Лорен Кейт - The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

For just a second, my feet dragged on the boardwalk. Stressing over one guy in particular was exactly what I’d been trying not to do — ever since that unsettling text from my dad last night. Suffice it to say, Dad being “a free man again” was not exactly the good news he claimed it was.

Already, I could feel myself overexerting my jaw on the stick of gum I’d just unwrapped. Whenever the Juicy Fruit lost its flavor in less than five minutes, I knew I needed to find another way to chill out.

Kate stopped in front of a three-story southern-style bright-green row house with a wraparound purple-painted porch. A wooden sign swung on its hinges from the rafters overhead: Weird Sister’s Closet.

Kate pulled open the stained-glass door and stepped inside. Like most of the mansion-turned-lingerie boutiques on Catfish Row, the Weird Sister’s Closet was brimming with all things cleavage-enhancing. Posters of busty movie stars papered the walls, and strapless bras of all shapes and sizes filled the racks. But since it was on a cobblestone side street of the beaten path of the boardwalk strip, Kate had already assured me that the Weird Sister was the one place in Charleston’s gentrified red-light district that would be Bambie-free today.

“What’s with the puckered-up puss,” Kate said, looking at me. “Where’s your brink-of-royalty smile?”

Banishing thoughts of my father, at least for the time being, I conceded with a small, involuntary grin. Kate was right. Being on the brink of royalty was something to smile about, especially after all of our planning. In just a few days, fingers crossed, Mike and I would be happily crowned.

All the campaigning would be over, and the two of us could just bask in the success of our mutual hard work. We’d stay up late, editing our coronation speeches and practicing our waltz for the Ball. Yes, we had a waltz. And after the Ball, we’d pack a bottle of champagne, head straight for our spot at the secret waterfall near Mount Pleasant, and not come home until sunrise.

It’d be just the two of us, just like we’d always planned.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Kate nodded, taking in the change in my demeanor. “Now, let’s address my main issue, which is feathers on a spandex butt. ” She held up a red-sequined catsuit, flipping over the hanger to show off the tuft of red feathers right over the butt. “Do we love it or leave it?”

“Um, is that a tail?” I asked, half-appalled, half-intrigued.

“Just so you know,” said the wild redheaded shop owner, clearing her throat behind the cash register, “we also have that in purple.”

“Only certain women can wear purple.” Kate grinned at me. “Like Nat.” Then she clutched the red catsuit to her chest and gave me a devilish wink. “I think I’ll take this baby for a test drive.”

When she ducked into the dressing room, I laughed and shook my head. As the daughter of the wealthiest litigator in Charleston, Kate had a certain leg up on a lot of the other girls at Palmetto — the girls who just had “enough” money.

Kate’s mother was certifiably insane (if those country club walls could talk), but because of her husband’s untouchable bank balance, everyone called her “eccentric” instead of “crazy.” Like there were just certain words that didn’t apply to billionaires. So Kate, unlike most girls, could get away with piercing her tongue, adding a new tattoo to her arsenal every year. . and wearing sequined, feathered spandex — all without ever risking being called a tramp. Maybe that was why I liked her: She lived like someone with no fear.

Having climbed up from the opposite end of the money spectrum, I ran my hand along a row of leather bustiers and felt renewed pride that my own costume was the opposite of everything in this store. I was just dipping into a fantasy of Mike and I, all dressed up and gliding through the party tonight, when someone stepped around the corner and held out the skanky catsuit in purple.

“Thought you might want to try this on,” Justin Balmer purred.

The woodsy notes of his aftershave overtook me. And I thought nothing could out-stink the sensual jasmine aroma-therapy candle that the Weird Sister was burning by the cash register. Eau de J.B. wasn’t an empirically bad smell; maybe it was the proximity to him that turned my stomach.

I was trying not to look at the catsuit — or the way his blond hair fell over his eyes — so I focused on his sweatshirt. It was the same Palmetto varsity football sweatshirt that Mike lent me for the games.

“What do you say?” J.B asked, fingering the feathers on the back of the catsuit. A surprising shivery feeling spread through my chest.

“But you saw it first,” I said coolly. “I couldn’t deprive you of the perfect Mardi Gras costume.”

“Who’s said anything about a costume?” he said. “I just think this might accentuate some of your best features.”

“You mean my growing boredom with your advances?” I said, sidling past him in the lingerie-cramped aisle.

J.B. put his hands on my shoulders, masseur-style, and breathed into my neck. “So what does the Princess have up her sleeve for tonight’s costume?” he whispered.

I spun around. “That’s for the Prince to know, and you to obsess over.”

A frustrated grunt from Kate in the dressing room made both of us jump back. I’d completely forgotten she was still back there trying on the catsuit.

“How’s it going?” I called into the curtain, praying she hadn’t heard J.B.

“Bye-bye butt feathers,” she called, sounding oblivious. “Anything else out there worth stuffing myself into for Baxter’s benefit?”

J.B. raised an eyebrow at me. With a magician’s flourish, he lifted the first thing in arm’s reach off the rack and held it up for my approval. It was a gaudy hot-pink satin corset. If Kate wanted to catch Baxter’s eye, this would probably do the trick.

J.B. flung the hanger over the door of the dressing room and, without thinking, I added, “Why don’t you try this one? ”

J.B. raised his fist at me, in recognition of our teamwork. As if the two of us would actually fist bump over anything. I rejected him but still stood there, frozen to my spot.

After a pause, J.B. lowered his fist and sighed. A tuft of blond hair blew up from his forehead. The green lettering on the sweatshirt matched his eyes perfectly, so they stood out even more than usual, almost taunting me. I was torn between wanting to break his stare and not wanting to be the one to have to look away first.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I whispered finally, hating that my voice sounded so small, that my breath felt so tight.

“It’s just a smile, Nat,” he said.

For a second, Justin Balmer sounded almost defensive. But then he licked his lips and bared his teeth at me. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“You know,” he sneered, going back to being the animal I knew, “I find your doggedness to win this pageant a little, well, amusing.” He leaned forward, dropped the purple cat suit in my arms. “And when I get amused,” he continued, stepping past me, “it makes me want to play.”

I squinted at J.B. standing in the doorframe, stroking his chin.

“Fine.” I couldn’t help grinning. “Game on.”

“Who are you talking to?” Kate called from the dressing room just as J.B. stepped out onto the street.

“No one,” I said quickly, turning around just in time to see Kate fling back the curtain. She shimmied out of the dressing room, wearing nothing but the pink silk getup, which fit her like a glove.

“You’d better be ready to throw down tonight,” she sang, dancing up against me.

Catching a final glimpse of Justin walking toward the boardwalk, I crossed my arms and said, “Oh, I’m ready.”