The Sweetest Devotion

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈.

By some miracle my mother managed to get a hold of LeChé for a last-minute consultation before she was due to fly out to Paris for some heiress's wedding.

We had her studio to ourselves as she promised us exclusivity and her total attention. After all, I was West Coast royalty. It was "an honor," she'd claimed.

    All around me as we sat in a private fitting room were rack upon rack of wedding dresses waiting for me. There were whites, off-whites, nudes, and a mysterious rose one I couldn't help but crane my neck to peek at.

    As I sat on a sofa in my vintage Baby Phat tracksuit, taking it all in, I couldn't bring myself to get into the groove of things.

    Stephanie and Elyse were due any minute to join us for the pageantry of my trying on dresses and being measured, and I honestly couldn't muster up the energy to pretend to care. LeChé was off somewhere rummaging around for something she needed. It was just my mother and me as I tried my very best not to cry.

    I did not want this.

    My mother flicked her wrist out, eyeing the watch on it. "Everybody should be here by now. Did you give Jadyn the right address?"

    I hung my head. "She's not coming."

    At once I could feel my mother's gaze on me. "Well, then, she's certainly missing a lot of these events, isn't she?"

    It wasn't that Jadyn was being an awful friend, it was just that I didn't want to put her through this. Her support meant everything, but she was too real to come around and "fake the funk" as she would say. One look at my empty eyes and she'd call out my parents and Cain—no matter how fine she thought he was. "It's not her, Mom, it's just...none of this means anything to me. She wants to be here, but I don't even want to be here."

    My mother sympathized with me as she frowned. She was sitting across from me on a matching baby blue and white striped chesterfield. Between us was a clawfoot glass coffee table with complimentary glasses of champagne. I was sad enough to drink my troubles away, but I didn't trust myself with too much alcohol in my system. Being a nondrinker, I was a lightweight. Who knew if the stuff would act like truth serum and get every raging thought weighing me down out of my head.

    "Does she know?" my mother asked gently, alluding to my affair.

    I nodded.

    My mother looked elsewhere, no judgment passing over her face. "Well, what's he like?"

    My stomach lurched at the thought of disclosing information about Keith.

    My mother snorted. "Oh, come on. At least let me know what this young man is like. Where did you meet him? Does he know about what's going on?"

    My lips stayed closed and a visceral pain had my fingers clutching the material of the seat cushions.

    My mother noticed. She calmed down her approach. "Kennedy. I haven't said a word to your father or anyone else. What you have going on is safe with me."