Love Shack (Tiny Houses, Big Hearts)

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Love Shack (Tiny Houses, Big Hearts) Page 16

by Roxy Mews


  The calendar notification beep made her jump. Her feet had to do a bit of a shuffle, because this dress wasn’t one you could take full elegant strides in. The bottom flared around her ankles, and it took the length of the kitchen to get the hang of swishing the tail of the garment forward as she walked to keep herself from planting face first on her floor.

  Her tablet was on the charging stand, and she saw the event before she even reached the small end table it was on. It had been a yearly reminder she’d programmed in over two years ago, and kept forgetting to take off.

  Usually she avoided the world this time of year and went traveling to get as far from the spectacle as possible. She’d forgotten all about it because of Brandon.

  It was her parents’ yearly fundraising dinner. It was also the second anniversary of the night she stopped being Felicity Newowski. It appeared she’d dressed up just in time.

  Another notification dinged. Debbie got back to her. The exit interview was on, and Debbie wanted an exclusive. She wouldn’t get it tonight. Felicity had one more stop to make before she wore this dress in public for the last time. Looking in the mirror, she tugged on a curl. Maybe a couple of stops.

  Behind the dress in her closet was a small purse. Inside was all the paperwork she’d have to take to the bank. She needed to do this now. Her old ID expired next month.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brandon guzzled another cup of coffee before he sat down at his desk. This was why people shouldn’t fall prey to others’ dares. Over five hundred emails stared back at him, and they all started running together, even after the caffeine boost.

  He had to shut the computer off for a minute. If he were still in the tiny house, Brandon would have gone a few steps and he’d have been in the kitchen. He would have warmed his legs on the wood burning stove, and smelled the apple spice of the woodwick candle Felicity would have had burning.

  Instead, he smelled cleaners. A chemical bouquet hit his nose. He’d never noticed it before because he never spent that much time in his apartment. And the only other place he spent any significant period of time was the bank. They used the same cleaning service.

  Felicity used all natural biodegradable cleaners and shampoos, so she could use the gray water for her planter boxes. He hadn’t even known what gray water was a couple weeks ago.

  He looked at the super clean counters and the neon orange dish soap. There was no way it could be used for anything but contaminating ground water.

  Brandon shook his head. He didn’t need to think about this at all. He was out of that house, and he was done with the whole thing.

  His boss hadn’t been thrilled when he’d told him he had no intention of trying to convince Felicity to do anything. It was the one part of the situation he was grateful for.

  He’d quit. He wasn’t going to leave his company in a lurch, so he told his boss he was happy to stay on until a suitable replacement could be trained. But it had to be done within ninety days.

  Brandon was done with lying to people. That left out any future employment in customer service. You can’t work face to face with a customer and not choke down a spoonful of shit on a daily basis.

  He could have used his anger at Felicity keeping her real name from him as an excuse to beef up his own walls and realize everyone was a fucking liar, but even though she hadn’t told him the truth, she’d still changed him.

  He realized in those few glorious days that he wanted someone as genuine as he’d thought Felicity was.

  Brandon looked at the big empty apartment around him. Before the tiny house, it had felt spacious and extravagant. Now…it felt lonely. It felt like a waste, and it didn’t feel like him.

  He could almost see Felicity’s lip curling at the chemicals he used to clean it. He could hear her voice telling him he didn’t need this robotic sweeper when a broom would work just fine. She’d tell him everything here was a waste.

  But she had kept her dress in case she needed to run back. He was sure of it now. It was her way in. She never did cut her ties completely. He wouldn’t be as chicken as she was.

  Brandon sat back down at the computer, but instead of scrolling his way through even more of the emails, he pulled up the information for his local real estate office. He knew the agent whose face he clicked on. Bethany coordinated with the bank all the time trying to set up loans, and she sold off a lot of foreclosures for the bank as well.

  He dropped her an email about selling his place. She replied within seconds with a phone call. They were going to meet for lunch the next day. No, she didn’t care that it was Saturday. Bethany was always working. Brandon admired her tenacity. Perhaps she’d rub off on him a little bit. He needed to figure out what he could be excited about besides money.

  He’d never really thought about it before.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  She didn’t have access to all the styling tools she used to, or the people who would have used them for her in the past. But with a flat iron from the local drug store and hours of frustration, she came close to her old look. Minus the hair dye. She wasn’t attempting that nonsense on her own.

  The fabric of the dress fit her like a second skin. And it was a good thing too, because she didn’t have a large supply of fabric tape anymore, and the little see through cutaways of the dress didn’t allow for anything underneath.

  Felicity rented a limo. It was the only way to get even close to the door of these places.

  It was funny how after only twenty-four months, she could feel like such an outsider. But she did. She felt like this was the life of another person. It sure wasn’t hers anymore. And while some people looked at the pictures in the magazines and felt envy, she felt sick to her stomach at the very thought of returning.

  Her entire digestive tract was in knots as she ascended the marble steps she’d busted her ass on so many times as a kid.

