The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Twenty-Four

“Okay.”

I finished putting in my contacts, then touched up my eye makeup, which was just a ring of thin eyeliner and mascara. Then I stood back from the full-length mirror to look myself over. My now-black hair lay in tousled barrel curls around my shoulders, pinned back from one temple. My dress, the white, drop-waisted affair draped lazily over my hips with a perfect “don’t give a fuck” attitude. No jewelry except my engagement ring and a leather and sterling silver cuff.

Clean. Cool. I nodded with approval. “Perfect.”

There was another knock at my door.

“Eric, I’ll be out in a second,” I said irritably. Lord, was he back already?

“It’s not Eric.”

I walked over to let in Skylar, who stood there looking a damn vision in a simple white slip dress and shawl, her red hair braided heavily over one shoulder. A pair of diamond studs gleamed from her ears along with her engagement and wedding rings. Aside from those small touches, the only real signs of my friend’s wealth was the impeccable fit of her dress and her personal grooming. Even after marrying into billions, Skylar had kept to herself. Simple. Elegant. Down-to-earth. I loved her for it.

She gawked as she got a look at my hair. “Well, that’s a change.” She strode into the room. “Thought I’d come check on you,” she said. “Eric’s downstairs asking about you. Again.”

I smiled as I walked back to the mirror. “Thanks. What do you think?”

Skylar looked me over, whistling as she did. “You know, you kind of fit into this life.”

I looked at her through the mirror, disbelieving. “You’re kidding.”

She sat down on the bed. “No, I’m not. I mean, I just remember how uncomfortable I used to be even visiting Brandon’s house. You’ve just…I don’t know. You’ve acclimated well.”

I snorted. “Tell that to Eric’s family, please.”

Skylar frowned. “Why? What’s going on.”

I cringed. “Brandon didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head. “We were at the beach with the kids most of the day. What happened?”

So I did, starting with the weird pranks that morning and the comments I’d overheard before Eric and I left for town.

“We could sue them,” Skylar said when I was finished.

“For what?”

She shrugged. “Emotional larceny?”

I snorted. “Okay, Andy from Singles.”

“I just think it’s bullshit. And you guys aren’t even going to talk to anyone? These people are supposedly here to celebrate your engagement. And instead, they’re dumping dirt in your bed.”

Skylar glared at the now-pristine mattress. I looked with her. The staff had done its work, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to sleep on it.

“The thing is,” I said. “I thought things were going well, relatively speaking. Celeste has actually been looking me in the eye when she talks to me.”

“Is that why you dyed your hair back to black?

I shrugged. “My roots were showing anyway.” To avoid the pity in Skylar’s eyes, I started the process of putting on my lipstick. The last step. The only bit of color in my outfit.

“No glasses?” Skylar asked.

I turned, blinking heavily. “No. Not tonight.”

“But you hate contacts.”

I shrugged. “Well. I wanted to make a good impression tonight. I’m tired of sticking out like a sore thumb. I think it will help Eric if I don’t look too Debbie Harry when I meet his family’s entire social group, you know?”

“That’s…generous of you.” Skylar watched as I drew on a deep, almost purple-red shade, slightly softer than my usual fire-engine red, but no less vibrant.

“There,” I said. “All done.” I turned around. “What do you think?”

It had taken me almost two months to make this dress. Initially, I’d found a vintage Halston that I considered wearing, but needed to take in. The fabric ended up being damaged in the back, so instead, I’d dismantled it and created something of my own. The sheer, minimalist midi skirt fell to my calves, with a boatneck bodice patchworked with white silk and charmeuse that draped around my torso to the drop waist. Not exactly Stepford wife, but it was still couture, technically. Times two. And still me. A labor of love—more work than I’d even considered with my wedding dress. And I was glad, because if things were about to change with Eric the way I thought they might, there was potential that tonight might even mean more.

“Janey, you look stunning,” Skylar said honestly. “I love what you did with your hair, black or not.”

