Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(50)

I pretend I don’t hear her. I pretend the insults don’t hurt. After all, I should be used to this by now. I’ve been bullied, ridiculed, and harassed by kids at school for five years, but coming from Mom, it hurts more.

She wasn’t around when I cried for two years because everyone called me Cootie Mia. She wasn’t around when Grandad chopped my hair off after Blair stuck three sticks of gum in it. She didn’t see my bruised knees and scraped elbows whenever kids tripped or shoved me to the ground.

She left Dad when I was four and moved to London. Today marks the first time I’ve seen her in person since. We only spoke a handful of times. She was never interested in me. She’s only proud of her first-born.

Aisha’s her mirror image: pretty, popular, a cheerleader with a line of boys waiting to fall at her feet.

I’ve always been Daddy’s girl. He’s not been around for much of this either, traveling the world for work, but at least he knows. He calls and talks to me. Never calls me ugly.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and show them what they’re missing. You’re a Harlow. That name always means the world. I’ll get you booked for surgery, and you need to go on a strict diet. You’re getting fat, Mia. That won’t help you make friends in middle school.”

EIGHTEEN
Mia

“PLEASE, STOP,” Aisha whines from the sofa. “You’ve been practicing those songs for days. You know them, sis. Go get ready. Take a bath or something. Relax a bit.”

“I’m not tense,” I lie, turning in my seat. The truth is, I’m a ball of nerves, going back and forth over the idea that popped in my head this morning. “Do you think you could help me get ready for the Ball?”

Aisha cocks an eyebrow, straightening in her seat. “What, like... do your hair?”

“Um, yes. And makeup. And maybe I could borrow one of your dresses?”

“Makeup? You’ve not had makeup on since that one time in high school. Why do you want makeup? You know my dresses are way sexier than you’re used to.”

I nod, picking my nails. “I know. I’m thinking of mixing it up a bit. I want to be sexy tonight.”

Her lips spread into a knowing smile. “Aww, you’re trying to impress a guy! Who is it?!” She jumps to her feet, clapping once. “Nico. Am I right, or am I right?! I’ve got the perfect dress!” She grabs my hand and drags me into her room, pushing me down at her dressing table. “I’ve seen the women he goes for. I’ll make you look ten times better, promise.”

I glance at her in the mirror while she pulls makeup supplies from a vanity box. “Do you think it’s a good idea? I think he likes me, but—”

“But you dress like a schoolgirl. Men aren’t into that. Especially men like Nico. I mean, you’re pretty, so sure, he likes you, but he doesn’t want you.” She turns the chair, so I face her, then grabs a bottle of foundation. “He’ll kneel on hot coals to fuck you once I’m done.”

It won’t hurt to try. I want him to see a woman when he looks at me, not a dainty little girl.

An hour later, my lips are blood-red, the color making them even bigger than normal, and winged eyeliner completes the smokey-eye Aisha swears by. Blush, highlighter, concealer, bronzer, mascara. I’ve got cheekbones. My face isn’t so round anymore. It’s amazing what contouring can do.

My hair is arrow straight in a sleek ponytail, and I wear a dress to match my lips: floor-length, fitted so tight I’m afraid to breathe. Backless with a deep neckline and a slit running from my hip.

It starts so high I can’t wear underwear.

I look older, sophisticated... sexy, but my heart rams against my ribs, my idea idiotic now that I look in the mirror and see an impostor. This isn’t me.

I might look beautiful, but I feel awful.

If this is what Nico expects, to keep his attention I’d have to spend every day pretending I’m someone else.

I want him, but flushing who I am down the drain is too high a price. I want him to like me for who I am, not who I can morph into with a splash of makeup and a revealing dress.

I sit on the bed, gathering my things into a clutch bag when the doorbell rings.

Cody’s early.

It’s only five o’clock. There’s still time to wash my face and pick a different dress. Pink with frills or a chiffon skirt.

You won’t know if this is what he wants if you get changed.

True. At least if I go to the Ball dressed like this, I’ll see Nico’s reaction. I’ll judge if he pays me more attention while I’m done up to perfection.

If he does, I’ll wave a white flag.

I slip my feet into black heels, standing up. There’s a knock on the door, but it opens before I say come in. Instead of the Hayes I expected, a different one takes the width—and height—of the doorway.

Nico halts mid-step, looking me over slowly, taking in the provocative dress—my thigh peeking through the slit. His eyes eventually come back to meet mine. He does a double take, two lines marking his forehead.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, clutching my bag with both hands. “Where’s Cody?”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he shoots back, striding across to where I stand. His chest rises and falls faster as he turns my head, inspecting Aisha’s artwork. “I’ve never seen you wearing makeup.”