Page 7 of My Puckin' Luck
“Oh, Misty, stop, okay? I’m nothing like the heroine Maureen DuPree, and Saint’s not the count.” I snort. “Far from it. Let’s get back to reality now.”
There’s no way Saint would change his wily ways. And I certainly don’t think I’m the woman who could convince him to settle down.Why not you?The words he said to me on the rooftop float back to me as I stifle a yawn. Then hammering starts up above us.
“What is that?” Misty scrunches her face looking up at the ceiling.
“The condo above me must be getting gutted and completely redone. It’s been noisy nonstop all week. The workers start at five in the morning, waking me up. They don’t finish until late at night, a few breaks in between. I’ve lost sleep. Lucky for me I use the thickest concealer on the market under my eyes.”
“Your walls and floors here must be razor-thin. Have you complained to the association?”
“I have, demanding they work only during working hours and not on the weekends. No word back yet.”
She shakes her head and stands and puts the strap of the camera with a nice lens around her neck. At least she’s distracted enough now that should be the end of this nonsense about me saving Saint.
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for being willing to be photographed for my new website. Now, let me see. What would make the perfect backdrop?” She peers about while I fuss with myself in the mirror one last time.
The sheer white lace of the dress skims my full-figured body, neck to thigh, cascading in an asymmetrical hem down below my knee. A white satin mini dress under the lace—and avery constricting bodysuit that is supposed to make twenty-five pounds vanish instantaneously—cover my ample assets. Leaves little to the imagination, though. With my curves, I typically shy away from something so revealing.
The feathered wings are a little heavy on my back, but so realistic. This mask is perfection. White lace dotted with tiny crystals covers most my face, leaving my eyes and my red lips in view. I’m a walking Victoria’s lingerie angel model if they made angel stuff for plus size women like me.
I feel like I’m not me, but a glamorous other version of me. Can I pull this off? I’ve worked hard all year, starting with the high of achieving the coveted head screenwriter spot at the studio at last, and culminating in seeing my first solely-written script made into a new holiday movie,A Little Luck at Christmas, premiering the week of Thanksgiving. I deserve to hold my head high.
“Look at you,” Misty gasps, snapping a few photos of me there. I smile, determined from this point on, not to ruin this night. “As Saint’s date-only-as-a-friend, I don’t think he’ll notice any other woman in the room.”
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
She takes my hand and leads me out onto the balcony where the sun is setting. The soft purples and oranges of the dimming sky are the perfect backdrop to my costume. She snaps away.
“You’re more than an angel, Anastasia, but a temptress. The camera loves you,” she says.
Temptress? That’s something I haven’t been called before, what with my thick thighs and backside? But I like it, and it fills me with insane confidence, enough to keep posing for several more until my cheeks ache from smiling and giggling with her so much. This is exactly the break from my real life I need.
Back inside, Misty and I scan through the photos on her laptop as they load from the camera. She sends me a few of our favorites to share on my social media for fun.
“These photos are perfect for my website. I cannot thank you enough. Anyway, the costume is gorgeous. You’re all set here, and I’m off to meet Storm and Nana. We’re taking her out to eat at a fancy seafood restaurant over in Malibu.” She packs her camera bag and computer.
“Ooh-la-la, must be nice dating a rich professional hockey player,” I tease her, but I couldn’t be more happy for her.
“If only you lived in Denver, I’d introduce you to some of the single guys on the Aspens team.”
“Unless California falls into the ocean after an earthquake someday and Hollywood relocates to Denver, I don’t see myself moving there any time soon, but thanks. Anyway, tell Nana I can’t wait to take her with me to the movie premiere.”
My studio hosts a red-carpet private showing event for each new movie.A Little Luck at Christmaswill forever be special to me as my first solo script, some of it inspired by old movies Misty and I would watch with Nana now and then.
To see my words and vision come to life at the studio all year, from the actors on set to the editing and production, it has been a special treat. I even played a cameo role in one scene as a barista handing the stars of the show their coffees. To have Nana with me attending the big premiere night will be so special.
“I wish I could go with you to the premiere, but since it’s on Storm’s birthday…”
“I get it. You’ve traded me in for the love of your life.” I joke and bump her with my hip.
“Of course, if you and Saint would get together we could have all kinds of double dates.” Her brows wiggle up and down.
“Oh, Misty, hush about that. Come here.” We hug again, close like sisters. “I know we’ll see each other tomorrow night for Storm’s game, but I miss you already.”
“Me, too.” We part, both of us dabbing our eyes. “And I’m sorry if I pressed too hard about Saint. Now that I’ve found Storm, I just want you to find your forever-man, too. It seems like every time we get together, you’re the um…”
“The lovable side character who never finds love but is always there for the heroine? Thanks for reminding me.” I smirk, but then chuckle. “It is what it is. I’m not compromising on quality. Someday I’ll find the guy that deserves me. He’s just playing hard to get.”
After she leaves, I still have a little time until the car arrives that Saint is sending to pick me up. My thoughts wander, thinking over the news about him with someone in his past. The photos of the woman and the baby. What happened to them? Are they the cause of the undercurrent of sadness I think his cocky disposition constantly tries to overcompensate for?
