“Can I get you something, Mrs. Sanchez?” Ryan asked sweetly and I reached under the table to pinch her thigh. She grabbed my hand and held it there. I ß ushed, my appetite for conß ict receding. Ryan loosened her grip on my hand, but I left it there and soon her Þ ngers were separating mine, her palm resting on the back of my hand.
“I’m Þ ne,” my mother croaked.
“Mia, is there something you want to say?” Ned asked in a tone of voice I had heard him use on my nephew.
All the warm fuzzies crept out of my body and I turned toward my sister’s one-eyed husband.
“Yes, Ned. I’m gay,” I said with false geniality.
He ß ushed. “We all know you’re gay, unless Brenda really was just your roommate all these years.”
It was as if the warmth was ripped from my body. I could have scripted Ryan’s hand slowly easing away from mine. The chuckle from my sister put the icing on the cake. “Actually, Ned, I should thank you for the opening. I do have something to say.”
“I think you’ve said enough already,” my mother wheezed.
“No, Mother, not nearly enough, and that’s why I’m so angry. I spent four years of my life with a woman who never once told me that
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
I was attractive. What’s sad is, I didn’t know it was wrong. I thought I was lucky to have her because you seemed to believe that.”
“Mia, maybe this isn’t the time,” Christina interjected.
“Christina, I know you don’t care to hear this, but I have to say it. Brenda left me. I didn’t ask her to go, I didn’t tell her it was over, I didn’t tell her I was unhappy because I didn’t know I was. But she chose to leave, and you know what? I don’t hate her for it.”
“Are you Þ nished?” If I hadn’t seen Christina’s mouth move, I would have sworn the question had come from my mother.
I took a deep breath. “No, I’m not.” I turned to my mother Þ rst.
“Your highlights are really bad. You look like a drag queen who’s trying too hard.” I turned to Christina. “Your husband stares at my breasts every time I see him.” Someone gasped, but I didn’t see who it was. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to hurt you. I think you knew, though, didn’t you? I used to think that you helped me Þ nd less revealing clothes because you cared about me, but now I think you did it because you wanted to keep your husband from staring at me.”
“Mia, maybe we should go.” Ryan’s hand was back on mine.
“Just a second, Ryan. I need to Þ nish this because next month it will be as if it never happened.” Christina might not have been looking at me, but she couldn’t tune out my voice. “Why did you marry him?
What happened to the little girl who wanted to marry a rich Prince Charming? Mother convinced you that marrying a dentist was the best you could do, right?” I let my dislike of Ned show. “It’s not like he’s good-looking or even particularly rich.”
“That’s enough,” he bellowed.
“This is not your house and this is not your table!” I bellowed back.
“But it is mine,” my father said quietly. “And I would ask that you kindly take yourself away from it until you Þ nd your manners.”
“I’ll leave, but I have one last thing to say, because I’ll be damned if I subject myself to one more ‘family brunch.’” My mother had picked up her fork and was stabbing at her salad as if she was going to ignore me. Anger was rolling off of her like steam, and deep down, I shriveled, appalled at what I was saying. “You won’t have my weight problem to concern you anymore. So maybe you can pay some attention to your other daughter’s weight problem.”
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
My mother laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Your sister doesn’t have a weight problem.”
“No? Try Þ guring out why she never puts any of that food in her mouth.” Christina’s fork dropped into her plate with a loud clank. “While you’re spending so much time worrying about every pound I gain, you should be noticing that Christina is going the opposite direction. The only time you compliment either of us is when we look like we’ve lost weight. But even you must not think she looks good, because I haven’t heard you compliment her in a few months.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Christina said, but there was no anger in her voice.
“Sucks, don’t it? Get used to it, because once I’m not around you’ll get all her attention. And by the way…you look like a coat rack, Christina. Eat something.” The look on Christina’s face caused me to temper my anger. “You’re my little sister. I love you. If you need me, I’ll be there. But I’m not going to let you pull me into the body-image issues that you inherited from Mother anymore. Figure out what’s causing you unhappiness and get it out of your life before you turn into someone you don’t want to be.”
I stood up and Ryan did too. I looked pointedly from my mother to Ned before turning and walking out of the room. I could hear Ryan murmuring something that sounded like “thank you for the wonderful meal,” but I had already slammed out of the house before she had Þ nished. I had the engine running by the time she came jogging out and hopped in the car. The squeal the tires made as I peeled out of my parents’ driveway was unintentional, but no less gratifying.
“We get to do that every month?” Ryan sounded like a kid who had just stepped off the newest roller coaster. She was grinning so wide that I felt an answering one pull at the side of my own mouth before reality stopped it cold.
“Nah, I doubt I’ll get an invite for at least two months, and then they’ll act like none of this happened. Damn it. I am so angry I could punch something.” I realized too late that I might be scaring Ryan because of her background, but she was looking at me with half-lidded eyes and a wide, sensual smile.
“I know exactly what you need to get rid of some of that aggression.”
• 200 •
SUCH A PRETTY FACE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I know exactly what you need to get rid of some of that aggression.
