Paige clears her throat. “I have a surprise for Ellie.”
I squish up my face.
“Hurry up and finish,” she says in her bossy voice. “We need to be somewhere in forty-five minutes.”
I look at Fletch, and he shrugs. “I have no idea what Paige is up to.”
“C’mon, Ellie,” Paige says as I pop the last bit of sandwich in my mouth. “Say good-bye to Fletch. You won’t be seeing him until tomorrow, so get everything out of your system now.”
I stand up and kiss Fletch on the cheek. Calista lurks in the doorway, as if waiting for me to leave. Which she probably is. I’m grateful she had enough sense to stay away while we ate.
“Brady,” she says. “Sophie wants to see you.”
“She’s still here?” I whisper to Paige.
“I know, right? I would have run the first chance I had.”
Brady shifts in his seat. “If she wants to talk to me, she can come here.”
Calista shakes her head. “No. I think this is best done in private.”
“I really have nothing to say to her.”
“Just come and listen,” Calista begs.
Paige tugs at my arm and pulls me toward the external door. “As fascinating as this is, we have somewhere to be.”
“Shouldn’t I grab my bag, or something?”
“No need.” Paige waves my concerns away. We walk down the driveway until we come to a waiting car.
“Paige,” I say as the familiar knot forms in my stomach. “I really don’t want to deal with the paparazzi again today.”
“Trust me, this is worth it.” She bounces a little on the balls of her feet.
I sigh. Clearly, Paige is excited by the surprise. “Oh, fine.”
We climb into the backseat of the Town Car, and the driver shuts the door. Paige doesn’t tell him where we’re going. He simply starts driving. Which means she’s really planned something which is super sweet.
When we reach the bottom of the driveway, the gates swing open, and photographers line each side of the car.
“This is madness,” I say.
“Wait until tomorrow. Are you prepared to have helicopters and boats at your wedding?”
“No. And you can’t be serious.”
Paige nods. “I’ve been reading the online gossip sites. TMZ is all over this. It’s, like, front page news. Everyone wants to know more about you. So far, you’re the Mysterious Ellie – a woman Fletch went to high school with.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
The car speeds along the road, and I settle back into my seat. I’m hardly mysterious, but is the fact that I am, all due to Fletch and Calista protecting me? The memory of the reporter at my house flits through my mind. I’m positive I have his card upstairs. If the press is going to write about the wedding, why not give this guy an exclusive. After all, he was at least polite.
We pull into a parking lot of a posh looking place.
“Where are we?” I ask Paige.
“The spa!” She giddily claps her hands together. “You’re getting a massage and facial, along with any waxing you want done.”
“What?” I sputter. “Waxing?”
“For your eyebrows or,” she glances downward. “Other places.”
“A bikini wax?”
“I prefer a Brazilian myself, but if you like being hairy, and Fletch is into it, then you can skip it.”
My face is beet red, and my ears radiate heat.
“What?” Paige says. “Haven’t you ever been waxed before?”
“No,” I gulp.
She grins at me. “Well there’s a first time for everything.”
Paige exits the car, and the driver hurries around to open mine. To my relief, there are no photographers here. They must not have expected me to go out again.
The inside of the spa is cool blues and greens, and extremely serene. I didn’t realize until I stepped inside how wound up I am.
“Hi, we’re here for our appointments. Paige Smith and Ellie Jacobs.”
The front desk woman steps out from behind her post. “This way, please.”
I follow her in a stupor, my mind still mulling over the waxing conversation with Paige. How am I ever going to get through this?
“Ladies, here are your robes. What size shoe are you?”
“Six,” Paige says.
“Seven-and-a-half,” I answer.
The attendant hands us plastic slides. “This way,” she says.
Beyond the solid wood doors are changing rooms, a hot tub, and a sauna. “After you change, you can relax in the waiting room. There’s water and light snacks for you.”
“Thank you,” Paige says. She rips off her clothes – her bra and underwear too – and throws on the robe.
I carefully remove my dress and hang it on a hook inside a locker. I hesitate. I’m I such a prude that I can’t take off my bra and panties?
“You know, Ellie, you get a better massage if you take everything off.”
“That seems to be a theme with you today,” I say, slipping off my panties.
Paige bursts out laughing. “Oh, Ellie. Just go for it. It will always grow back.”
“And itch like a mother fucker.” I hang my bra up with my dress.
“That too,” Paige smiles at me. “I’ll hold your hand, if you need me to.”
“Other than someone pouring hot wax on my lady parts, the only thing that could make it worse is you being there to watch my horror.”
I wrap the plush robe around myself and tighten the belt. “What are you having done?” I ask as we stroll into the waiting room.
“Same as you.”
“Didn’t you just spa with Sophie?”
Paige nods. “I only had a massage, and I really need a facial.”
A door opens and a woman pops her head through. “Ellie?”
