Plastic. Gold-painted plastic with fake gemstones glued into a flimsy frame that reflected the overhead lights like a bargain-bin disco ball.
"Perfect!" the wardrobe assistant chirped as she fussed with the glitter wand they'd forced into my hand.
The wand was a stick coated in pink glitter and tiny plastic stars. If I swung it hard enough, I was fairly certain it could still function as a weapon.
"You look adorable!" Margaurite beamed.
I stared at my reflection. "I look like a cake topper."
Her smile brightened even further. "A princess cake topper."
As if that somehow improved the situation.
I studied myself in the mirror and felt a long, slow groan rise in my chest.
Twenty-five years old. A grown woman. A soon-to-be veterinary student who had spent years studying anatomy, biology, and animal behavior.
And tonight? I was dressed like the decorative figurine on a six-year-old's birthday cake.
But this was almost the end.
Fairy Tale Night. We were down to 5 contestants. Poor Egon had suffered through ‘dates’ with the other four while I’d been meeting with my lawyers, making calls, watering the plants at my shitty apartment. I forced myself to sleep in my own bed… just to prove that I could.
Stupid. I laid there most of the night. Alone. Miserable. And for what? To prove I didn’t need a man?
But what if I do?
Didn’t matter now. I was back. Egon had spent the night making sure I knew exactly how much he missed me. I was sore in all the most delicious places.
So, the fact that Chet Bosworth's interpretation of a fairy tale involved grown women dressed in costumes that somehow made inflatable horse jousting look dignified by comparison was just another Tuesday, so to speak.
When I stepped into the ballroom, the scale of the madness revealed itself.
Twinkling lights draped across the ceiling like artificial stars. Painted foam towers rose in each corner, designed to resemble castle turrets. Except they were seafoam teal. Neon orange. Bright metallic silver. The dance floor had been completely covered in rose petals and glitter that crunched faintly beneath every step.
The air smelled like expensive perfume layered over the hot electrical scent of stage lights.
And standing near the center of it all—radiating chaotic enthusiasm—was Chet.
His hair had been sculpted upward into something that vaguely resembled a crown. Every hair on his head had been dyed metallic gold and dusted with enough glitter to blind most animals.
He wore a purple velvet suit with elaborate gold embroidery curling across the lapels.
And a cape. Of course there was a cape. Chet had a fucking hard-on for capes.
The overall effect made him look like a deranged fairy godmother having a very public midlife crisis.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! Alien warriors!"
His voice boomed through the sound system, vibrating through the ballroom walls. The theatrical energy behind it suggested he had already mentally rehearsed his Emmy acceptance speech.
"Welcome to FAIRY TALE NIGHT!"
The contestants around me erupted into enthusiastic cheers. I tightened my grip on the wand and resisted a powerful urge to stab myself in the eye.
"Tonight's challenge," Chet continued, spinning dramatically so his cape flared behind him, "is a twist on a classic!"
The room leaned forward collectively. Even I felt a flicker of dread-filled curiosity.
