Page 123 of Fangirl
“You’ll wear it with this,” Sam adds, pulling a wide black patent belt. “Snatches the waist. Classic hourglass. Hollywood eats that up.”
“But I don’t even look like me anymore.”
“That’s kind of the idea.” Mariana hums, her eyesgleaming. “And it keeps the attention where it belongs—on the décolletage. Not… the thighs.”
I stiffen. “Are you always this horrible, or just saving it all for me?”
She gasps, hand to heart, but the glint in her eyes gives her away. “Sweetheart, I’m helping. If you can’t take a few jabs from me… you’ve got no idea what’s waiting out there.”
I stand there, still as stone, wishing I could disappear. Not from Jake. Not from love. But from all of this.From them.
But disappearing? That’s exactly what they want.
So I square my shoulders, bite the inside of my cheek, and let them paint me into something they can stomach.
And just like that… I know.
If thisis Mariana being kind, the world waiting outside? It’s going to destroy me.
By the timewe pull up to the house, the sun’s long gone. Security lights flood the driveway, bright and harsh, flashing like paparazzi bulbs.
The driver kills the engine, but I don’t move. I just stare at my reflection, at the stranger staring back, flawless and perfect.
Hair like silk. Nails pristine. Makeup airbrushed into something otherworldly.
The red dress hugs every curve, the patent belt cinches my waist so tight I can barely breathe, and the black stilettoson my feet scream Hollywood.
It’s everything Mariana wanted. Andnoneof it is me.
When I finally gather the courage to step out, he’s there—leaning against the sleek black limo like he stepped off a movie poster.
Tuxedo sharp enough to cut, tie perfectly knotted. Effortless. Untouchable. Every inch the movie star.
Then his eyes find me. And for a moment… he stops breathing. The whole world seems to hold its breath with him.
“Fangirl…” His voice is low and rough, like the word hurts to say. “You’re… absolutely mesmerizing.”
And I know he means it.I know.
But all I can hear is Mariana’s voice, echoing in my head like poison.See? I told you. With the right polish… you could almost pass for someone worth choosing.
He steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly over my waist carefully, like he’s afraid to wrinkle the fabric.Afraid to ruin the perfect picture.
“I mean it,” he murmurs. “You don’t even look real. Part of me wishes we could skip all this… go back inside, and I could just worship you.”
It should thrill me. It should make my heart race, but instead,it stings.
Because I don’t feel real. I feel like a paper doll—dressed up, painted on, posed for the world.
And somewhere deep down, a quiet, cruel voice whispers,This is what he wants. The costume. The mask.
Still, when he offers his arm, I loop mine through it because there’s no backing out now.
My fingers twist the hem of my dress while Jake stares straight ahead. The silence in the car is suffocating. I know he’s nervous, too, but for different reasons. Still, he doesn’t let go of my hand. His thumb traces slow, soothing circles over my skin like it’s instinct. Like he knows I’m barely holding it together.
And then, all too soon, we’re there.
Lights. Cameras. Screaming fans packed behind barricades. Flash after flash turns night into day, the air electric with noise.
