Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(56)

But that’s not why I hate her.

I hate her because of the way Ethan is looking at her. Despite his assertions just moments ago that he had no problems being at this party alone, when he’s looking at her his face says otherwise.

I was right about her being the reason he had to reinvent me. I may be the subject of this modern Pygmalion story, but she’s the motivation.

Suddenly I’m all too aware that I’m playing dress-up. That although I think I’m falling in love with him, the only reason he’s here is Olivia.

The air feels rife with pain. His. Hers. Mine. And it’s now that I realize how much I’ve come to care about Ethan. Because my pain fades to the background at the thought of him hurting.

And wasn’t this the entire point of our escapade? To help him through this?

I can’t take away his pain. But perhaps I can help his pride.

I fix a polite yet vacant smile on my face as though I have no idea who Olivia is.

“Ethan?” I ask, keeping my voice light and confused. As though he’s never told me about her, and she’s just some skinny girl blocking my way to the caviar.

My voice ends their staring contest, although it takes him a couple of extra seconds to look at me, and my heart twists just a bit, even as I keep my face the perfect picture of innocent confusion.

He blinks down at me, his familiar gold eyes so lost, I find myself squeezing his fingers in reassurance, even as I want to tell him that she is not worth it.

Ethan glances down at our linked hands as though confused as to why he’s touching me, before he finally—finally—gets his shit together.

“Right. Right. Um, Olivia, this is Stephanie.”

She tears her eyes away from Ethan long enough to give me a little ghost of a smile. I have to give her credit, because she has to hate me, but she looks polite and non-bitchy considering I’m holding the hand of a guy she’s been dating for the majority of her life.

“Hi,” she says, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Liar, I think as I shake her hand, never once letting my smile slip. For a second I consider asking how they know each other, but that seems like it might be a little over the top in the he’s-never-mentioned-you game.

Her dress is white like mine, but it’s a simple drape-necked sheath that’s completely flattering and simple and leaves me feeling like I’m wearing a cookie-cutter bridesmaid dress.

“I heard you were seeing someone,” she says softly to Ethan.

“Yeah.”

Both she and I wait for him to say something more. At this point I don’t care whether he’s using me as a flat-out set-down or simply as a polite excuse to end this awkward encounter; I just want him to do something. Something other than stand there like a guy who’s facing the love of his life.

I run my hand up his arm. “Maybe we should get some of that caviar before it’s gone, hmm?”

He turns to look at me again, his brow furrowed, and I catch Olivia as she gives a little blink of confusion.

I immediately see my mistake. Of course this type of shindig wouldn’t run out of caviar. The possibility doesn’t even cross these people’s minds. And I am not one of these people.

“Sure,” he says, giving me a smile that I’ve never seen before. It’s wooden and distant and horrible.

Oh, hell, no.

It’s clear that he wants to stay and exchange longing glances with his cheating ex, and I’ll be damned if I give either of them the impression that I’m dragging him away. I don’t need a pity escort to the caviar table.

I pull my hand away from his, not caring that the gesture looks childish and obvious.

“Actually, hold that thought,” I say, my voice too high and bright. “I need to use the restroom first. Meet you at the fish eggs later, yeah?”

I turn away before I can enjoy their snobbish reaction to my bastardization of caviar, and pride myself that I neither run nor trip on the way to the bathroom.

I’m even more proud of the fact that I don’t cry once I’m in there, even though the lump in my throat tells me that I want to.

I stare at my reflection in the elaborate yacht bathroom for a good while. When I was getting ready in the bedroom the Prices had put me in, I felt every bit the part of the rich boy’s girlfriend. But after seeing Olivia, I realize that fitting into this world isn’t just about the right dress or the right hair or the right look. It’s about confidence. It’s about a conviction that you belong here and that the people surrounding you in all this ridiculous opulence want you here.

That’s the real kicker with the Pygmalion story. That’s the conflict Martin Holbrook talked about. Because you can dress up a hooker and she’s still a hooker. A flower girl is still a flower girl.

And a grungy film student is still a grungy film student. Even in a pretty dress.

Although I feel humiliated and completely out of place, I try to look on the bright side. At least I’ve finally got some inspiration for those ending scenes of our screenplay. Maybe I can pass the time by jotting down ideas on cocktail napkins while getting blitzed on the fabulous champagne. I suspect Ethan won’t be needing me as his fake girlfriend the rest of the evening.

I open the door, fully intending to take advantage of the first and probably last time I’ll have access to a top-shelf open bar and fancy rich-people food, but before I can step out of the bathroom, I’m being pushed back into it.