  When she was thirteen, her parents hadn’t cared that she’d gone to the hospital for a sprained ankle—they just had to make sure their entryway was grand and well suited for their station in life. Nan had been the one to stay by her side as the nurse stuck a needle of numbing medicine in her leg. Her mom had had a charity meeting. Felicity wasn’t as important as appearances.

  Now, with all the black tie attire and high heels ascending the same steps, there was a luxurious red carpet provided. The paparazzi were held back by security officers who looked like they should be taking care of a president, but her parents drew a bigger crowd, and their pictures sold for more money than the president’s. So the security was probably even more highly trained.

  Felicity watched one of the men touch his ear piece and talk into his wrist as she walked by. They still recognized her. Or they recognized the dress, at any rate. It was supposed to have been returned to the boutique after the awards show two years prior, but Felicity hadn’t been able to bring herself to step back into the shop. It meant she had more of this life to live. Instead, she’d sent a check with some of the money she’d pulled from her account.

  She didn’t want any ties or bills, so she spent the twenty-two thousand and bought the garment outright. Unlike everyone else at the charity gala, she was wearing something for the second time.

  The charity recognition gala was always televised. Felicity felt a little bad when she didn’t tell Debbie what she was going to do, but the woman wouldn’t have let it go. She would have tried for an interview. She would have walked up to her and said something like…

  “Please tell me I have had a stroke, and I am having some tripped out nightmare from all the morphine they are pumping into my brain.”

  Something like that, exactly.

  Felicity turned slowly. Mostly because she hadn’t worn heels this high in a long time and she didn’t want to catch the beading in her tiny heel points, but also because she didn’t want that voice to belong to the woman she was just thinking about.

  Deborah stood on the steps behind the velvet ropes. Her cameraman had the lens to his eye, but
his mouth was hanging open. The little red light was blinking.

  “I might not have recognized you before, but I damn sure know my fashion, and that Versace dress is infamous. You lied to me about your name.”

  Felicity gripped her beaded clutch tight. She was starting to shake and she couldn’t risk dropping what was inside.

  “I legally changed my name. I am Felicity Newhouse.”

  “No. In that dress, at this event, you are Felicity Newowski, and I am pissed beyond words that I didn’t see it sooner. I am also pissed that my exclusive story is going to take a backseat to whatever you are about to do.”

  Felicity nodded. She knew this was going to take over all the entertainment shows, and unfortunately even the news shows would probably mention it, because that was just what happened when someone did what she was about to do at a charity function.

  Deborah ducked under the rope, used an impressive spin move to skirt the closest security guard, and stood face to face with Felicity. “Don’t look at me like you’re looking at me. I know what this place is, and I know that this isn’t you, but you’ve got a responsibility to people who fell in love with and believed in the Newhouse build. If you are going in there to reenter high society and leave all those people hanging…you really aren’t who I thought you were. I hate being wrong, but I believed in you too. You’re not…” She waved around her as the cameras flashed. “You’re not this.”

  Felicity smiled. “No I’m not. But I used to be, and instead of hiding it, I just need to move past it. There’s something I need to do. I promise, if you’re still interested in hearing me out—as a friend only—then I’ll explain. But I’m done with the cameras after our last interview.”

  Deborah just ducked under the rope again and turned her back on Felicity. As she continued her walk, Deborah’s voice carried.

  “We just saw a glimpse of the elusive Felicity Newowski. She has been absent from these proceedings for the last two years. It’s great to see her back in the limelight where she belongs.”

  Felicity cringed at Deborah’s tone, but she knew coming back here there would be a price she’d have to pay. She wanted to pay it and be done. She wanted to keep anyone else from walking out of her life because she was keeping secrets. She’d never wanted to hide—she just didn’t want to have to be someone who had to change who she was to be in the spotlight.

  The doorman was another non-descript man with a lot of muscles and shortly cropped hair. His suit had to be custom-made to fit around his shoulders. There was no way that arm would fit so well off the rack.

  He touched his earpiece as Felicity took the last step onto the covered porch. Then he nodded to someone behind him.

  “Miss Newowski. You weren’t expected, but our team is informed of your presence. We will make sure to add you to our detail.”

  He meant they would all be watching. She looked back down the stairs, a part of her longing to flee. Instead of a path to freedom, every camera flashed and reflected light in her face. She tried to smile like she was supposed to, but it was too much of an effort to get the corners of her mouth above a straight line. Instead she turned and entered the hall as her arrival was announced.

  “Miss Felicity Newowski.”

  The whole room turned toward her. Before she’d fled this life, the people in the ballroom would have smiled and applauded, instead they all just stared. Some gasped, some whispered, but it was her parents who stole the show.

  Felicity watched her mother’s eyes widen. There were no wrinkles or pinches between her eyebrows. That was what botox was for. Even with numbed facial muscles it was obvious their surprise was not the happy and welcoming kind.

  Felicity nodded to some people who greeted her on her way to her family. There wasn’t anything she could do about the audience. She’d chosen the venue specifically because of the audience. She knew her parents wouldn’t cause a scene at an event, and there was part of her that didn’t mind using the spotlight to remind this crowd that she could put on a dress and pretend like everyone else.

