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Chapter 6: Face Off

Ella stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror and smoothed her top out one more time. Now would’ve been a great time to have a girlfriend--a friend her age who could tell her how she looked. Unfortunately, the only person she had who came close to fitting that bill was Mary, and she’d stayed behind in paradise with Gus. Lenore wasn’t going to be any help, and Ella wasn’t about to call Rome and ask him what he thought of the outfit she’d be wearing to have dinner with Henry.

She thought she looked okay. The clothes she was wearing had come directly out of Vogue’s “casual dating outfits” article that had been released a few days before, so she knew it was trendy. Were people really wearing skinny jeans as dress pants now? Apparently so. The dark denim made her figure look great, and the sparkly silver top she wore was a definite step up from what she would’ve considered to be too casual if she hadn’t picked her bottoms out of the popular magazine. She supposed her outfit was good enough. With silver heels that matched her top, dangly earrings, her hair pinned up as high as her short cut would allow, and dark sunglasses she’d wear even inside the establishment where she was meeting Henry, she didn’t look much at all like the sheepish girl who’d fled the attic.

How she’d been able to fool him, she didn’t know. Rome had been a big help. With any luck, she could keep up the facade, but it would be more difficult when it was just the two of them. So far, their face-to-face encounters had been in crowds, and most of their conversations had been through text. This would be Henry’s first chance to sit across from her and really study her. She knew she’d look like a snob if she kept her glasses on all night, so she tried pulling them off and puzzling over her face. He hadn’t known her well when she was Ella, but they had sat across from each other on more than one occasion. Would he figure her out?

The mind was an interesting machine. She knew part of him not recognizing her was the fact that it was impossible for her to be Ella. Ella was dead, at least as far as he, and the majority of the rest of the world, knew. Yet, if he took his time and really looked at her carefully, he’d no doubt pick up on the subtleties she hadn’t been able to completely erase. Her face had contoured differently with her new style of makeup, her new eye color, the muscle she’d put on her body. But she still looked a lot like herself. Months of practice so that she could act like someone else--hold her head differently, walk differently, stand differently--had brought her a long way, but every once in a while she’d still see herself looking like Ella.

“Oh, good grief,” she said at herself, shaking her head. “So what if he figures it out? You just deny it. Make him think he’s lost his mind.” She could do that, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if Henry Caron was going to approach her dad and suggest to him that his daughter might actually be alive. How would one even start that conversation?

Knowing she had to leave if she was only going to be stylishly late and not unbelievably late, Ella smoothed out her top one more time and then grabbed her handbag off of the dresser, making sure she had her phone. They’d hired a driver so Charles wouldn’t have to take her to town, but he would ride with her and hang out in the car while she was in the club. He knew what was going on and would be there in two seconds if she needed him. All she had to do was press a button in her earring.

“Are you headed out, ma’am?” Lenore called as if she didn’t know that Ella had a date with someone other than Rome.

“I am,” Ella called as she crossed the living room. “Mr. Verona should be back from work soon.”

“All right then. Be careful, dear.” Lenore’s kind face showed concern of a different sort. She knew by now that Charles would keep her safe. It was more a fear that she was about to get herself into trouble, the sort that one didn’t easily climb out of.

“I will,” Ella assured her. It was a warm night so there was no need for a jacket or wrap of any sort, so she headed straight out the door to the sedan. Clifton, the driver, pulled the back door open, and the tinted windows instantly hid Ella from view, even though she could still see fairly clearly that the rest of the world hadn’t changed when she’d become Juliet Montague.

“You look lovely,” Charles said beside her, the smug grin on his face letting her know he also didn’t approve of what she was doing. “Perhaps a little too lovely.”

“Oh, stop,” she said as Clifton climbed in behind the wheel and started the car. “You of all people know why I’m doing this.”

“I do,” Charles agreed. “I’m just… worried about you. Don’t want you getting in over your head. It was a tomb you walked out of, after all. Graves are different.”

“Stop!” she said, swatting at him, trying to stifle a laugh. She knew he was kidding around, but it was also a little mean. “I’ll be fine.”

“What if he recognizes you?”

“Even if he does, he won’t say anything tonight. What is he going to do? Blurt out, ‘Ella, is that you?’” She didn’t need Charles to ask her that question. She’d been over that particular scenario a thousand times in her head and had no good answer for what to do if he were to call her out. Deny, deny, deny.

Charles laughed at her impersonation of the Frenchman. “No, probably not. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ella assured him. “Besides, you’ll be in the club, too, right?” Charles nodded. “If I need you, I know you’ll be there.”

“Ready to sweep you away The Bodyguard style,” he said, referencing an old movie Ella had only seen once but one he seemed to like. He mentioned it frequently enough. It made sense that a security guard would like a movie about a bodyguard--unless it wasn’t done well.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, thinking of Kevin Costner carrying Whitney Houston out of a dangerous crowd of fans.

Ella’s phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her handbag to see it was Rome. She didn’t want to talk to him at the moment, so she ignored it. She needed to be in character for this; he would understand that. Besides, what could she possibly say to him? “Not now, dear husband. I’m about to go on a date with another man.”