Now I ask you, who wouldn’t think they were about to get some sex? I thought, Finally, she’s come to her senses. By the time we reached the house I was so ready for it I could have done a few jumping jacks as a warm-up. Hell, when she told me to get dressed in my workout clothes, I was good with that too. I Þ gured she was just freaky. I could do freaky. I would love to do freaky. Besides, sex was a workout, wasn’t it? But she meant a real workout—cardio, to be exact.
“How’s it going down there?”
If the question hadn’t sounded so amused, if sweat wasn’t pooling into all the right places, I might have been able to answer her in a civil manner. All I managed was two gasps and a grunt, though. I refused to let her know how pissed I was. Actually, “pissed” was probably not the right word; disillusioned, annoyed, agitated, and horny were more accurate.
The treadmill beeped three times. I slowed my pace and allowed myself to roll off the back. I stood there glaring at the blinking monitor nestled between the headrests. “Three miles? What the hell?” I wiped the sweat from my eyes and looked at the readout again “Did I really just run three miles?”
“Yup, unless all that cursing and grunting was a recording.”
I jumped. “I didn’t hear you come down.”
“Sorry, I wanted to bring you this.”
In a perfect world, I would have grabbed the towel she held out to me and coolly walked up the stairs while dabbing delicately at my moist brow. In order to do that, I would need to calm my breathing
• 201 •
GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
enough that my breasts didn’t look like they were about to heave right out of my sports bra.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t looked like she’d just had a shower.
“You probably shouldn’t have pushed it so hard,” she said. “You had that bad spill last week.”
“I’
m Þ ne.” I brushed past her to go up the stairs and into the kitchen. The fact that she was behind me was the only reason I made it to the top at all. I had overdone it; she was right, which pissed me off even more.
My intention was to head upstairs to hop into a shower where I could stew in peace. On a whim, I stopped at one of the drawers and began rooting through it for a corkscrew. An acquaintance of Brenda’s had given her an expensive bottle of red wine that she was quite proud of. It had been gathering dust for over a year.
I took great pleasure in opening it and pouring myself a glass while Ryan watched.
“Mia?”
“I’m going to go take a shower.” Glass in hand, I brushed past her.
I would probably regret how I was treating her tomorrow, but for now I just wanted to be by myself.
I walked up the stairs and into my bedroom, trying to Þ gure out why I was so angry and who I was angry with. My mother was, well, my mother. I usually got over my anger at her pretty fast. Was I mad at Christina for taking Ned’s side of things or for letting herself be pushed into some obviously unhealthy behavior? Or was it Ryan?
It couldn’t be Ryan. She hadn’t done anything. Well, she had done something: she had been able to stick to her guns about not sleeping with me. Why couldn’t I just let it go? It was obvious that she didn’t want me as much as I wanted her or she wouldn’t be able to keep me at arm’s length. I slid the shower door open and turned on the water. I was acting like a spoiled brat. I knew it, and now so did Ryan, which only made me feel worse.
Embarrassment chased away my anger and I found myself wanting my anger back. I let the water sluice over my head until it became tepid. It was too early for me to turn in and not have Ryan become suspicious. I would have to see her, apologize for my behavior, maybe make up something about being on my period. When I reached out to turn off the water I noticed that not only were my Þ ngers wrinkled, but
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
the veins on the backs of my hands were standing out like a topological map.
“Lovely, no wonder she has no problem keeping her hands to herself,” I said as I wrapped a towel around my body and went in search of underwear.
I was rooting around in my drawers when I came across the black bra and panty set that I had purchased on my last shopping trip with Christina. I Þ gured if Ryan and I ever slept together, I would need something to lounge around in like those women on TV who never managed to take their bra off before sex.
“I might as well get some use out of them,” I said. The bra was the only front-clasping one that I owned. It lifted my heavy breasts up, giving them an illusion of perkiness I hadn’t seen since I was thirteen.
My mood lightened and I pulled on the matching panties. “Hmph, I don’t think I look half bad.”
Who was I kidding? Between the veins on the backs of my hands, the messed-up attitude, and this huge inch I could pinch… It was a moment, more like a split second before I realized the signiÞ cance of my thought. I pinched the skin at my side, then pinched it again. An inch, maybe a little more, but I’d been pinching at least four or Þ ve for the last year.
“Holy shit.” I took another long draught of my wine and looked at the backs of my hands.
I still thought they were ugly, but surely it wasn’t just pure dehydration? Maybe it was because my hands had less fat on them.
Did hands get fat? I stepped away from the mirror above my dresser and turned to the closet mirrors. I hated the mirrored closet doors in my room. They had been Brenda’s idea and I had always thought they were tacky. The idea of standing in front of my closet and gazing at myself in bra and panties was, well, embarrassing. I went looking for my robe instead.
I stood in my closet, not seeing anything, because I felt befuddled.
When had this happened? I thought maybe my clothes were Þ tting a little better, but they certainly weren’t falling off me, and shouldn’t people be complimenting me if I had lost weight?
When my mother asked me if I had been sick I had immediately assumed that she had used her mother ESP to pick up on the fact that I had fallen from my bike. Both Goody and Ryan had complimented me in the last couple of weeks—had that been because of weight loss?
