“Betts, please,” Zander murmurs, knowing the fight is going out of me. He gathers me to him as I choke on a sob.
No. I push on his chest. I need air. And I need to think.
“Babe.” He wipes my mascara-stained cheeks with his thumb.
“I…I have to fix my face. Just give me a bit. I’ll come back.”
He holds me firmly until I look him in the eye. “You promise?”
“Yes. I’ll be back.” When he releases me, I turn and head back down the hall, hoping it will take me to the elevators.
Unfortunately, only a few yards ahead is Lara, striding purposefully toward me, her sandals beating a foreboding rhythm. No doubt she’s hunting down Zander, eager to offer him comfort after the fight she’s caused. She slows as she gets nearer, while I unclench my jaw and try to look composed.
“Betts,” she pouts, feigning concern. “Everything alright?”
“Yep.” Just peachy.
“Where’s Zander?”
“Um.” I glance over my shoulder, hoping he’s not about to appear. “Ballroom.”
She has the gall to lay a hand on my shoulder and make doe eyes at me. “You two didn’t have a fight, did you?”
“Nope.” I slip out from under her grip, her envy scorching me through her fingertips. “I’m just going back to my room for something.”
I’ve almost escaped to the elevators when she calls out, “Oh, Betts. Is it true your friend Olivia is going to be an O-Chi Sweetheart?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.I force a smile. “Yep.”
“Really?” She saunters closer and lowers her voice. “Because between you and me, I don’t think Braden’s all that excited about it.”
“That’s his problem.”
“You know he wanted to bring someone else tonight?”
Dammit. The bleach blond? No, probably someone even newer.
Lara calls after me, “But Zander begged him not to.”
I whirl around.
“Poor Zander,” she pouts. “He was worried you wouldn’t come tonight if Olivia didn’t.”
Is that true, or is she just guessing? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She’s a meddling bitch. “What Braden does is none of my business.”
And what Zander does is none of Lara’s.
“Okay, whatever.” She gives another one of her stupid little finger waves and struts away.
I make for the elevator, struggling to keep from making fists and stomping. Once I’m alone inside, I collapse against the fake paneling and exhale. So much petty bullshit. Aren’t there more important things to worry about? The polar ice cap is melting, people are starving, women’s rights are being threatened everywhere, and I’m having a stare-down with a jealous redhead who wants my ex-boyfriend. My life is nothing more than a never-ending episode ofGossip Girl.
As much as I don’t want to, I think of Leo, of his words when hetrapped me in the O-Chi pantry.You’re more than this.Am I? Or am I Zander’s arm-candy, showing off my legs for some plastic beads? An ornament, a commodity, a pawn in everyone’s game—Zander’s, Lara’s, Braden’s, Liv’s, Mom’s.
Leo’s.
The elevator jerks to a stop and the doors slide open. It’s empty and quiet up here on the fourth floor. Peaceful. I’m tempted to hide out in our room for the rest of the night, even though it smells strongly of shampoo, perfume, and industrial cleaner. I could kick off these painful heels and watch a movie on pay-per-view. Raid the minibar. I happen to really like macadamia nuts and four-ounce bottles of ginger ale.
With a sigh, I duck into the bathroom to clean up my runny mascara. After attacking the smudges with a damp washcloth, I reach for my make-up bag to do a little touch-up. And that’s when I notice how clean the vanity is. The only make-up here is mine. My brush. My lotion. Mia had her toiletries spread out all over this counter. When did she come back and clean them up? I peek in the shower and see only my shampoo. What did Mia do with all her stuff?
