Chapter 4

Rosalind

Oh my God.

That was brilliant. My blood is still zinging with adrenaline, like I’ve won an Olympic medal, and it was just the interview. If I end up winning Miss Elite Royal, my heart just may explode.

I can barely describe the high I’m feeling as I walk off stage. A grin seems to be perma-etched on my face. I’m riding way above the clouds, up among the stars, aiming for the moon.

I’d practiced my answers until I was blue in the face, but no one knows exactly what the hosts will going to ask. In this competition, the judges are watching and taking note of our every move.

Perspiration clings to my skin, both from the hot lights and the nerves and adrenaline. My dress sticks to me in uncomfortable spots, and while I don’t think my make up is running, I walk slowly back to the dressing room. I’m not in a rush, so I let the other girls pass me and take their spots, buzzing in front of the mirrors.

I’d love nothing more than to peel the dress off—even though it’s more comfortable than it looks—along with the shoes that make my feet ache, and slip into my yoga pants and tee, throw on my hoodie and kicks, and just veg out.

That sounds heavenly right now. Throw in a pint of double Belgian chocolate ice cream and a bag of chips, and I’d be set for hours. Hell, for days. Sounds like the perfect staycation to me.

Unfortunately, the sad truth is, I can’t do anything like that any time soon. Even taking off the shoes is a no-go, not until after the finalists are called.

Finally, I get to my spot and take a seat in front of the lighted mirror. Before I can take a breath, my manic pixie friend comes buzzing in, a grin across her face that matches my own.

“Dude, that was stellar!” Genius says as she fusses with my hair. It’s practically second nature to her to go straight to primping me, so I let her.

As always, her excitement is contagious, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Dude? I’m certainly not a dude.”

“Not in that dress you ain’t,” she laughs. “But I gotta keep a beauty queen grounded, unlike these other ego-inflated ninnies” Ninnies?

I swear, Genius always says the craziest stuff.

Satisfied with my hair, she digs in her make-up case for a blotter. I tilt my chin and close my eyes so she can work on my face again. “You nailed it out there. I don’t know how you make it look so easy; I would’ve pissed my pants.”

I doubt that. Genius is much more outgoing than I am, by a long shot.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Roz. So do you.”

When she finally steps back, I glance in the mirror. “I’m impressed. This lipstick stays on like glue.”

I can’t believe I’m talking about make-up—it’s never been an interest of mine until recently. All this beauty pageant stuff seemed daunting at first, but with Genius’ help and guidance, it’s been getting easier.

“Yeah, well, that’s its job. Plus, your lips are naturally nice and red. If I could, I’d have sent you out with just some gloss.” She pulls me up to stand and starts straightening my dress, tugging it a little at the front. She makes me spin, and I do so dutifully.

I try to keep up with her giddiness, but mine is fading fast. I hate waiting, and my nerves are a jumbled mess. I just want to know if I nailed it enough to make it through to the final three.

I think I did. I think I have a real chance, but I fight to keep that confidence from rushing to take over. I know I should listen to what Genius and Uncle Max said, feel like I belong here, but it’s hard. My eyes are on the prize, but I’ll feel so much better once the results are in.

“You really are a fairy god-sister from another mister,” I say, looking down at myself.

“I know. You look so good.” She steps back to examine me. “I have to call my aunt and check in on Mr. Nubs, but…” Genius pulls out her phone and looks at it before shoving it back in her pocket. “I’ll be back before you go out, okay? Stay cool, Roz.”

I suppress a laugh. Mr. Nubs is her cat, an eleven-year-old furry child.

“Yeah, no problem.”

She gives me a quick wave before rushing out the door.

I smile and turn back to the mirror, running a critical eye over my reflection. Mom would be proud, I decide. She wanted to protect me, but she’s gone. I’m not a child anymore, and the lonely part of me wants this to work: get in the top three, win, find a place to fit in and make the connections I never really had.

Until I met Genius.

She’s the best friend of my dreams, but making other connections, a place to belong, a life with roots and history and meaning? I want all of that.

Pageants will bring those things, or at least, open doors to those things. So winning, getting through to that top three, is everything.

“Miss Germaine?” A hesitant voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I shift my gaze in the mirror to the woman behind me.

She looks familiar. Maybe one of the stagehands? That idea is quickly thrown out when I realize she’s not dressed in black like the rest of them.

I’ve definitely seen her around before, but where, I don’t remember.

I turn. “Yes?”

She looks down at something in her hand, a piece of paper. “Would you mind coming with me?”

“Already? I thought we had a little more time…”

The woman gestures to the door before repeating herself. “Can you follow me?” She hesitates. “It’s important.”

Her voice drops when she says that, and I nod, my heart thumping hard. I’m not sure why I’ve been summoned, but I’m not about to rock boats.

I stand and follow her down the hall, past closed doors and more empty corridors. She asks me to wait a moment as she steps away to peek at her cell phone’s screen.

That nagging feeling of familiarity tingles up my spine again—I’ve seen her before—but I just can’t place where. I’ve meet dozens of people during this pageant alone. I can’t remember every face, but I conclude she must work here, somewhere.

Just to be sure, I run over everything I’ve done to get to here, what I did on stage tonight, what I’ve worn. I know all the rules, and none have been broken, so I don’t think I’m in trouble.

Suddenly, my pulse quickens and the adrenaline returns. What if this means I’ve made the top three and they like to tell the winners in advance so they’re ready for it?

I like that idea better. It brings a smile to my face; as she returns, she knocks on a nearby door and opens it for me. The moment I step in, the door clicks closed behind me.

I don’t move. What a strange place to find out you’ve won. The room is creepy, with a capital C. There’s a dim light bulb spilling weak illumination, plus a navy sofa, wooden chairs, and a table.

And a man.

He’s not facing me, but I can tell he’s tall, with dark hair and dressed immaculately. His suit, charcoal with the finest pinstripes, is exquisitely cut. It must be expensive, that’s obvious even from the back. He’s lean, broad shouldered, clean cut… I swallow.

He turns slowly to face me, and his lips curl up in a devilish smile, like I’m just the woman he’s been dying to see. He’s the picture of dark relaxation, dangerous and full of anger. I don’t know how I know that, but I know it’s true, and my heart skips a beat.