• 203 •
GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
I had trashed my old scale out of frustration and now I was actually contemplating running over to Mr. Gentry’s house to ask him if I could hop on his. I laughed. He’d get a kick out of me in my new lingerie, asking to use his bathroom scale.
So would Ryan. I sobered up at that thought.
I wasn’t fooling anyone. I could parade around up here all I wanted, but I would never be bold enough to show my body to anyone, least of all Ryan. I wrapped the robe tightly around myself and I was going to belt it, but I caught a ß ash of movement in the mirror as I walked by. I hadn’t had time to get any sun this year so my skin was embarrassingly pale, but the mirror tugged at me and I found myself standing in front of it.
I slowly opened one side of the robe and then the other. I was looking at myself in a pair of black panties and matching bra that would have been sexy on anyone else. I had just begun to feel stupid when I focused on my breasts. They were somewhat hard to miss. In fact, they had always been one of the Þ rst things people, men especially, noticed about me. So I’d learned to conÞ ne them. Christina would call me up telling me about this new reducing bra or this suit that would minimize my chest.
I stepped closer to the mirror, letting the robe fall around my shoulders. If I saw a woman with breasts like those, would I look? I grinned. I’m not a breast girl, but mine aren’t bad. In fact, they looked damn good in the black bra, and it did nothing to minimize. I put my hands up and shivered as the warmth traveled through the fabric and warmed my nipples.
I turned to the side so that I could see my proÞ le. I still thought my hips and ass were too big, but there was a curve to my waist that I hadn’t noticed before. I turned to look at myself straight on. My stomach was ß at. I had no six-pack and I doubted I ever would, but there was no bulge or cute little pooch. I placed my hands on my sides, trying to encircle my own waist. Ryan had held me there and all I had been able to do was worry that she was feeling my fat rolls.
I tried to see in myself what Ryan might have seen. I tried to remember what she looked like when we had kissed those few times, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. I thought about what Goody said about how aroused Ryan looked after girls’
poker night.
I was not a skinny girl—I had never been—but I was not
• 204 •
SUCH A PRETTY FACE
unattractive. At one point in my life I had known that but had become clouded by self-doubt as a result of the words of people who professed to love me.
But, Mia, you have such a pretty face. As if cued, my mother’s words came screaming back to me.
No wonder I hate being told I’m attractive. My mother had used it as a put-down for as long as I can remember. Realization unfurled in my mind, along with all the old pains: my mother’s constant badgering about my weight, Christina’s insistence that I hide my body, the schoolyard bullies who had managed to squat on a spot in my memory long after they should have been forgotten.
Why did I allow myself to be treated like that?
I wrapped the robe around myself and sat down on my bed. I heard music turn on downstairs. Ryan was probably painting. I pictured her down there in her uniform of choice, jeans and T-shirt, and I had to push the thought away when I realized how uncomfortable I was making myself. It wasn’t so much that I was aroused—not true; the very thought of her did arouse me—but I had this certainty that she and I were meant to be together, that every moment we spent circling each other was just wasted time.
The red wine was giving me strength I wouldn’t have had any other time. It made me feel like I was ß oating outside my body, watching myself turn the knob and calmly walk down the s
tairs to the living room. Either Ryan would reject me or we would make love. Either way, this uncertainty was going to end tonight.
v
You know that saying, “You shouldn’t play with Þ re”? I always thought that was one of those “no kidding” kind of things. But there I sat, in my robe and black silk panties and bra, watching her work.
Her Þ rst reaction didn’t disappoint. Her smile froze and her eyes widened and she turned away from me too quickly. Unfortunately, that initial reaction was what gave me the courage to sit down, wineglass in hand. She had made it quite clear that she didn’t want to sleep with me.
Hell, I wasn’t exactly sure I knew what to do if she changed her mind.
Yet I was sitting there, sipping my wine and staring at her like she was a piece of meat.
She was doing her damnedest to ignore me, but I could see her
• 205 •
GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
looking out of the corner of her eye. She would have to redo the wall she was working on because she had been painting the same spot for several minutes. The truth of the matter was, I was having fun. I was taking my frustration out on her, and it was mean, and I loved it. I hoped like hell she slept like shit, and I didn’t give a good goddamn if she was pissed at me for it. If I was going to be uncomfortable, everyone should be. SelÞ sh? Absolutely. But I hated the fact that she seemed to have no trouble forgetting some of our heated moments together.
“Excuse me?” Ryan mumbled.
“Uh-huh,” I said around my wineglass and lifted my legs up so that my robe fell to the side and my thigh—not a bad-looking thigh, actually—was exposed.
I saw her arm bulge when she gripped her towel. She picked up her shirt and began to walk away. Shit, she was leaving.
“Hot in here, isn’t it,” I said loudly. “You mind if I take off my robe?”
I expected her to tell me to do whatever the hell I wanted to do before stalking out of the room. When she instead turned around and gave me the same piercing glare that she had given Brad Jackson when we were arguing, I knew I had gone too far.
Such a Pretty Face Page 23
