I have no idea who went shopping for us while we were being buffed and polished to within an inch of our lives, but I’m now in new jeans, an emerald green halter top that matches my eyes, and the most comfortable ankle boots I’ve ever worn. I’m even in a new bra and panties.
Hyacinth is glowing in a soft pink maternity dress, and Keisha’s bodysuit is now black. She’s topped her ensemble with a beret and blue-lensed sunglasses.
“You okay to walk two blocks?” she asks Hyacinth.
“I chase two toddlers all day. I can handle walking two blocks by myself.”
She nods to someone on her security team, and it’s not until we leave the building and step onto the busy Manhattan street that I understand the question.
And possibly why Keisha’s on sabbatical.
“Keisha! Keisha, look here! Keisha, when’s your next album? What do you say to the rumors that your ex-girlfriend is dating a man? Were you involved in Thomas Rutherford’s death? Is that your cousin’s new girlfriend? Begonia! Begonia! Look this way!”
“Keep walking,” Keisha murmurs to us as her security team surrounds us. “Don’t speak. Either of you. Just keep walking.”
Hyacinth grabs my hand.
I squeeze.
And as much as I like people, I’m exhausted by the time we push into a shop two blocks away. “Is it always like that?” I ask Keisha.
“Yep.” She waves to someone in the back of the empty shop, and a curvy Black woman glides out with a broad smile.
“Keisha, my darling. So good to see you.”
They share air kisses, then Keisha introduces us. “Begonia, Hyacinth, this is Cecily. She’s a goddess, and she’s going to find us the perfect dresses for the Windsor Gala tomorrow night.”
“Lovely to meet you, my angels.” Cecily air-kisses my cheeks, then Hyacinth’s, and doesn’t blink when we both get it wrong in return. “Come, come. I have the perfect gowns.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m going,” Hyacinth says. She points at her baby bump. “I mean, not that you thought I was.”
Cecily smiles. “I dressed Emma Roberts during her pregnancy.”
“And I have Hayes’s credit card, and it would make Begonia’s day to know that you’re doing dishes in Versace,” Keisha adds. “You could go TikTok famous.”
Hy gapes at all of us.
I want to tell her no, that she can’t have a dress, that this isn’t what Hayes meant, that I don’t want to waste his money, or use him for his money, but I can’t.
The amount of joy this would bring her?
And knowing it’s pennies to Hayes?
The man bought me a temporary art studio in his home, sent a private jet for Hyacinth, and Winnie texted me that she’s booking Hy’s whole family for a two-week all-expenses-paid, no-limits, exclusive-access-pass trip to Razzle Dazzle Village and wanted to check allergies, Hy’s due date, and if they prefer cotton, linen, silk, or flannel sheets.
Hayes won’t object to a dress.
And if he does, I’ll pay him back, no matter how long it takes.
I nod to her. “Hayes would want you to. I want you to. Keisha’s right. You’d rock the dishes in Versace.” I couldn’t pick a Versace out of a dress line-up if my pottery wheel depended on it.
“I have died and gone to heaven,” Hyacinth whispers.
I want to agree with her.
But I think I’m hitting overwhelm for the day.
The crowd, and the pampering, and Hyacinth being here—it’s all amazing.
More than I could’ve hoped for.
But it’s also not real.
I mean, yes, my sister is real. The spa was real. The clothing, the dresses, hanging out with Keisha, the reporters—they’re all real.
But this dating-a-billionaire lifestyle?
That isn’t real.
And I don’t want a billionaire.
I don’t want a fake relationship. I don’t want a fake fiancé.
Right now, I want the man who slept with me under the stars, who went diving under the covers to kiss the hummingbird tattoo on my hip, who smiles just for me, who makes me feel like I’m perfect the way I am and that I deserve to be loved for all of me, not just the convenient parts or the socially acceptable parts or the non-annoying parts.
I want the man who makes me believe that two people really can love each other the way love is supposed to be.
But he’s not mine.
It’s all fake.
And despite making more promises this morning that I would, I don’t want to do it anymore.