Kate excuses herself to use the ladies’ room.
Now, I’m stuck with women who are eye fuking me to the point it’s making me uncomfortable. That was never an issue in the past. Hell, I used to enjoy it.
But now, it feels like I’m cheating.
19
KATE
HALFWAY TO HOME
“I’ve gotone foot in this city, the other back on Pine Hollow roads / But every time you hold me, it feels halfway to home.” Kate Riggs
The women’s restroom glitters like the ballroom it’s attached to—mirrored walls, gold fixtures, and perfume lingering like judgment. Every woman here looks like she belongs in a magazine spread—smooth hair, flawless makeup, and dresses that look like they’ve never hung on a rack.
They probably haven’t. They are probably handmade by designers, the “one-of-a-kind” dresses.
I keep my head high as I walk in, to hide the fact that I’m unraveling thread by thread on the inside, is an understatement.
Each woman I pass seems more polished than the last. Their diamonds are real. Their confidence is louder than their lipstick. I don’t belong here, not really, not with my dollar-store imposter syndrome and the elegance I borrowed.
I’m a fake—a fake wife and a phony socialite. I duck into a stall and close the door, letting out a slow breath, and that’s when I hear them.
Two voices. Casual. Cruel. Cutting into me like I don’t have feelings, that I’m a nobody, an object, not a person.
“Finn Callahan’s new wife? Please. He’ll get tired of her by Christmas. His relationships never last. He loses interest fast.”
“Did youseeher shoes?” the second one says with a smirk in her voice. “Red bottoms don’t make her high class. She probably didn’t even buy them herself. She’s a kept woman. A pretty face on a leash. She’s a gold digger.”
“Oh, Tess, you’re right. I bet she couldn’t make it in the music industry on her own, and with him on her arm and his last name, it can’t hurt.”
Laughter. Their voices are tight, and they are mocking me.. And it hits harder than I expected because Finn made me feel like I belonged.
My vision blurs. I blink fast, keeping the tears behind my eyes. I will not give them that, no, never that. I don’t break, not for them. I refuse to give them the satisfaction. So I stare at the tips of those shoes—the ones the stylist picked. The ones Finn paid for. They’re perfect, painfully so. And suddenly, I hate them.
I step out of the stall, pushing the door with more force than I expected.
The two women are fixing their lipstick in the mirror, but they freeze mid-sentence when they spot me.
I say nothing at first. Just bend down slowly, unstrap the shoes, and step out of them barefoot onto the cold tile.
Then I walk up to the blonde on the right—the one with the too-sweet smile and the venom in her voice. I hand her the heels.
“You can have them.”
Her mouth drops open, but I’m already walking out. I’m barefoot, but I hold my head high even though my eyes are burning.
But not with tears. With disappointment. For one minute, I let myself think I belonged. And I don’t, so I can’t go back to the ballroom.
Instead, I find a stairwell tucked behind a service door, and I sink onto the steps and, with shaking fingers, I pull out my phone and tap Shay’s name.
She answers on the second ring. “Tell me you’re not calling me from the bathroom at a black-tie gala.”
“Stairwell,” I whisper. “Slightly classier.”
She goes quiet for a second. “What happened?”
I tell her everything. The voices. The shoes. The insults. The walkout. There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then she exhales sharply.
