Page 67 of Cry Madness
Scarlett flirting with Maddox is nothing new. I got mad when I absurdly thought he’d given in to her advances. Even now, I still feel like an idiot for my rash reaction after I saw the photo of them together. She has always disgusted him. Even now, after all these years, that hasn’t changed.
In sharp contrast to Scarlett’s gigantic frou-frou gown, Ivory is a statuesque specimen of perfection. Ivory’s sleek, silvery gown perfectly complements her lean physique. Every time she moves, it’s like moonlight shimmering across her body. “Okay, but everyone saw you and Maddox come together. It’s time to move on. You’re a couple now, officially. She needs to back off.”
Yep, there’s that.
Thought my mother was going to stroke out when Maddox and I came strolling in together as a couple. Officially, she did wobble a bit in those towering black heels, but Harrison caught her before she fell on her ass.
With a shrug, I say, “Scar has always been a dog with a bone with Maddox.” At Ivory’s wince, I add, “Sorry to be blunt about it, but it’s true.”
Ivory holds up her hands, her bejeweled nails sparkling. “No apology needed. You’re being honest. It’s not your fault she’s been chasing after him since we were kids. It was cute when we were little. Now…? I almost feel sorry for her.”
“She’s whatever. Let’s have a good time, yes?” And make the best of a situation none of us wants to be in. “Ignore her—like Maddox is doing.”
Her burst of laughter draws the attention of a stately couple twirling past us as they swirl across the dance floor. “I don’t know how we shared a womb.”
“I’m sure it was torture.”
Ivory rolls her eyes when Scarlett shoves herself into the sliver of space between Maddox and March. “Okay, but look at her. How can I ignore that?”
“Easy. Pretend she’s not there, and let’s talk about this gown.” I grab her hands, lifting her arms out wide. “Majestic. Stunning. You are the moment, Ivory.”
My best friend snorts out a very un-moment-like laugh. “I have a wedgie, and my feet are killing me.”
As will happen when one wears a specific type of panty that won’t leave lines. And as feet shall do when crammed into uncomfortable heels.
“Girl, same. Not the wedgie part, thank God, but holy shit, my feet have their own heartbeat.”
“The price we pay for looking good,” Ivory replies wistfully.
“I wanted to wear my Docs, but I figured my mother would beat me to death with them if I did.”
Again, Ivory’s laughter draws unwanted attention, but we ignore everyone and remain in our little private bubble. “I’d have given up a kidney to see you stroll in wearing those shoes.”
“No, I mean, watching her head spin around like inThe Exorcistwould have been priceless, but I’m here for my own reasons, not for hers.” With a shrug, I do a twirl to flare the floaty skirt of my baby-blue gown. “I missed wearing girly clothes. Color. You know?”
“I know,” she says softly, meaningfully, because she remembers me before The Accident, when I didn’t even own a single article of black clothing.
“Also, I wanted to prove to these assholes”—I nod at the crowd gathered in the ballroom—“that I’m not the weak, grieving girl who limped out of this town three years ago.”
“Good for you,” Ivory says with a resolute nod. “Because that’snotwho you are, and you look absolutely amazing, so… You definitely made your statement.”
“Well, you helped pick out this gown,” I remind her.
The pale blue bodice snugly fits my torso, while the blue-and-white organza skirt provides a subtle yet dramatic flare. Even the silver and blue mask is a perfect fit.
“Yes, but you’re wearing the hell out of it,” Ivory declares. Then, with a wistful sigh, she adds, “I envy you, Alice, I do. You’re getting your happily ever after.”
“Fairy tales are overrated,” I quip. “I like reality better. It may be messy, but that’s what makes it fun.” As Ivory watchesMarch, I encourage hernotto follow in my footsteps and make the mistakes I made by setting up walls. “Trust me, you’ll regret it more if you don’t.”
I wasted three long years fighting against myself, only to be right back where I started. Better and stronger, sure, but I never had to leave to find this strength. Being home built me back up, not running away or denying what had always been right in front of my face.
“I wish it were simple,” Ivory whispers so softly I barely hear her above the orchestra and the din of conversation swirling around us. “He’ll never approve of March.”
“Roman doesn’t have to,” I tell her, knowing exactly who the ‘he’ in that sentence is.
She’s still watching March when she says, “You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is. If you love each other, and your father’s blessing is important to you,makeRoman approve.”