I stare at him. Not answering. Because how I feel in this moment isn’t fake. But I’m not about to tell him that.
“EMILY!” I scream at my reflection in absolute horror.
I drop my kohl jet-black eyeliner into the bathroom sink and spin around as she comes running in. It’s tenAMand I’m sweating like I’ve just taken a hot yoga class—which I would nevereverdo. Because no one needs to sweat that much. But here I am, taking boob sweat to the next level.
I’ve spent the last forty minutes trying to mimic Taylor Swift levels of winged eyeliner perfection, and in a dangerous game of trying to get flawless symmetry, the line got wildly out of control, and here I am looking more like the newest member of KISS about to embark on their “farewell” tour.The no really, we mean it, we’re never playing again (jokes we’ll be back when the money runs out) tour.
Em appears in the doorway of the bathroom and her eyes dart around my face, surveying the situation. Her expression tells me all I need to know. I’m a mess.
“I was gone three minutes,” she says, shaking her head. “How is this even possible?”
I’m nervous, okay.Not that I say it out loud. The truth is, I’ve been a nervous fucking wreck since the realization hit me sometime between fucking Xander and snuggling him.
I don’t justlikeXander Miller. I have adebilitating crushon Xander Miller.
And I haven’t told Em any of this.
And so I just sit, unnaturally still, on my hands so I don’t fidget. Avoiding eye contact at all costs.
I’m completely and utterly obsessed with Xander, who I am constantly doing things with that not only break my rules but are illegal to my lifestyle.
I am a criminal.
If my mom found out, I’d be shunned. No, I’d be donated to science. How did a Hutchinson contractfeels?
And on top of that, while I may have dabbled in acting to secure my spot inside the sleep study, for the past seven days, I have actedprofessionally, pretending Xander doesn’t take up every single all-consuming thought. I have actedcompetently, like Xander doesn’t light me up like a pinball machine every time he smiles at me. I have actedskillfully, as though Xander doesn’t make my heart beat wildly out of control.
And now, I must maintain this level of mastery while I get Em to fix my face for the wedding.
The wedding that is happening today.
Today being the day I thought maybe, just maybe, I could master the winged eyeliner look. When will I learn that a high-stakes makeup situation is not the time to even try?
The intensity of the situation also means I now need to redo my hair—and the clock is ticking. Xander is picking me up in an hour and my hair, which forty minutes ago had a casual wave that was anything but casual to create, is now limp and sticking to my face.
Em grabs a handful of cotton tips from the medicine cabinet behind the sink.
“Close your eyes,” she says.
I do as she says. Em is the queen of winged eyeliner, which is funny because I’m the one who studied advanced geometry as part of my science degree before majoring in chemistry. Em took the conceptsIlearned and applied them to real life, very important world-changing situations—like matching winged eyeliner. She could probably start a TikTok channel dedicated to winged eyeliner and be famous in forty-eight hours, she’s that good.
I smell the citrus tang of the mimosa on her breath as she gets to work, dragging, dabbing, and drawing the cotton tipover my eyelids. So we had a few cocktails. What’s a wedding without a breakfast mimosa?
“Are you okay?” Em says. Before I can even formulate a response because how does one answer such a loaded question, she continues.
“I know it’s some upside-down shit that your dad’s getting married.”
Oh. Right.That’swhat she thinks I’m worried about.
I fling my eyes open, and there’s a kindness in hers, letting me know she’s here and she’s not going anywhere. Truthfully, I haven’t had an opportunity to think about Dad getting married. Not when Xander is consuming my every thought.
When I don’t say anything, Em’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. She’s onto me. “Youbonedhim,” she says, just straight-up calling me out. Her eyes sparkling with excitement at this realization.
I have never lied to Em before in my entire life. Sure, I’ve omitted information. Like how Xander and I have beenboningfor the past week. But now faced with having to lie, I can’t. Instead of telling the truth, I reach for my half-drunk breakfast mimosa, my sustenance, and take a sip, avoiding saying anything else.
This acts as confirmation.
“Youlikehim,” she says.