I examined my nails, which I’d repainted this morning with shiny black polish to match the black leather cuff. I couldn’t let go of that edge, just a bit of hardness. I’d never done it in court, and I wasn’t going to start now.

“You and Eric…it’s not just an arrangement anymore, is it?”

I looked up. “How did you know?”

Skylar rolled her eyes. “Jane, I do know both of you pretty well. Something was different this morning at breakfast. Last night, even. Both of you were different. More…relaxed somehow. Am I right?”

I twisted my mouth around. “Honestly, I don’t know. But maybe…” I looked up. “Maybe I hope so.”

Skylar smiled. “Good. Just don’t mess it up this time by being so damn stubborn, all right?”

I scowled, even though I knew she was right.

“Come on,” Skylar said, linking her arm with mine. “Let’s go make your society debut.”

* * *

The party was alreadyin full swing when we rounded the staircase into the main hall and exited the French doors onto the patio and lawn. Really, party was a misnomer—this thing was a fucking ball. The entire pool area had been completely cordoned off, and on the wide green field next to it, a giant outdoor extravaganza had been set up. This included a dance floor, a full band, several drink and catering services, about three dozen tables, and several other more casual seating areas, all lit by suspended twinkling lights, tasteful candlelight, and eons of fragrant lilies. It looked like…well, it looked like a wedding. Except all of the extremely wealthy guests milling around the party were also wearing white, not just a bride.

“I still don’t know what the point of this is,” Skylar said. “An annual party where everyone wears something virtually guaranteed to stain by the end of the night? Why?”

But I was too entranced by the scene to make snarky comments with her. “Because it’s beautiful, Sky, that’s why,” I said. “And because they can.”

“Jane?”

I turned to find Celeste de Vries being wheeled slowly toward us by Garrett, dressed in his customary black tails. Like everyone else, she was completely decked out in white, a frothy confection of breezy silk that matched her curled white wig and satin slippers. Tasteful diamonds swung from her ears, matching a delicate pendant at her neck. Her gray eyes—so like her grandson’s—sparkled sharply under the night sky.

“Good evening, Mrs. de Vries,” I said, fighting the urge to bow to the clan matriarch. “You look a vision tonight, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I held out my hand. For a moment, she examined it, and then accepted it with a light squeeze before letting it go.

“Your hair,” she remarked. “It’s…”

“It needed an update,” I said, patting it again. “I thought with the wedding coming up, perhaps something more…classic…was in order.”

She looked at me with something approximating approval. “Indeed.”

“Have you seen Eric?” I asked. “Is he down yet?”

Celeste nodded, though she still seemed to be absorbed with my new appearance. “Yes,” she murmured. “Just by the dance floor. I believe he was looking for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And, Celeste, thank you for sharing your party with us this evening. I couldn’t imagine a better way to celebrate my engagement to your grandson.”

Skylar looked at me curiously.

Celeste nodded again. “Indeed,” she said. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She ordered Garrett to wheel her to another set of guests, and I watched them until Skylar elbowed me in the side.

“Ow! What?” I rubbed my ribs. “Do you have knives on those things or what, Sky?”

“Look,” she said.

I followed her hand to where Eric and Brandon stood next to one of the drink bars, both of them tall, blond, and filling out their clothes better than just about any other men at the party. Both held drink glasses—Brandon a brown liquor, Eric with his standard vodka martini. But while Brandon was busy chattering away, Eric didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he was staring at me.

In a sea of white, he still managed to stand out. Tall and lean, with his blond hair combed back from his face, Eric was the picture of summer in an Italian-cut, white linen suit and matching shirt, cognac-colored wingtips, and blue-gray tie around his neck. Everyone around him seemed to disappear into shadow as I approached. The man gleamed. An angel in white with a deliciously dark interior. But really, even that part of him glowed to me.

“Jane,” he said with a small shake of his head. Tentatively, he reached out for my hand. I let him take it, absorbing the warmth of his fingers, the familiarity of his touch. It was innocent, but carried so much. Brandon and Skylar glanced between us.

“Should we go check on Jen and Luis?” Brandon started to ask, but Skylar was already tugging him away.

