Page 46 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Of course he’s wearing it. Unlike me, he’s adhering to the pageant rules. He’s also wearing another impeccable suit, looking like he just walked off the cover of the International Best-Dressed List issue ofVanity Fair. I remind myself that he went to Harvard. He’s a tech genius. He’s abillionaire.
I might have convinced myself a few days ago that he was an outsider, just like I am, but I was wrong. The only outsider here is me.
“I knewwhy, obviously. You’re a judge. But I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know about your sister or the Miss Starlight pageant.” Impossible, if I were a legitimate contestant. Which I’m not. But Gray Beckham isn’t privy to that information.
He’s still not saying anything, so I continue my constant stream of babble, digging an even bigger hole for myself.
“I know that doesn’t make sense. I probably sound crazy. But I’m not. My situation is”—fraudulent. Duplicitous. Pathetic—“complicated.”
I squirm while he continues glaring at me—except it’s not quite a glare anymore. Some of the hostility has left his gaze, and now he’s just looking at me as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.
“Complicated,” he finally echoes. Then he takes in my shirt and his gaze moves slowly over theAlicequote. “ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ indeed.”
I don’t know how to respond. Even if I did, I’m not sure I could form words at this point. Now that I’ve gotten my apology off my chest, I’m acutely aware of how close we’re standing to each other. He’s inches away, and the tiny closet feels so small. So intimate.
I’m no longer holding the ice bucket between us as a barrier. My arms are hanging limply at my sides, and the plastic bucket dangles from my fingertips.
He tilts his head. “Why do I get the feeling you’ll eventually end up leading me straight down the rabbit hole?”
If you only knew.
I should be relieved he’s still standing here, willing to speak to me. And I am. But I’m also undeniably turned on. I know it’s wrong. As much as I’ve managed to confess, he still has no idea who I am. Or that I’m a big, fat cheater.
But there’s a delicious heat flowing through me all of a sudden. Our conversation has taken a beguiling little turn, and I like it. I like it far more than I should.
Why does he have to have a degree in English literature?Why?It makes him altogether too irresistible to a bibliophile like myself. Words fromAlice’s Adventures in Wonderlandare spinning in my head and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from rising up on tiptoe, pressing my lips to his ear, and whispering, “Drink me.”
I clear my throat. But when I speak, my voice still comes out raw, with just a touch of ache. “I don’t think you’re a creep. Nor do I think you should move into Slytherin. Clearly you belong in Gryffindor.”
He laughs, and the sound of it makes me want to weep with relief. “Gryffindor? That’s high praise. Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely. If anyone belongs in Slytherin, it’s me.” I’m the bad person in this scenario. I’ve told so many lies in the past few days that I’m starting to believe them.
He shakes his head. “I find that hard to believe, Hermione.”
The reappearance of my nickname makes me glow, and when he says it, I happen to be looking straight at his mouth.
I’m not just looking, though. I’m also thinking—wondering about things I shouldn’t, like what his lips would feel like against the hollow of my throat. Nice, probably.
Warm. Soft. Perfect.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I hear myself ask.
My heart beats hard. Its rhythm pounds in my ears, and it sounds like a chant.Tell him, tell him, tell him.
“Anything,” he says, and I swear he’s looking at my mouth in the same delicious way I’m regarding his.
The ice bucket clatters to the ground, and neither of us react.
“I shouldn’t be part of this pageant. I don’t actually belong.” As the words leave my mouth, I realize that I’m not just trying to confess. I’m also giving voice to my deepest secret—the terrible feeling I’ve been carrying around since Adam told me he’d fallen in love with my twin.
I don’t belonganywhere.
I’m invisible.
Ginny is more beautiful than me. More confident. Just...more. And I’m not only hiding or pretending. I’m slipping away. I’m becoming less and less, and sometimes I think I might disappear altogether.
“Nonsense.” He reaches to brush my hair from my face, then takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “ ‘We’re all mad here.’ ”
