“Never heard of the place.”
“Exactly. And you should. His craftsmanship is excellent, and you’re wearing his finest piece.” Kate and Husband Five walkinside, and the paparazzi settle back into position. “It’s time.” I step outside and extend a hand for Vanessa, who doesn’t take it. The paparazzi are shouting, coming at me, and I’m standing out here with my hand extended, waiting for her to take it, and she’s not. Fear of rejection courses through me, and I’m again that fifteen-year-old boy with zits all over his face who came up to the most popular girl in school and asked her to go to prom with him.
I’ve always had balls. Feared nothing. But when Gracy rejected me and proceeded to make fun of me, I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t put yourself out there for the pretty girl. They have a way of crushing your heart and confidence all at the same time.
Perhaps that’s why Nessa wouldn’t put out her hymen before marriage. With marriage, at least she has some sense of security the guy won’t just leave. It’s a fake sense of security, but something nonetheless.
Still, she picked a terrible time for theatrics. Gritting my teeth, I peer inside the car, a smile that could cut glass on my face. I swear I’m sporting fangs right now, yet somehow managing to sound impartial when I ask, “Have you changed your mind?”
“Oh no,” she whispers. “Anticipation will make them want it all the more.”
I’ll be damned. “I’m gonna fuck you six ways from Sunday.” I straighten back up and smile at the cameras. “I’m getting married.”
Vanessa clasps my hand and, as graceful as a princess, steps out of the limo, a big smile already plastered on her face. “Daddy likes a good girl who follows orders,” I whisper. “I presume you’re not wearing panties.”
I imagined she’d be shy in front of the cameras and fidget and be uncomfortable and a million and one things she’s not rightnow. But then I recall she wanted to be an actress. My lungs swell with pride. Back then, maybe the world wasn’t ready, but it is ready for Vanessa now. Sometimes, it’s just bad timing.
Had I asked Gracy to prom in my senior year, she’d have said yes. But I didn’t because she wasn’t worthy of my time. Some people hurt over rejections. I learn from the experience, and then get even. Gracy asked me to prom, and I rejected her. It felt good. We weren’t meant to be.
Nessa and I have potential. I even brought up my Daddy thing. The ball’s in her court, as it should be with a girl who’s unfortunate enough to have to deal with a control freak like me. I almost feel sorry for her as she gulps, smile slowly slipping, shock over the word “Daddy” taking over her comfort in the spotlight.
Petty, Blake, petty.Could’ve waited and said it later, but the delusion thing really got me. I take her hand and contemplate getting down on one knee before the world, but the tiny Gracy jab from back in the day reminds me women aren’t to be fucked with and cornered like that. That’s just bullying, and I’m no bully. I break bullies and make them cry like the little pussies they are.
I bring the top of her hand to my lips and kiss it, making sure I bend her fingers so the cameras can get a nice image of the ring.
“Mr. Hellway, who’s the designer?”
Vanessa looks a bit lost now. I think the Daddy thing needs time to sink in.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her. “It’s nobody’s business but ours.” I lean in and whisper, “Say,yes, Daddy.” I turn to the paparazzi and rattle off designer names starting from my suit to the shoes, my tie, my cologne for men, of course, then move to Nessa because that’s what they really want to know.
Tomorrow, she’ll be all over the papers, and the week after, the skeletons in her closet will come out. Which is why I need her to say yes to my marriage proposal soon. If she’s married, gossip tends to be less vicious than when a single woman is up for trashing.
I rest my palm at the small of her back and gently push her toward the entrance, glancing at her now and then as we climb the steps and enter a busy lobby where people, mostly business acquaintances, swarm me and congratulate us on our engagement.
Every time another woman leans in to kiss my cheeks, I watch my lady closely. The women I deal with are mostly married to men or women also in positions of power who know better than to leave lipstick stains on my cheeks. Nevertheless, as we make our way inside the dining room, Nessa wipes something from my cheek with her thumb.
I chuckle as she huffs and takes my elbow.
“You’re quiet,” I say and find the bar in the back. There are only a few people there, and they leave as we approach. I order one of my imports and pass it to Vanessa. She doesn’t protest my getting her whatever I feel like she ought to drink and sips.
I sip mine. “What do you think?” I ask.
She takes another sip. “I’m still processing all the things.”
“Of the wine, I meant.”
Her eyes brighten, likely because this topic is easy to swallow. “Delicious. Dry and not too sweet. I like it.”
“You drink wine often,” I state.
She nods. “What else has your research uncovered about me?”
“Everything except the things you’ll only uncover to me.” I step a little closer, bend, bite her earlobe. “Did you wear panties?”
She shakes her head.
“I can’t hear you.”