I stand, unsure of what’s waiting for me on the other side. “Hi, Ellie. My name is Theresa. I’ll be doing your facial today.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Theresa leads me down a hallway and into a dimly lit room. In the middle is a table with a white blanket on it. “Go ahead and hang your robe here. Then climb under the blanket. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The door shuts, and I hurriedly remove the robe and jump under the blanket, pulling it up to my armpits.
A soft knock on the door. “Ellie? Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say.
Theresa enters the room and keeps the light dim. She pulls a large lighted magnifying glass over to me and begins examining my skin. “You have combination skin, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. We’re not going to do extractions today since I hear you’re getting married tomorrow.” She smiles at me. “Instead I’ll focus on brightening the skin and making you look radiant.”
I have no idea what extractions are, but they sound unpleasant. “That sounds great,” I say.
For the next sixty minutes, Theresa rubs potions and lotions on my face, neck, and décolletage. When she’s finished, she hands me a mirror. My skin looks dewy and smooth.
“You’re getting waxed too, aren’t you?” Theresa asks.
“Ummm…” I swallow hard. “Yes?”
Theresa laughs. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen everything and am very good with first-timers.”
She hands me a paper sheet – the kind the gynecologist uses – and says, “Drape this over the top half of your body.”
“Okay.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit nervous.
“Are we going for something in particular today? Just a bikini wax or a Brazilian or perhaps something in-between?”
“Something in-between.”
Theresa studies my apparently-offensive pubic hair, and I feel extremely exposed. “How about we take everything off down low and leave a nice triangle up top?”
This. Sounds. Painful. “Okay,” I answer.
Theresa starts trimming my hair with scissors.
“Relax, Ellie. It will be over before you know it.”
She dips a stick into hot wax and spreads it on my inner thigh. Next she lays a piece of cloth over it and rubs vigorously.
“Holy hell!” I yell.
Theresa laughs. “The first one always hurts the worst. She’s already spreading wax on my labia. I clench my fists and hold my breath. She rips the hair off, and again I yell out.
“They’re going to think I’m murdering you in here,” Theresa clucks.
Finally, she’s done, and I’m left feeling very bare and sensitive. “You should feel better by the time your massage is over,” Theresa says.
She hands me my robe. “When you’re doing getting dressed, meet me in the hallway.”
After she shuts the door, I rub my crotch. I will never be doing that again. I don’t care what Paige says.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Paige says as we relax on chaise lounges drinking cucumber water.
“It wasn’t bad,” I say. “It was horrific.”
Paige sticks out her tongue. “Don’t you know, Ellie, that sometimes we must suffer for beauty?”
“That had nothing to do with beauty, you sadist.”
At this, Paige lets out a long, rolling laugh. “Oh, Ellie. You are too funny.”
I stand and stretch. “Should we be going? It has to be late.”
“Probably.” Paige tightens her robe. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
I don’t know what to say. Part of me thinks I’m out of my mind, but the stronger, more vocal part feels an overwhelming sense of calm. What I’m more nervous about is seeing my dad. And Fletch’s mom - that should be fun.
“A little, but I feel like this has been a long time coming.”
Paige nods. “A very torturous time. At least for those of us watching from the sidelines.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m just saying.”
We hurry and change into our clothes. At the front counter, the lady working tells us that everything has been paid for.
“What?” I say. “Did you do this, Paige?”
Paige shakes her head. “Fletch?”
The woman shuffles some papers and types on a keyboard. “It says here, Brady Pearson.”
My jaw drops, and Paige - for once - is speechless. Brady likes to surprise me, but this…this is beyond generous.
“He left a note. It says, ‘Thanks for saving me.’”
Paige bursts out laughing. “Ahhh, Brady. He must have worked things out with Sophie and her family.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he had time to do this.” She puts up one finger. “And his parents haven’t cut him off completely.” A second finger flips up.
We walk out to the waiting car. “You know, Ellie, you’re going to have to get used to people doing things for you. Especially Fletch.”
And there’s the problem. I’m not comfortable with the idea of Fletch’s money. When we were together, he was always one step away from being disowned. Granted, he would borrow his family’s jet to come out and visit me, but I never saw it. He could have been flying commercial for all I knew. And he’d never complain about our meals of ramen, or hot dogs, or anything, really. It was as if the money didn’t exist.
But now I have to see it first hand. I have to acknowledge it and find a way to be comfortable with it.
I don’t know if I can.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Paige says. “You thinking about tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Everything is going to be great. As much as Calista hates you, she loves Fletch more.”
I draw my brows together and side-eye Paige. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better, how?”
“All I’m saying is that Calista will do a good job, and you shouldn’t worry about any of the details. Focus on you.”
I inhale deeply. Paige has a point.
“Just close your eyes and enjoy the high that comes from being pampered.”
“Still hate you for the waxing,” I say. Despite Theresa’s insistence, I’m still sore down there.
Paige giggles. “The things we do for beauty.”
The car turns up the driveway, and the gates swing open. The throng of reporters and photographers has thinned for the night. We make it through with no one banging on the car or the flash of the camera.
