, just maybe, I arch my back slightly.

“Nathalie,” Deon growls and I hear his movement before his hands slide down my sides, gripping my waist tightly and pulling me against his chest.

I sigh into the contact.

“I’m nervous,” I admit, the jitters eating at my nerves until they’re paper thin. I might need to be tipsy for this or attach myself to Deon and refuse to go anywhere without him.

“I’m excited,” he admits, swaying us slightly. My head jerks upward to look him in the eye. He’s the one who’s supposed to hate events, not me. It’s my job to plan them. They’re not at this scale and often with children, not famous athletes.

My brows crinkle and Deon’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“It’s going to be fun. Pinky promise,” he says quietly, and though I try to prevent it, my heart sinks.

He doesn’t understand what this all means. Tonight is our last night together.

He places a soft kiss on a crown on my head and drags me to the door. I bat away the warmth that blooms in my chest.

“Time to go and mingle with the masses.”

The frown I expected flickers across his face and it’s a comfort knowing that he’s putting on a brave face for me because he knows I’m nervous.

He hates having to go to this.

The sigh he releases as he pets Gordie goodbye makes it clear he would rather stay home, and as his hand wraps around mine and we slip into the car, I pocket every memory I can to help me dampen the heartbreak.

Chatter fills the large ballroom and my brain fails to distinguish all the sounds and conversation as Deon holds onto my hand and weaves through the space to search for our table.

A familiar screech is the first thing I recognize as Sawyer barrels between Deon and I, hands roaming along my dress and in my hair.

“Oh, so she can touch your hair, but I can’t?” Deon grumbles.

Sawyer and I spin.

“Yes,” we answer in unison before I analyze the emerald gown that flares at the waist, a perfect compliment to her fair skin and honey-blonde hair.

“You look amazing.” A small blush creeps onto Sawyer’s cheeks, and her hand slides against her hips, smoothing out her dress.

“I told you green was the right color.” Maren’s voice splits through the air as she and Jack appear at the table. Her navy dress shimmers as she moves, lines of iridescent sequins lining the floor-length gown.

“Gorgeous, right?” Jack says with a wink and Maren’s face flushes a fire engine red. Sawyer pokes her cheek and Maren swats her hand away.

“Let's get a drink and look at the silent auction items,” Maren says, dragging Sawyer and me away from the table. Deon’s eyes widen in panic and I chuckle as I give him a little wave.

“I had this idea,” Maren says while we wait for our drinks, “That we should have a sleepover.”

“Huh?”

I spin away from Deon. “A sleepover?”

“I-I miss you guys,” she admits softly, “We don’t see each other as much as I’d like… never mind. It’s silly.”

I dislike how timid she feels about admitting that she wants more time with Sawyer and me. After tonight, I’ll have a lot of time on my hands which I’ll mostly spend trying to get over Deon.

“I think that’s a great idea!” Sawyer nods her agreement. “Did you have a date in mind?”

“Tomorrow night?”

Oh.

That’s sooner than I expected.

“I planned on moving out of Deon’s house this weekend.”

There’s no way to hide the sadness in the confession. Sawyer rubs my bicep affectionately and I glance back at Deon, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“How about we have a sleepover tomorrow and we both help you move on Sunday so you don’t have to do it alone?” Sawyer offers.

I mull over the idea. I’ll probably keep it together and not cry—as much, at least—if they help .

“That sounds good.” Maren and Sawyer beam and as the bartender slides us our drinks, they exchange a glance. “What was that look about?”

Sawyer’s eyes widen, but Maren smoothly says, “We’re worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I declare, but my voice cracks, giving away my lie. “I’m happy about the time we did get to have together. Even if it meant nothing to him, it meant something to me and that’s what matters.”

I offer the answer I practiced a dozen times in the mirror.

If I tell myself it’s fine, then eventually, it might be fine .

With a glass of white wine in my hand, I slowly peruse the auction items on the tables against the back wall.

Some are small baskets full of food or skincare or dedicated to a sports team. There are tickets for NBA games and vouchers for massages. As I pass table by table, the price tag of the items grows larger. Five-night vacation in Mexico. Ten-day stay at a five-star boutique hotel in Paris. Safari in Kenya.

There are concert tickets and gift cards and I begin writing my name below everything that strikes my interest, only upping the offer by a dollar. I know I’m not going to win any of these things, nor could I afford any of them, but there’s a thrill in knowing that my name is on those pages.

Maybe I’ll even raise my card for the live auction and let the adrenaline course through my veins.

I’m scribbling my name beneath the ten-day stay in Paris when Maren starts to hover.

“Can I help you?” I ask, continuing to write my name on different sheets. I’m halfway through my last name on a trip to Bora Bora when the pen is snatched from my grip.

“I want that trip. You can’t bet on it and raise the price.” Her eyes are pleading and I sigh, snatching the pen back and scribbling out my name.

“Fine, but no betting on the Paris hotel.”

It’s a long shot, but I’ve always wanted to visit Paris. If no one else bets, I may be able to afford to go.

“Deal.”

Maren shifts and my mouth dries as I glance across the room.

Oh, no. No. No. No.

She’s here. She shouldn’t be here. She isn’t allowed to be here or around Deon. My blood begins to boil and from the corner of my eye, I can see Maren’s head tilt, then follow my gaze.

“Who is that?” Maren asks as I stare at the woman across the ballroom, a foreign sense of anger rising inside of me as I watch her fling her jet-black hair over her shoulder. I assess the tight black dress and the five-inch heels.

“Savannah.”

I’ve spent enough time stalking her social media to spot her.

“Who is Savannah?” Sawyer comes up beside me, sipping on her vodka cranberry.

“She’s a—” I pause. “I have nothing kind to say and if I finish my statement, I may come off as wildly anti-feminist when the reality is she is a horrible human being.”

“Alright?”

“She’s also Deon’s ex-fiancée,” I say, cataloging her every movement. She lifts a perfectly manicured hand, sipping a martini as she laughs.

“Oh shit. Let’s fight her. I think I have a few inches on her. I can take her.”

Sawyer and I spin to look at Maren, who has a violent gleam in her eye. For once in my life, I share Maren’s urge to fight. A solid punch to her evil face would be a glorious victory. My fingers curl into a fist.

It would feel so, so good to pop her in the nose, but starting a brawl at a high-profile charity auction seems like a surefire way to get blacklisted at all future events.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” I say, with much more bravado than I feel.

This ends tomorrow, but tonight, I’m Deon’s fake girlfriend and that means I’m going to give Savannah a piece of my mind.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sawyer asks warily.

No. It’s probably a horrible idea, but I’m two drinks deep and the woman who made Deon believe he is unworthy of love is standing on the other side of the room. I have to say something. I don’t know what, but…something.

“Do it,” Maren declares and I let those words settle deep in my chest, right beside the indignation.

My brain scrambles for something I could say to her and as Sawyer brings her drink to her lips, my eyes snag on her diamond ring.

“Give me your ring,” I demand, holding out my palm.

“What?”

“Give me the ring. You can have it back in a minute.”

Sawyer's brows furrow but Maren slips off her ring and slaps it into the palm of my hand.

“If you need me, I’ll be watching like a hawk at the table,” she says, smacking my ass before leaving. Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and beeline in her direction, ready to face the woman who destroyed Deon’s belief in love.