It’s a soft, delicate rose color – not brash and it’s not too girly-girly. It’s kind of 1950’s, I suppose: nipped in at the waist and with a full skirt. And I never thought that kind of thing would suit me, what with my skinny dancer’s figure, but hey, it actually looks pretty damn great.
I guess after all, I do just want to be a perfect fifties housewife for Dylan. (Lol!)
And now, here we all are – Dylan and me, Gloria and Bailey, and of course Isabella. The only member of the immediate Campbell family who isn’t here is Spencer, Dylan’s brother. He’s still doing aid work out in Bangladesh – but Dylan assures me he’ll fill Spencer in, just as soon as we’ve told everyone else our news.
Just like I did with Nat, I’m keeping my left hand firmly pressed between my knees beneath the table. After all, I know just how totally excited Dylan is about the big announcement and I don’t want to accidentally steal his thunder by flashing my ring.
“Finally! I’m famished,” Bailey laughs as the appetizers arrive at our table.
“I just love British food,” Gloria adds, and she’s right. The food looks really amazing. It’s actually not particularly British though. According to the menu, tonight’s dishes are Persian-inspired cuisine; a delicate noodle and bean soup, full of rich, fragrant flavors.
But even though it’s totally delicious, I can only manage a few spoonfuls – I’m just too damn nervous to eat anything. I just pray that Gloria and Bailey don’t notice and think I’m being rude or ungrateful or anything.
As usual, Isabella’s taking center stage – monopolizing the conversation. And as she talks, I can’t help but admire all over again the way she’s adapted her style to suit her new ‘London’ lifestyle. Tonight she has her hair pulled back in a really severe ponytail with a cruel slash of red lipstick that makes her mouth look especially pointy, and she’s wearing a black trouser suit – so low cut it looks like she’s not wearing anything under her jacket. I just hope it’s just an illusion (otherwise she’s going to flash half of London before the night is through), and she’s completed this totally daring look with a pair of killer heels that make me feel dizzy just looking at them.
Yep. Classic Bella: bold as ever.
“I mean,” she says to the table, as she describes the time she met a certain English celebrity supermodel, “I, like, know she looks amazing in all the photos and everything, and she’s still super skinny, but in real life? You can definitely tell she’s like forty or whatever. And she still smokes, too, which is totally gross if you ask me. I mean who still smokes in twenty sixteen?
Just then, Gloria cuts in. “Yes, your father and I met Kate at a fundraiser. Do you remember, darling? Angela and Michael’s dinner in LA?”
Bailey begins to rack his brains – obviously casting his mind back across the many hundreds of thousands of fancy dinners he must’ve attended over the years – but there’s no point. Because as soon as the conversation is no longer directly about Isabella anymore, about her experience of meeting Kate Moss, she’s no longer listening.
I sigh quietly.
At times like this, Bella has the ability to drive me mad, and even make me wonder why I like her at all.
But I guess she’s just one of those people who can get away with murder. Some people are simply like that. And she definitely has her good points, too, I remind myself. Ever since she’s decided we’re on the same side, I guess I’ve liked her a whole lot more. And in a strange, roundabout way, she’s fiercely loyal, too. I just know she’d have my back if push came to shove.
The conversation zips along so fast that everyone except me has finished their entrees before I’ve even realized that Dylan’s discreetly ordered a fresh bottle of Dom Perignon.
Oh God, it’s happening.
Keep it together, Julia.
I take a big deep breath, pressing my left hand hard between my knees, heart booming in my chest, as Dylan begins to lift himself out of his seat and raise his glass, casting his eyes around the table, waiting for everyone to settle down.
Okay, here goes nothing.
“I’m so honored to be here today,” he begins with a big smile. “Here with the people I love most in the whole wide world. And Mom, Dad, Bella? I want you all to join me in standing and raising a toast to the woman who has agreed to be my wife. To my beautiful fiancé, Julia.”
