Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Lacey

" S o, tell us how you came to be a model. We know Declan's story, but I'm interested to hear yours." I attempt to open casual conversation.

Marisol studies me, then a sly smile hooks the corner of her mouth. "Isn't it obvious?" She frames her face with a wave of her hand.

Rose's smile fades into a tight line and I feel offended for her. It's apparent Marisol's attitude is off-putting.

"It's obvious you have the look but, don't you have a story? Declan was discovered here, at the beach."

"It was a few years ago. I was on holiday with a few friends. Like, Dee-clan, I was on the beach. A man approached me and told me I should model. My father had other plans."

"He was against your modeling? I'm surprised. Surely, he could see the opportunity for his daughter."

"My father is a very powerful man in Columbia. He doesn't like deviation."

The intensity of her comment and her serious expression weigh in the air like a heavy weight. I attempt to lighten the mood.

"I understand that mentality. Carter is a stickler for details, right Rose?" I turn to Carter's mom.

"He is." Her answer is short, and her tone is wary.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Marisol leans in, folding her arms and placing them on the table.

Rose's eyes narrow in disapproval. "I'm not sure why you would say that. I don't know you well enough to make that determination."

Marisol pushes back. "I can tell."

"Oh, really?" An indignant huff escapes. "How exactly?"

Marisol pushes herself into the corner of the booth and props up her leg, where she places a relaxed arm. "Ladies, honesty is best, no?" She examines us with cat-like eyes. "I'm young, beautiful, and you'll find me in any magazine you choose. This little get-together?" she emphasizes her point with a circling finger. "It isn't the best use of my time."

Indignation creeps into every ounce of my being and, though I should dismiss her for the bitch she is, I feel compelled to speak.

"You're rude."

"So, I've been told."

I exchange a glance with Rose, who looks equally taken aback by Marisol's brazen attitude. It's clear that Marisol is used to challenging questions, her every movement exuding confidence and entitlement but, as much as I want to dislike her, there's something magnetic about her that I can't ignore. Maybe it's because she's confident in a way I've never been. I'd be the first to admit that I, like many other women, am a bit insecure about how best to make myself pretty. It wasn't a trait my mother passed on to me, and it makes me wonder how Marisol gained the way she carries herself unapologetically, taking up space in a world that would rather confine women.

Before I can stop myself, a query that crosses my mind slips out of my lips. "Why do you do it? It's obvious that you think you're above all this."

Marisol laughs, and the sound is like shards of glass, cutting through the air. She leans back against the booth as if she's lounging by a pool rather than sitting in a beachside café.

"Because money is power, and they are paying me an obscene amount of money just to take my picture." With a dismissive smile, she leans back in her seat, seemingly unfazed by the tension she's added to our day.

I look over at Rose, who's struggling to maintain her composure. Although it's clear that Marisol is not used to the company of women, Rose is her opposite, and by the look on her face, takes exception to Marisol's comments.

Before anyone can say anything else, the server arrives with our food. Though the food is tempting, I've lost my appetite. It's faded into the uncomfortable tension that has settled over the table. I try to make the best of it and take a deep breath as I attempt to reconcile the anger that simmers beneath my skin. I pick at my plate, but not her. As we're eating Marisol looks at both Rose and I, her gaze lingering on each of us in turn.

"So, what's next today, ladies?"

Shock ripples through me. I can hardly believe her casual attitude. It's as if her earlier behavior hadn't been a big deal at all.

I turn my head to Rose, whom I have never known as anything other than a kind and considerate woman. Her eyes narrow as a smirk settles on her lips and morphs into an expression I've not witnessed in all the time I've known her. A chill races down my spine.

"Well, dear, I suppose the four of us will continue our shopping excursion. Then we will return to the house, where Declan can see you back to your hotel."

"Four?" A confused look colors Marisol's expression, and she looks around the room. "Is someone else joining us?"

"Oh, no, dear. It's just us." Rose's tone is calm, but her stare holds conviction. "Lacey, me, you, and your insufferable ego."

Marisol's eyes widen, and I see a challenge in her eyes. A flicker of impudence crosses her features before she quickly masks it with a nonchalant smile.

As we finish our lunch, she dramatically inhales a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. "As you are Declan's mother, I will explain myself; it was not my intention to offend you."

"Well, you see, my dear, you did. I'm not so offended for myself as I am for my friend. You are rude and I do not care about your lifestyle. What I do care deeply about is the respect and humility that comes with the friendship of women, both of which, it's clear, you do not possess." Rose's expression fills with a determined look. "I'll explain this in as blunt a tone as you used earlier; I don't care for you. Though we may share another meal or two before you slip back into the lifestyle for which you so clearly painted a picture, your presence is not welcome."

Marisol gleefully takes the unspoken challenge. "Aww. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

I jolt forward as a sudden urge to slap her rushes through. Rose throws her arm in front of me, seemingly unfazed.

"My feelings are fine. It's good to know where you stand."

My gut twists as Rose calmly pays the bill. As soon as we exit the restaurant, Marisol struts ahead of us with an air of confidence and arrogance. We watch as Marisol makes several purchases, flashing her credit card like a weapon. After suffering her presence as we go in and out of a few stores, I glance at Rose as Marisol puts further distance between us.

"We can go back to the house right now," I say under my breath. Rose's eyes meet mine. "I mean it. We can go right now."

Rose answers with a head shake so I stuff my anger, the bitter taste of it lingering on my tongue.