After we park and walk inside the house, I give Paige a giant hug and head up to my bedroom. Dad gets in tomorrow morning, and I want to be up and ready to see him. It’s been a few months, and excitement builds in my chest.
Something defiant bubbles inside me, something I can’t fully explain. I find the business card the reporter gave me at my apartment. James Roberts. I wonder if he’s still around at this time of night. It’s worth a try.
My hands shake as I dial the number listed on the card.
“Roberts, here.”
“Hi, James. This is Ellie Jacobs.”
There’s a commotion on the other side of the phone. “Ellie Jacobs?” he says. Disbelief fills his words.
“Yes. We met outside my apartment on Thursday.” I say this to give him some proof that it’s really me.
“Of course. How could I forget?”
“I said I’d call when I had something to say.” I walk in a small circle.
“And do you?” He’s breathless, like a man about to hear good news.
“I assume you heard I’m marrying Fletch Colson.” As the words leave my mouth, I want to vomit. What am I doing courting the media? I’m in way over my head, and I have a feeling it’s going to come back to haunt me.
“So, it’s true?”
“Yes. We’re getting married tomorrow.”
The frantic clacking of a keyboard fills my ear.
“How did you meet?” James asks.
I shuffle over to the window. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but it may keep others from digging into Fletch and my past.
“We met in high school. His friends dared him to be just my friend for the school year.”
“How did that go?”
“It started out okay, but as time went on, we started to fall in love with each other.”
“What did you do about it?”
“Fletch and I took a cross-country trip the summer after graduation. And then I went to Brown, and he stuck around, taking an off-campus apartment.”
“Which explains why he started a year late at Stanford.”
“Uh huh,” I say. I don’t want to get into the fight between Fletch and his dad, because that’s not my story to tell.
“What happened after he went to Stanford?”
“We kept in touch. He’d come visit, but that all ended when Will Colson died.”
“That’s when Fletch took over GroudFloor.” It’s a statement more than a question.
“Yes,” I say.
“Would you say Fletch jilted you after his dad’s death?”
I stare out the open floor-to-ceiling window. Even media-shy me knows not to talk about Fletch’s breakdown. Again, it’s not my story to tell, and it could harm his business - especially if he’s seen as mentally incompetent.
“I would say we grew apart.”
“You know of his relationship with Calista Demarais?”
At the mention of Calista’s name, my stomach plummets. “Calista has always been like a sister to Fletch. In fact, she’s here, at the wedding.”
“That doesn’t explain the kiss the two of them shared earlier today.”
Heat spreads up my back and into my head. Nausea rolls in my gut. What was he doing kissing Calista today? Kissing her at all?
“I have to go,” I say.
“Ellie, wait. Just a few more questions.”
“No. I’m sorry.” I click off my phone and drop to my knees. What was Fletch doing kissing Calista? And why hadn’t anyone told me? I uncurl my fingers, loosing my grip on the phone. I know TMZ was here, so I type in the website and begin
scrolling through stories. About half-way down the page is a picture of Fletch and Calista kissing in a restaurant. I toss my phone on the bed and run for the bathroom. I heave into the sink.
“How could he do this? Going out with Calista for a drink is one thing; kissing her is something else entirely.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I’ll never be enough for Fletch. Maybe he was just telling me what I wanted to hear when he said he hadn’t been with anyone else since we parted ways.
I stumble back to my bed, determined to get to the bottom of Calista-gate. I study the picture closer. Her hand rests at the base of his neck, and his arm is around her back pulling her into him.
Is this what Fletch meant when he said he used Calista as a decoy? Did they run around kissing for the cameras? And if so, what happened when they were in private?
My legs shake as I head toward the door. What am I going to do? More importantly, where am I going?
To Fletch’s room.
I shuffle across the hallway, phone firmly in hand, and bang on his door. My heart hammers against my chest. When Fletch doesn’t answer, my mind is filled with images of him and Calista having one last hurrah before Fletch marries me. And what’s the point of marrying me if he’s also in love with Calista?
“He’s with Brady and Reid.”
I fight back tears and anger. Calista stands in a doorway further down the hallway.
“I saw the pictures, Calista. I know what you did.”
She rolls her eyes. “So we kissed. Big deal.”
“He’s my fiancé. How do you think it looks when he’s kissing you in public.”
She shrugs. “Not my problem.”
Rage courses through my veins, and I spit out my words. “Where are they? The guys?”
“Down on the beach.”
I turn away from, well, my arch-nemesis. As I walk away, her eyes burn into my back. I know full well that she’s hoping this will undo Fletch and me. And maybe it will, but not until I get his side of the story.
When I reach the beach, I kick off my shoes. The guys sit behind one of the pavilions, passing a joint back-and-forth.
“Fletch?”
His head pops up. “Ellie? What are you doing out here? I thought I wasn’t supposed to see you until the wedding.”
“Did you kiss Calista today?” My voice shakes.
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