As he drops the f-word, everyone gasps with surprise, and there’s even more smiling and cheering as I proudly, take my hand from beneath the table and show off my beautiful ring.
Okay! I think. What was I even worried about?
“Congratulations son,” Bailey chuckles heartily, leaning in to clap Dylan on the back. “The day I married your beautiful mother was the happiest day of my life. And I just know you two kids will share many similar years of happiness. And congratulations to you too, of course, Julia!” he adds, turning to give me a big warm squeeze. “I look forward to welcoming you into our family.”
Isabella rises from her seat too, and comes tottering over to my side of the table on those skyscraper high heels, threatening to spill out of her jacket as she lunges in and hugs me so tight it knocks the air right out of me.
But the moment we’re done hugging, there’s only one thing she wants to know. “You are going to make me a bridesmaid aren’t you? You have to promise!”
I nod, and whisper, “of course,” all the while worrying about how the hell Bella and Nat are gonna possibly get on while organizing the bridal shower.
Gloria, who’s been busy hugging her son, finally turns to face me, takes my hand in hers, and says simply, “Congratulations, Julia.”
Well, that could have gone a whole lot worse! I think to myself happily.
I look around me at the table – charged now with a new kind of excitement. The news is sinking in. Everyone’s talking and smiling and chattering, and Bailey’s just ordered two glasses of the finest whiskey in the house for him and his son.
So it takes me by surprise when I feel a hand grab my arm.
“Julia,” Bella hisses. “I need you to come to the bathroom with me, pronto.”
But before I can even ask why, she’s practically frog marched me to the restrooms which, thankfully, are empty. She’s obviously got something pretty important on her mind, because as soon as we reach the powdering tables, she starts chattering away like there’s no tomorrow.
“Okay, so I have been seeing Tyler, and thing have been going well. Like really well.”
“Bella, that’s great,” I smile, genuinely happy for her. Because although she makes out like she’s only interested in guys for fun and partying, I suspect that deep down, she might be kind of lonely – and I’m really glad she’s found someone, too.
“But that’s not the whole thing,” she sighs, her shoulders suddenly slumping, her jacket gaping open to reveal her whole left breast, her pale pink nipple pointing up at me accusingly. But I figure now isn’t quite the time to mention this little wardrobe malfunction.
“Things were going great,” she says sadly. “Only something, well, happened.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly worried for her.
“So he’s got this apartment. This flat, right? In Kensington. That nobody knows about. And, well, we’ve been using it to, you know, to hook up. Except somebody did find out about it. Somebody blabbed and told the goddamn press. I bet it was that bitch from Angels Inc. Anyway, turns out the paparazzi must have been staking it out for weeks, because there’s all these photos – of me arriving at night and leaving again the next morning, and Tyler kissing me goodbye. Pretty much everything the tabloid press would need to make a good story.”
“Holy shit,” I say. “So what happened to the photos?”
“We got lucky this time,” she explains. “Tyler’s management team bought them. But it wasn’t cheap, and they made it clear that this was gonna be the last time they’d do anything like this to help me out.”
“Last time? What does that mean?” I say.
&nbs
p; “It means,” Bella replies, with a trademark curl of her bright red lip, “that they want me gone. Like, totally out of the picture. They say that the fans aren’t ready for Tyler to have a relationship just yet. Not at this stage in his career. And they also made it clear that they’ve been looking into my background, too, and even if Tyler was allowed to have a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be with someone like me. They even hinted at more photos – ones I really wouldn’t want the press to see, if you know what I mean? Not if I was serious about my own acting career, they said.”
“Oh my god, Bella. What other photos?”
“Geez, Jules! I don’t know!” she sighs, throwing up her hands, her jacket gaping open on the other side two now – both breasts on full display now.
Eyes up top, Julia, I remind myself, trying to nod seriously like I haven’t just been totally flashed by my brand new sister-in-law-to-be.
“If somebody was going to be taking those kind of photos,” Bella explains, “then I’d hardly be sober enough to remember, now would I?”
