I stand up straighter as the music changes and Betsy steps up to the catwalk. Holy shit, she looks…amazing. I almost don’t know it’s her. If it wasn’t for the glare on her pretty face, I wouldn’t. She turns to face the crowd and instantly smoothes her expression into a serene smile that’s so over the top she looks a bit insane. I chuckle, but my gaze is locked on this magnificent woman. Deuce whistles and my elbow finds the space between his ribs.
Betsy walks slowly and demurely in a confident strut that looks damn good on her, one heeled foot in front of the other as she models the clothes. She’s wearing a black dress with an A-line skirt that ends two inches above her knees. It’s strapless but its most outstanding feature is a two-foot bow in the same material on her low back. The tails of the bow flick against the back of her legs as she walks. Her skin is the tannest I’ve ever seen it, which I couldn’t tell earlier because she’d been covered head to toe. A double-strand pearl necklace lies against her chest and matching pearls peek through on her ears.
“Bigger the bow, the closer to Jesus,” Deuce mutters beside me.
It’s her hair that mesmerizes me. It’s down, curled gently into waves that match the sunset golden hour of a beach. She must have had her hair colored last night. The lighter color makes her look softer, like her rough edges got sanded down just a touch. There’s still some darker brunette pieces in there. She wouldn’t look like Betsy without them.
She looks like herself…but like Betsy Southern Barbie version.
She’s fucking hot.
Betsy gets to the end of the catwalk, shifts her hip out, plants her fist there, gives one over-the-top moody glare to the audience, then turns and heads back. I know the minute she seesme. Her moody glare falters for a second before she pulls it back into its full glory.
“Is it weird that I like her glare better than her smile?” I ask under my breath.
Deuce doesn’t answer, but he does laugh. “You’re so gone for that woman.”
I watch her until she disappears down the steps and under the magnolia tree. “Fuck yeah I am. I love her.” I look back at Deuce, who’s watching me with pure amusement on his face. “And don’t you dare tell her that.”
He holds his hands up and backs away. “All I’ll say is good luck, brother.”
Even my best friend knows I’m traveling a tough road most men wouldn’t choose to take. And that’s okay. I’ve always swum upstream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Betsy
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,”I mutter under my breath coming down the stairs from the catwalk. My heart’s pounding right out of my chest and my ankles are screaming at me to take off these sky-high wedges.
“You were amazin’, my girl!” Mary London squeals, pulling me into a perfume-and-hairspray hug.
I’m careful to keep my face off her gorgeous one-shouldered white dress. Lord knows I have five pounds of makeup on my face right now, along with false lashes, fake nails, and enough self-tanner to look like I’ve spent all thirty-four of my years living on the beach. I’m not sure how much about me is even real at this point.
“Did you see the way my brother was staring at you?” Mary London has that twinkle in her eyes, the one that spells trouble. She’s got an idea in her head about Silas and me, and there’s no shakin’ her loose.
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress a small grin at the way Silas was looking at me when I walked back across that catwalk. Hishandsome jaw hung slack and his eyes were practically eating me up in a way that would make all the ladies in Heaven blush. Can’t say I don’t appreciate having that effect on the man I’m sleeping with.
“Did you tell Silas my dress was black?”
Mary London suddenly appears like she’s too busy to chat. “I may have mentioned it.” She says it so quietly I’m not sure I heard her correctly over the music.
A false lash flutters into my eye due to all the fans set up around the space. I have to blink a thousand times to get it back in place. Despite the way he was looking at me and despite the fact he seems to be doing some crazy thing like coordinating our outfits all of a sudden, I don’t think I can keep wearing this get-up. Not even for Silas.
“Go find your man, girl!” Mary London pushes me toward the crowd and away from the catwalk. The music is changing and Darby Kate’s models are lining up to go on. There’s more than one model with a cane, so I take Mary London’s encouragement and hurry to get out of the way of the geriatric group.
I’m looking for Silas’s golden-brown hair peeking out over the crowd. He’s no longer standing by that pole with Deuce, and with all the people that came out for today’s event, it’s hard to find him. When I finally do, my stomach bottoms out. Silas and his father are deeply engaged in conversation out by the backside of the food trucks. If I had to guess by the broad gestures of his arms, Mr. Winthrop is not happy about something.
I stomp through the crowd to make my way across the lawn, saying a quick hello to all the people who smile, wave, and call out to me. Lordie, that Southern kindness, the pull to have a conversation with everyone you pass in public, is something I’ve come to love about Heaven, but right now it’s just a pain in my ass. It takes me forever to make it over to Silas’s side, duringwhich I’m fuming. How dare his father choose today, the big boutique event, to harp on his son?
“Rich said the mortgage is paid up, but you and I both know how much the outlay is for buying all the clothes before the season starts. This PR stunt doesn’t work, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt, son.”
I slide my hand into the crook of Silas’s arm. He startles, looking down at me with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. His face is turning red and the fact that I can’t tell if it’s from the sun or the embarrassment of his father treating him this way just pisses me off.
Mr. Winthrop gives me a head nod of acknowledgement but just keeps on talking. “I’ll say it again?—”
“Oh, don’t worry, we all heard you, loudly and repeatedly,” I say with the fakest, drippiest Southern twang I’ve ever heard.
Mr. Winthrop’s gaze darts to mine, confusion lining his aging face. Damn him, the Winthrop genetics are good ones. He might be older now, but he’s still handsome. I know exactly where Silas gets his good looks.