About ten seconds after her phone stopped ringing, Charles’s phone rang. He snickered. “Shall I answer? He’s my boss after all.”

“Sure,” she said. “But I can’t talk to him right now.”

Charles nodded in understanding as the downtown area came into view outside of Ella’s window. They’d be there soon enough. “Hey, boss.” His voice was quiet, his words clipped. “No, she’s fine. Just getting ready to go in. Doesn’t wanna talk right now.” He made a few short noises that showed he understood or agreed with whatever Rome was saying and then said goodbye, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “He just wants you to know he loves you,” Charles said quietly.

Without turning to look at him, Ella said, “Thanks.” She loved him, too, but at the moment, she had to forget that. This would work best if she could make Henry believe that she not only didn’t like Rome, she hated him. Ella wasn’t sure she was capable of that, but she’d thought of a few comments she could make to let Henry know that she was glad Rome Verona was no longer part of Montage. It could always go farther if necessary.

The car pulled up in front of the club. Chavet was hopping tonight. The line to get in was at least thirty people deep. She wouldn’t have to wait in that line, and neither would Charles, thanks to her fame and her persuasiveness. Even though he wouldn’t be entering with her in case Henry was looking when Juliet Montague got out of her car, the buzz of the crowd shifted to cheers--oohs, and aahs. She approached the man at the door who immediately pulled it open for her. “Thank you. My man, Charles, will be coming along as soon as the car is parked. Please let him in as well.”

“Of course,” the tall, dark-haired, muscular man said, looking her up and down. He was big enough to be a bouncer if he wanted to be, which might be why he was the one manning the door on such a night. No one was going to mess with this dude.

She smiled in gratitude, maybe a bit of flirtation because, why not? She was single after all… and headed into the club.

A remix of Lady Gaga’s newest hit was playing loudly over the speaker as Juliet took her time looking around the club. She would be in no hurry to find Henry--or anyone else. She saw him, sitting in a booth about halfway up an aisle near the dance floor but with its back to the area where plenty of people were gyrating in groups and couples, many of them splashing drinks all over their designer shoes as they lost themselves to the beat.

Seeing a few other famous faces she recognized, Juliet waved at them, blew a few kisses, and pretended as if she hadn’t just come there to see Henry. One of the models she’d met before at an event, Stella Goff, grabbed her dance partner by the arm and pulled him toward her. When he saw who they were going to say, he picked up the pace, a broad smile on his face.

“Oh, my God, Juliet!” Stella said, bending down to wrap her arms around her shoulders. She had to be at least six three without the stilettos. “How are you, darling?”

“Good, good,” Juliet said, trying to sound slightly bored. “And you?”

“Wonderful. The club is alive tonight! This is my boyfriend. I don’t think the two of you have met. Langston Jackson, meet Juliet Montague.”

Langston offered his hand, and Juliet took it, but then he bent down and kissed her just above the knuckles. “Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Why, thank you,” Juliet said, not sure if she should add anything. She had no idea who the tall, handsome man might be.

“Langston plays football for the Raiders,” she explained. “Wide receiver.”

Juliet might know something of American football, but Ella knew next to nothing, so she only nodded. “How lovely,” she said, still sounding slightly bored but infusing her voice with a bit more cheer than before.

“I was hoping perhaps you might be able to get your hands on another Ward for us,” Stella said, taking hold of Juliet’s arm at the elbow. “We’d love to have one in the new apartment.”

“I just signed a lease on a lovely three-bedroom over on Burbank,” he explained, his smile widening to show his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Very posh.”

“Tre chic,” Juliet said, trying to look slightly impressed. “I will have a few at our next show, coming up in a month or two. Definitely come.” Her eyes fluttered around the crowd again. Henry was growing impatient. He raised his eyebrows at her, and Juliet thought she had better make it to his table before he came after her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting an… acquaintance.” Friend seemed like too much of a stretch. She squeezed Stella’s hand. “Lovely to see you.”

“It’s always wonderful to see you, Juliet,” Stella said, tipping her head to the side and breathing in deeply.

“Langston,” Juliet said, grasping his hand next. “We’ll talk again soon.”

“Definitely.” His eyes dropped lower than necessary. Juliet pretended not to notice that or the furrow that immediately formed between Stella’s eyebrows.

Inhaling a deep breath as invisibly as humanly possible, Juliet headed for Henry’s table, praying that she wouldn’t screw this up. Even looking at him made her stomach knot and her fists want to clench, but she couldn’t let him see that. He had to think she was happy to see him--or at least not repulsed.

Henry Caron stood near the booth, fixing his tie, a nervousness radiating out of him as he waited for her, a smile playing on his lips. This was it--the first of many dates to come, if this plan were to work. Now, she’d have to touch him. She’d have to talk to him, to pretend she was interested in him. Maybe she even liked him. Perhaps she could even love him someday. Juliet had to be the actress Ella had never been because Ella Verona wanted to punch him in the face and run out of the club. The only thing that kept her high heels pointing in his direction was the sweet scent of revenge.

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