Page 95 of King
Chapter 28
Ella
Upon awakening Saturday morning, I was immediately thankful for Camille’s reminder to us all to take some Tylenol and hydrate before going to bed. I’d had a wine hangover a time or two in my life, and they were no fun.
Then, I remembered Dante, and the shitshow from yesterday. A blinding pain gripped my chest as the memory of his words ran through my mind. Tears threatened, and I furiously blinked them away.
“Not today, Satan. Not today. As a matter of fact, not ever fucking again,” I vowed, as I tossed back the covers and got out of bed. I took extra time in the shower, pampering myself in an effort to erase the effects of my heartbreak.
By the time I sat down next to Camille and Kim at her small dining table, the numbness from yesterday had faded, only to be replaced by a white-hot rage.
How fucking dare he treat me like that? Use me like that? The man was one hell of an actor, that was for sure. Well, two could play that game. By the time I saw him again, I was determined to hide every hint of heartache he’d caused me. I wouldn’t show even an ounce of insecurity or vulnerability. I would be strong, resolute, and completely immune to Dante Morgan and his particular brand of bullshit.
We ate a quick breakfast and readied ourselves to face a day of shopping with Kim, whose enjoyment of it wasn’t dampened at all by the fact that she did it for a living.
“All right ladies, let’s shop ‘til we drop.”
For the next couple of hours, my objections were ignored as Kim and Camille found clothing that they declared would look great on me.
I tried on four other outfits before Kim and Camille both declared outfit number five to be the winner. I groaned as I looked at myself in the mirror.
“No, absolutely not.” I tried to reach for the zipper, but Camille and Kim both batted my hands away.
“That top looks fabulous on you, El.” I rolled my eyes at my cousin, then at Camille when she agreed with her.
It was a corset-style top that zipped up the back, with small silver, decorative buckles up the front, and one-inch straps that crisscrossed over my shoulders in the back. The fabric was a thick, satiny material underneath, with a lacy overlay that made it look more feminine than dominatrix. I had to admit that the deep, claret red color looked great with my dark hair and skin tone. It cinched in at my waist, but my breasts looked like they were in danger of spilling out if I took a deep breath.
“I’m at least ten years too old to pull off this look,” I protested, “and my boobs look positively indecent.”
“No, you’re not,” Kim retorted, “and the girls look great.”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it, babe.” Camille was doing some flaunting of her own with a scooped-neck top with barely-there straps, and a pair of suede pants that looked painted on.
“Now, lose the jeans and try this on,” Kim said, tossing me the black leather skirt she’d just tried on.
“But these are my favorite jeans, and they make my butt look good,” I gestured to the pants that I’d worn today.
“They do look great on you, but we’re going for fabulous and fuckable tonight, remember? Try on the skirt, El.” I knew by the stubborn look on her face that Kim wouldn’t stop hounding me until I tried it on. It hit an inch or two below mid-thigh and had a small slit on each side to allow for movement.
“Damn, that looks much better on you than it does me. You’re definitely getting that, and the corset.”
Luckily, I was able to convince her that the strappy, black sandals with a three-inch heel that I’d brought with me would look nice with the rest of the outfit, even though Kim tried to talk me into a pair of stilettos that I knew would result in an injury by the end of the night.
“I don’t need a broken ankle on top of my broken heart,” I pointed out.
Kim paused in the act of tying a vibrant purple bandage dress that showcased her curves to perfection. “No, hon. He may have bruised your heart, butnothingcan break you. You survived Dr. Douchebag, so you sure as hell can survive Dickhead Dante.”
“I’m not sure I can,” I confessed, sinking down onto the edge of the bench in the changing room. “I love him, or at least the man he was pretending to be.” Tears welled up in my eyes again, and Camille grabbed a tissue from her purse and thrust it into my hands. I dabbed my eyes and blinked rapidly, trying not to ruin my makeup again.
My best friend sat down on one side of me, and my cousin on the other. Camille wrapped an arm around my shoulder, while Kim nudged my arm with her elbow.
“I know it hurts, but that rat-bastard isn’t worth your tears, Ellie-belle. We’re going to go out tonight, and you’re going to hold your head high and enjoy yourself. You aren’t the loser here. He is. You lost a lying, cheating sack of shit. He lost a woman with the most loving, giving heart, not to mention a killer body. He’s the one who’s going to be stuck with skanks and whores for the rest of his miserable life, while you’ll find a man worthy of everything you are.”
I took a deep, calming breath as Kim’s words sunk in. As much as I wanted to believe her, I wasn’t sure it would happen for me.
“I’m not sure that I could ever open myself up to this kind of heartache again. I think my heart may be closed for business,” I whispered.
Camille gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Well, tonight, don’t worry about your heart. As long as your body is in business, you’ll be just fine. Remember, the fastest way to get over somebody is to – “