  Felicity tried to calm her racing pulse, but she didn’t have time to meditate, and this dress wasn’t made for yoga.

  So she rode the adrenaline wave all the way up to her parents. “Mother, Father.”

  “Felicity,” her mother leaned in and they both did her mother’s favorite air kiss. It was meant to not mess up any hair or makeup. “Our contact informed us that you were not up for returning to society. We didn’t expect you tonight. You should have let us know you were coming. We could have drawn more of a crowd.”

  Felicity took a deep breath. “I just came because I took care of something that had been weighing on me for a long time now.” She pulled the cashier’s check from her clutch.

  Her father tried to wave her hand away. “You don’t have to donate to the charity fund. And if you insist, you know you’re to contact our accountant.”

  Felicity grabbed his hand and slapped the check on his palm. “This isn’t a donation. It’s the entire balance of my trust fund.”

  Her father grabbed the check and looked at the number in the box. “Did you not use any of it?”

  “Not a dime. I don’t want your money.”

  “Then why on earth did you come here?” her mother asked.

  Felicity wasn’t sure she wanted to do what she was about to do. She’d spent the last two years avoiding scenes just like this one, but with many of the reporters worming their way inside, she couldn’t resist coming clean.

  Felicity ignored her mother and father’s protests and worked her way up to the stage where the live band was playing generic music meant to fade into the background. The acrylic podium was a favorite of her mother’s. It was where they would do their end of party announcements. It had to be clear, because her mother couldn’t have a stand obscuring the dress she wore.

  Felicity wanted people to see her dress too. It was the one everyone had been talking about, and even if they didn’t recognize her, they would recognize the dress. A security guard rushed to the small steps to help Felicity up them in case she would trip and fall.

  Her heart was in her throat when she flipped on the microphone.

  The band stopped. The room quieted, and Felicity hoped her shaking knees weren’t too visible. “Hello, everyone. I’m sure some of you know who I am, and I wanted to make an announcement. I have started a charity of my own, and wanted to let you all know about something called Tiny Houses, Big Hearts. There are many people who could live for an entire year off what you are spending on this party. This dress…” She looked down at the sequins. The spotlights lit her up and she shone brighter than she ever had. “I’m ashamed at how much this cost me. So I wanted to announce I am returning all the money given to me by my parents. If they want to invest in my charity, the money will go towards building homes for those who don’t have them. If they’d rather their money go towards spectacles like this…that’s their choice. It’s their money.”

  She took a breath. “I’ve decided this life is not for me, and I’ll be doing no more interviews or shows or endorsement deals. I’ve found a beauty in living simply, and I realized keeping this part of my life hidden would only come back to bite me in the ass.”

  There were a few gasps at her vulgar words. She resisted lighting up the room with some more sentence enhancers, but only just. “So I’m letting you know that I’ve officially changed my name to Felicity Newhouse, and I’ll no longer be part of the Newowski Empire. If you have any questions about my new charity, please contact Deborah at Channel 13 news. If you want to talk about me…I’m otherwise occupied. Thank you.”

  The jitters she felt started to rise up from her knees, and soon her whole body was a live wire. Felicity walked back to her parents. “If you call me about another television pitch, I’m going to hang up. If you want to ask how my day went, I’ll return the favor.”

  “So you’re saying our money isn’t good enough for you?” Her father had redness climbing out of his perfectly pressed
white button down shirt.

  “I’m saying I’d like to be good enough for you without money. I found something that makes me happy and a purpose that I’m driven by. I thought I could live under an assumed identity and hide, but I don’t want to hide.”

  “I think you’ve disrupted our event enough for the night,” her mother told her. “Do you need our service to take you home?”

  Felicity shook her head. Part of her had hoped she could find a way to connect with her parents, but she couldn’t even remember a hug her mother had given her that wasn’t in front of a camera. “I’m good, Mom. I told the limo driver to wait for me.”

  And with that, Felicity left. She walked out the door. She walked away from the family that had always made her feel like a burden or an advertising tool, and she pulled off her heels before she even got to the steps.

  The flashes exploded around her and she ran. She ran down the red carpet and toward the limo. She was nearly blind by the time she told the driver to put up the partition.

  She stripped out of the dress and threw on a tank top and a pair of yoga pants. Trading flip flops for heels was always a wonderful feeling, but it was especially satisfying after stilettos. Felicity wadded up the Versace dress and pushed it to the bottom of the mesh bag she’d gotten from the dollar store. Then she threw the Jimmy Choo shoes on top.

  The donation bin was on her way home. The big yellow metal container was like a beacon and she made the driver stop.

  She stood there, with the bag in her hands for a full minute. The light from the gas station next to the bin was in the background, and it glinted off an exposed sequin. There was a part of Felicity that knew she could use a dress like this and walk back into the life her parents led. She could put this on and go to a red carpet event where she’d need a makeup artist and hair stylist to match what she wore on her body.

 

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