Page 62 of Ardently Yours

Rochelle and I laugh until we cry.

There She Goes

Charlotte

October 31st 1998

City lights blur pastthe windows of Arden’s car, and I smooth the heavy ruby silk of my gown over my thighs.

Arden reclines lazily on the seat beside me. I could eat the man with a spoon.

He gives me a crooked smile. “What are you thinking?”

“That if you ever decided to hang up your hat in law, you could be a tuxedo model.”

His lips twitch. “I’m doing my best to keep up with you. I can’t have somebody trying to steal you away from me.”

I glance down. “Rochelle did a great job on the dress.”

“Nothing else would be worthy of you,” he says.

I wipe my damp palm on my thigh. “Thank you.” The dress is her original design, and it’s spectacular. I initially thoughttonight would be Halloween costumes, but it turns out it’s another excuse for rich women to wear evening gowns. The only things giving trick-or-treat vibes are the masks we’ll wear.

I’d choose Rochelle’s dress over some famous designer every time. The fabric cost an arm and a leg. I dipped into my savings to pay for it, and we had to road-trip to Philly to find it, but the payoff was Arden looking like he swallowed his tongue when I put it on.

At Arden’s insistence, I spent the afternoon at a spa. I’d never had a real pedicure, let alone all the waxing, scrubbing, polishing, and moisturizing those people did. My toes and fingernails match the color of the dress. My hair now has subtle highlights and is in a glossy updo with a few strands hanging artfully around my face. My eyebrows are “perfection” according to the young woman who shaped them. And they applied my makeup with an airbrush, like my face was a T-shirt at the county fair.

The only thing that would have made the day better was if Rochelle, Mom, and Teresa were there with me. Rochelle would have pretended to eat the cucumber slices they use for eye bags. And Mom would have told everyone they were doing such a good job.

I force my fingers to stop twisting the material. I’m excited. That’s all this is.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’ll stay beside you. If you’re not comfortable with a question someone asks, squeeze my arm,” Arden says.

Somehow his reassurances amplify my butterflies. “Okay.”

“We’ll leave before midnight to avoid anyone seeing your face. Which reminds me . . .”

He produces two masks from a compartment in the door. His is white molded leather. Mine is silky, but sturdy, black lace and dotted with glittering crystals. It’s made to cover both eyes,most of my nose and the entire left side of my face in a design reminiscent ofThe Phantom of the Opera.

I run a finger over the soft material. “This puts the one I borrowed from the theater in the shade. It’s so realistic.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“They look like actual rubies and diamonds.”

“What else would they be?”

My heart lurches. “Cubic zirconia?”

He shakes his head, expression wary.

I touch the choker around my neck, then the heavy teardrops at my ears. “These are . . .”

He frowns. “Of course.”

I suck in a breath, then straighten my leg to show him my foot. “If you tell me these are diamonds on my shoes, I’m going to faint.”

He hesitates, then licks his bottom lip. “Then I won’t tell you.”

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