I turned to Eric. “You, um, you look really nice.”

Eric pulled on his tie—the tie I had bought him just last week. “I had some help.”

I smiled. He smiled back. Both of us were so unaccountably shy.

Just say it! I wanted to yell. Whatever you want to talk about, just say it! Was it because I was afraid he would ask to go back to what we once were? Utter those three little words he had said before? The ones I had fled with such terror?

I won’t run this time.

Wouldn’t I?

Slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a sweet, slow kiss to my knuckles before pulling me close.

“You’re a fucking vision,” he said, his voice humming. Then his finger tipped my chin to look at him straight. “And don’t let anyone make you forget it.”

I pressed my lips together, afraid that if I opened them, I’d kiss him right there and wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Eric just smiled, and I felt my whole body glow like one of the twinkling lights above us.

“You know, we actually are supposed to dance at these things,” Eric said, somewhat jocularly as he set his martini glass back on the bar. He tipped his head toward the dance floor, which was currently populated mostly by people over the age of fifty-five.

I bit back a smile. “Senior special?”

His own smile grew in response. “I thought you liked going against the grain, Jane.”

I full-on grinned. “Okay, but fair warning, twinkletoes. I have absolutely no moves.”

At that, Eric yanked on my arm, sweeping me in a sudden arc against his chest. His other arm wrapped immediately around my waist. “Don’t worry,” he said as he started to move. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

It was only supposed to be one dance, but it turned into two. Then three. As the big band behind us continued to play jazz standards and I increasingly suspected I was living inside an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, Eric moved me around the dance floor with sure, graceful steps, not even making a sound when I stepped on his feet. Twice.

“I didn’t expect it,” he said as he turned me under one arm and caged me against his chest.

“Expect whaaaat,” I drawled as he flung me out with a smirk before pulling me right back. I felt like a rag doll—and I kind of loved it.

“How well you fit here,” he said. “In this life.”

I glanced around. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, and the overhanging lights twinkled in his eyes. “I’m not. You do, Jane. Pink hair—well, used to be pink hair—and all.”

I scoffed. “Skylar said the same thing. Weird.”

“Well, she would know. She still struggles with this world. You…I don’t know. I’m impressed.”

I considered the events of this morning. Over the last few months, his grandmother and his family had been stiff, but never totally mean. They weren’t the horror he had led me to believe caused Penny’s death. Maybe the sand, the shoes, the little bit of hazing were just his family’s way of welcoming me into the fold. Maybe tonight could really be the start of something special.

“I don’t know about that,” I argued, more for the sake of arguing than anything else. “Look around. I see maybe four other Asians, and everyone else who isn’t white is the help, right? And no one here has pink hair, glasses, or anything else.”

“Well, neither do you, now.” He sounded almost sad as he said it.

I looked around. I looked at literally anything but him. But as his steps slowed to a gentle sway, I could feel that penetrating gaze of his aching for me to meet it.

“Jane,” he said. “I…”

“May I cut in on your friend—oh! Oh, Jane, my goodness. Your hair!”

Eric and I both turned to Caitlyn, who looked stunning as usual in a flowing white gown covered with intricate beading. It brushed the tops of her French-tipped toes as she walked. It was very…bridal.

“I thought it was time for a change,” I said, touching my hair.

“Jane likes variety,” Eric said, pulling me back to his side when I tried to step away. “I like it too.”

I looked up at him gratefully. His mouth curved into that smile I knew and…loved, once upon a time.

Who are you kidding? Once? Try now.

“Well,” Caitlyn interrupted my internal dialogue. “The request still stands.”

Eric blinked. “What request?”

“The dance, silly.” She turned to me with shining eyes. “We learned together, didn’t he tell you? Our parents made us take gobs of lessons when we were children, right, E?”

Eric just nodded. “That’s right. I forgot about that.”

I frowned. He forgot about “gobs of lessons?”

