Page 9 of Misadventures with a Duke

I cut myself off with another mutter.

“Wow.”

The garment has solid construction. The stitching is intricate and precise. And the unique rose color…wow yet again. This shade was probably achieved by using actual roses, mixed with things like cabbage and crushed cochineals for vibrancy, though God only knows what the original hue actually was. Time fades everything…

Except my best friend’s lover, the man who might have become king of France but left it all behind to get to my friend’s side. Behind, as in two hundred years in the past.

So, yeah, they literally don’t make men like that anymore.

And I’m surprised that Justin left me…why?

“All right, you’ve got to let this go, girl.” My grumble is as violent as the shake of my head, reflected at me from the mirrored front of Allie’s wide closet. “Are you listening? You’re not that Eeyore, Raegan Tavish.”

The woman who actually occupies that role is across town, catching up from sleep deprivation. I love Drue, thundercloud and all, especially because that keeps me, the resident Tigger of our trio, from getting too hyped about everything from celebrity sightings in the Village to seasonal sticky buns at Amy’s Bread.

Now I want my bounce back. Right the hell now. I long to look in the mirror and see a sparkle again. I want to smile back at myself and mean it. To even look at myself naked and appreciate what I see. To acknowledge everything about myself with something other than loathing and disgust.

Yes…even that part of me.

The spot I acknowledge with a fist to the center of my chest, pressing so hard my knuckles go white. Reminding me of that spot, between my breasts, that will never let go of my consciousness. The scar that never fails to remind me, at moments when I least need it, of the truth about the heart that beats beneath it. The facts it’s learned the hard way.

Feelings aren’t always my friends.

Friends aren’t always that real.

Reality is rarely based on either.

But there’s my silver lining. Because A, I’m always determined to find that elusive alloy in the clouds. And B, it means I can make reality whatever I damn well please.

Yesss.

I close my eyes. Lift my head. Haul in a long breath. But I’m taking in more than air. I absorb the energy from the whole city around me. All these people… I can’t let them down. Not the millions who’ve survived heat waves, blizzards, subway derailments, terrorist attacks, and a global pandemic. What would anyone say if I admitted defeat to my own reflection?

You’re better than this. Do it. Now.

With a determined huff, I jog up my chin.

“You’re going to be okay,” I command myself.

The words bring more than surface validation. They make me…confident. I start to actually…like myself.

Another sharp, long breath. Another effort to keep looking at myself—and affirming what I see.

“You’re really going to be okay.”

I smile as soon as my ears register the steadier tone. Its underlying—and enduring—strength.

“You’re done with him, damn it. You’re done being ashamed because of him. All of you is done with it.”

My chin wobbles, but my hands don’t. I shake my head, letting more anger in. Why have I let a few inches in the middle of my body define how I feel about every other inch of it? Why have I let Justin, and others like him, keep telling me that’s okay?

Because it’s not.

And now it’s time to prove it.

“Damn right it is.”

I don’t scream the words. But they’re still a new manifesto, ready for me to put into action. I start that plan by leaning over and pulling my favorite pair of fuzzy socks off my feet. That’s just the start. I don’t plan on stopping until my leggings are off too. And everything after that.