I have to admit, she’s got a point.
I guess they could just be calling her bluff, hoping she’s another Kim Kardashian with a sex tape hidden in the attic. But maybe there are photos – ones she wouldn’t want getting out.
“So what’re you gonna do?” I ask, relieved when she notices her jacket and pulls it back across her chest.
“I don’t know!” she sighs. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you! You seem to have everything pretty figured out. What would you do?”
“Oh man, I’ve gotta be honest,” I reply. “I really don’t know what you should do. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever been threatened by my boyfriend’s management company and some hungry paparazzi before. But why don’t you leave it with me? I might need to have a think about this one.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Come on ladies, where do you think you are? Kindergarten? I want to see you hold those arms straight for once in your lives! Let’s go again, and this time concentrate. Okay, one, two, three, four ...”
Holy crap. Madame Lyon is being an absolute slave driver today. She’s really busting our asses. I mean, I suspected the second term would be harder than the first, but this is a whole new ballgame. The way she’s been putting us through our paces today, I feel like my feet are about to drop off any moment, and when I look around the class I can tell I’m not the only one who’s feeling the strain. Everyone’s drenched in sweat and gasping with exhaustion, just trying their hardest to keep going.
Well, almost everyone.
As my gaze rests on Liliya I feel another now-familiar stab of annoyance.
God damn her.
I swear down, that girl’s not even broken a sweat!
I try to push the jealous thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the brand new sequence of moves that Madame Lyon’s been drilling into us, trying to follow the beat, but I must be even more annoyed and distracted by Liliya than I realize, because the next thing I know, I’m stumbling over my own feet, nearly losing my balance altogether, arms flailing out ahead of me, graceful as a freaking dump truck.
I look up, hoping to God that Madame Lyon didn’t notice, but sure enough she’s already picked me out with her hawk-like gaze and signaled to the assistant stop the music. (I swear that woman must have eyes in the back of her head.)
“Oh, Julia,” she sighs, loud enough for the whole damn class to hear, and sure enough they turn and look at me as Madame Lyon continues to ball me out. “I expected more from you. Balance is a basic requirement of being a dancer. And if you can’t even remain upright, then you’ve got even more to worry about than I thought.”
“I’m fine, Madame!” I lie, feeling my face starting to flush with embarrassment. I’m sorry, I just ...”
“Just nothing,” Madame Lyon interrupts. “No excuses. Okay, let’s start from the top” she calls to the whole class, clapping her hands and nodding for the music to strike up again. “And this time,” she adds, her cold blue eyes picking me out once again, “no rookie errors. A-one, two, three, four ...”
As I start to dance I redouble my focus, determined that absolutely nothing is going to throw me off my stride this time around. And as I move, I work on being absolutely present in the moment, just the way I used to be able to do so easily, because when everything clicks into place, it can be the greatest feeling in the world, and I need to remember that. I can’t let these stupid petty jealousies get in the way. My dancing career is way too important for that.
I whirl and jump, giving myself up to the beat, the rhythm, and just for a moment I feel myself spinning away from my negative thought spiral. There’s just me and the dance, the rest of it fading away as I give this everything I’ve got.
Finally, the music comes to a crescendo finish and Madame Lyon smiles as she looks slowly around the class.
“Okay, good,” she nods, satisfied. “That was much better. You can relax for a moment.”
The whole class falls to the floor in a sweaty, exhausted heap, except of course for Liliya, who remains perfectly upright for a moment, just to rub it in, before slowly and gracefully lowering herself to the floor, back totally straight, legs folding delicately beneath her, as utterly poised as a fairy princess.
How does she even do that?!
“Good work, class,” says Madame Lyon. “I pushed you hard today. Some of you more than others.”
Wait.
I swore she just winked at Liliya as if to say ‘sure, I know that was no sweat for you, baby.’ Or am I just being paranoid?