“Did I ever tell you about Eric’s and my first kiss, Jane?” Caitlyn sighed. “When we were seven, the instructor taught us dips. And he surprised me—when we finally got it, he landed a kiss right on me.” She giggled with the memory. “You know, for a long time, I was convinced he was my Prince Charming. Childish dreams, huh?”

I didn’t say anything, fighting back the desire to scratch her perfect-looking face. But even worse—Eric didn’t either.

Caitlyn held out a perfectly manicured hand. “For old times, Des?”

Eric looked at her hand. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

I watched, somewhat dumbfounded, as Eric’s hand left my waist. Caitlyn winked at me and then allowed Eric to guide her onto the dance floor. The band was playing jazz standards, and he was actually a really good dancer. So was she. Whereas he had been leading me around in a tepid box step to avoid my two left feet, with Caitlyn, he could move freely around the entire floor to the point where eventually, people moved to the side to give them free rein. They twirled, spun, and laughed all over the floor.

“Don’t they make a lovely couple?” someone whispered behind me.

“She makes so much more sense for him than that horrible pink-haired woman,” replied another. “I wonder if that’s why nothing has been formally announced yet. I haven’t seen her, have you?”

“Celeste must be holding out,” said the first. “I would.”

And to my shame, I didn’t turn around to correct her. Instead I watched, twirling the engagement ring that suddenly felt loose, as Eric’s face continued to light up. Fought the dread rising in my belly as everyone clapped and closed around the couple at the end of the song. And stared, in horror, as Caitlyn leaned in and landed a kiss on Eric’s lips.

“Jane?”

I turned. Skylar stood behind me wearing her own expression of concern.

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“I—I don’t know,” I said, realizing that a host of tears were threatening to explode. “Sky, I…”

She nodded. “Come on.”

With my friend’s arm securely around my shoulders, I was ushered through the party.

“Ah, shit!” I cried as I tripped over a chair leg. I caught myself on Skylar’s arm, but in the process, one of my contact lenses fell out. “Fuck!” I shouted, catching the ire of a few older party guests. “My contact. Shit, I can’t see.”

“Come on,” Skylar urged. “Let’s get inside. You can get your glasses.”

I followed her around people, but when we rounded a hedge toward the main house, Skylar dropped my hand. Half-blind as I was, I realized only too late why.

“SPLASH!” cried the little voice as they threw several containers of bright red paint at me.

I looked down and found my dress—my hand-sewn, personally designed, one-of-a-kind dress—completely doused. The thick paint, which seemed to be the kind kids used in classrooms, oozed down the white in thick, sanguine globs.

And I began to shake.

“Oh my God!” crowed a woman in a short sequined number as she teetered by on four-inch heels, escorted by yet another white-tuxedoed male.

“Wow,” he said with a smirk. “That sucks.”

“Cait is going to love this,” she crowed, and they headed back into the party to spread the news.

I turned to Skylar, who only stood there, her hands over her mouth.

“Sky.” I reached out. “Help.”

She took my hand again, careful to keep a wide berth.

“No,” I said, now choking on the sobs stuck in my throat. “Not—not the house. Too many people. And I’ll—I’ll get red everywhere.” I couldn’t bear for these people who seemed to prey on weakness like raptors on mice to see me crying.

Skylar glanced around. “Well, there’s the beach. But, Janey, your dress—”

“Fuck my dress, Sky,” I said. “Just get me out of here.”

“Jane!” Eric’s voice called as I turned back to the crowd, doing my best to ignore the increasingly audible laughter as more and more people caught a look at my dress. The world was half-blurry with only one contact in.

I looked at Skylar, unable to focus. “I’m going to run,” I said. “Please keep him here.”

“What the hell!” Eric shouted. “What the fuck just happened? Who did this?”

“Jane,” Skylar’s voice floated up from somewhere, but I couldn’t tell, as it was swallowed in laughter.

Here I was. Jane Lee Lefferts.

Half-Korean daughter of Yu Na Lee and Carol Lefferts.

Lawyer.

Seamstress.

Smart-mouth.

Laughingstock.

I just shivered, no longer able to hear the laughter or Eric’s shouts over it. And then I took off toward the beach.