“And as you all know,” Madame Lyon continues, “the auditions for the end of year recital are in under four weeks. I don’t need to remind you what a big deal this is. All the top agents and talent scouts will be in attendance, so it’s your first – and maybe most important – chance to really shine and display your talents to the world at large. Details of auditions will be going up on the main notice board in the next few days. Attendance is mandatory.”
I gulp, shooting a nervous glance across the studio at Liliya.
Seems like my suspicions might be right.
I really have got my work cut out for me, haven’t I?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nat’s been totally desperate for me to meet Marcus, her new boyfriend, and tonight’s the night it’s happening. I can’t help it. I have a really bad feeling about this. And when I arrive at the bar we’ve arranged to meet in, I have to say, that feeling just gets worse.
I look around me, hoping my face doesn’t give away just how gross and creepy I’m finding this bar. It definitely isn’t the type of place that Dylan would ever take me. For starters, I’m practically the only woman in here (apart from the waitresses, of course), and this fact alone makes me feel more than a little uncomfortable.
It’s clear as day: this is obviously a place for guys. And if this is the kind of place Marcus wants to meet in, I can’t help but wonder if he really does have Nat’s best interests at heart.
As I wait for them to arrive, I thank my lucky stars that I’m wearing a simple and not-at-all-revealing grey dress, because I don’t feel at all comfortable being in here on my own. Everywhere I look, I can see men with hungry stares, eyeing up the poor waitresses like they’re hunks of meat.
Damn, I think. I’m so glad that isn’t me anymore.
But the thought reminds me that not so very long ago, didn’t I think that Dylan was one of those exact same assholes? I mean, he certainly behaved that way, the first few times we met, didn’t he?
I’ll never forget those words he first uttered to me, that first night we met in the bar:
I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your panties.
And I had to get to know him a whole lot better, before he eventually proved me wrong.
So in light of all that, I guess I shouldn’t be quite so judgmental and give this Marcus guy a break. I mean, I haven’t even met him yet, and here I am judging him like crazy. Hell, if he’s making Natalia happy, then h
e must be doing something right ... right?
Just then, I hear a voice calling, “Jules!” and I look up to see Nat strutting towards me with the same confident swagger that she has whenever she enters any room – like she owns the damn place. I can’t help but smile to think how quickly she’s adapted to this glitzy new lifestyle. And there by her side, dressed in an obviously expensive black suit, is Marcus.
Nat wasn’t wrong. He is good looking. I mean, he’s not a patch on Dylan, but of course I’m going to think that. But anyway, Marcus is tall, with luscious curly blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a thin, striking nose, high cheekbones and a strong, manly jaw. Yep, he pretty much ticks every box on the what-women-want checklist alright.
But as Nat comes striding towards me, I notice this strange mocking glint in his eye when he sees me, and despite all my promises not to pre-judge him, it just doesn’t give me a good feeling.
Remember, Julia. Give him a chance, just like you gave Dylan.
“Marcus,” Nat says, turning to him. “I want you to meet my best friend in the whole entire world, Julia Tate. She’s a wicked good dancer, funny as hell, and just the best friend any girl could hope to have.”
“Aha,” he replies, that weird glint in his eye intensifying as he looks me up and down. “So this is what Dylan Campbell’s fiancé looks like!”
Okay, okay.
So I know I said I’d give him half a chance, but holy crap: major alarm bells are ringing already.
Dylan Campbell’s fiancé?
Is that all he thinks of me?
Hell no!
Like Nat said, I’m Julia Tate. I’m my own freaking person. And if this asshole is only interested in that one single aspect of me, then that is not a good sign.
But if he’s offended me already, it’s not something Nat’s picked up on. She’s still innocently smiling away and I feel my heart sink at the thought of having to fake a whole happy polite evening with this total scumbag.
“I’m so glad you guys have finally met!” Nat says, totally oblivious to the weird tense mood that’s developing like a grey cloud between Marcus and I.
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