Fake Boobs and Blonde Hair

Vivi barely remembered the walk back to the guest house.

Her legs carried her up the long driveway on autopilot, her head pounding, her mind foggy and detached. The cold night air bit at her damp skin, but it wasn’t enough to shake her from the daze.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, she peeled off her clothes and stumbled toward the shower, turning the dial until scalding water streamed down her body. Her breath hitched as the heat hit her skin, but she welcomed the sting. She scrubbed hard, desperate to rid herself of the lingering touch of Wes’s hands, of the sickly feeling that settled beneath her skin like a stain.

She didn’t let herself think until the water ran cold.

Dripping and trembling, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel. Steam curled around the bathroom, heavy and suffocating. Her gaze drifted toward the bottom drawer of her nightstand—the one she always opened after nights like these.

Her hand moved before her brain could catch up.

The black hoodie was soft beneath her fingers as she pulled it out and laid it carefully on the bed. A small comfort. A strange tether to something good. She stood there, staring at it, water still dripping from her reddish blonde hair onto her bare shoulders.

Her brow furrowed.

How the hell had Wes managed to get close to Knox Maddox?

It didn’t make sense. Wes had been trying, and failing, for years to get Knox’s attention. And now suddenly he had a plan that involved Celeste seducing him?

A strange, almost wounded feeling settled in her chest.

Why should I care?

Was it because Knox had saved her? That might explain the twisting feeling in her stomach. Guilt maybe, or something deeper.

Should I try to warn him?

Vivi began pacing the room, clutching the towel tighter around her chest.

Since seeing the face of her husband’s obsession, she had learned more about Knox Maddox than she had ever intended to. It wasn’t hard, he was everywhere. His face stared back at her from storefronts, billboards, and glossy magazine covers. Movie posters. Clothing ads. 

Topless underwear campaigns.

She couldn’t escape him.

Even if Wes’s collection of articles and photos hadn’t shoved him into her consciousness, the rest of the world would have. Knox Maddox wasn’t just famous, he was beloved.

Millions of fans. Women who hung on his every public appearance. Thousands of fan sites and social media pages dedicated to dissecting every red carpet look, every carefully posed photo. He was the face of practically every romantic lead in the last five years.

The discovery had left Vivi with a strange, bitter feeling.

And yet, there was comfort in knowing that she wasn’t the only one whose thoughts Knox Maddox had invaded. It made her feel less foolish for occasionally wondering about him. For dreaming about him.

And God, those dreams…

The dark eyes that had held her gaze that day in the rain. The way his hand had wrapped around hers, strong and steady. His powerful shoulders, the cut of his jaw—

Her dreams of him were sharper now, clearer. HD quality, fueled by every new image the world provided her of him.

It was a small, private pleasure in an otherwise miserable existence.

Owning this hoodie—this small, borrowed piece of him—felt like more than she deserved.

"Angel."

He had called her that. Angel.

Vivi’s lips twisted bitterly.

Thank God he would never know how far beneath an angel she had fallen.

She wasn’t some divine creature. She was a mortal who had sold her soul to the devil and was now paying the price, enslaved to Wes’s cruelty for the promise of securing her family’s future.

Her gaze dropped to the hoodie.

How would I even contact him?

Vivi groaned, rubbing her temples.

The coffee shop.

He had said he was a regular there.

“Yeah… like a year ago,” she muttered to herself. “Besides, he’s not just walking into random coffee shops anymore… or throwing himself in front of random women.”

But still… the idea lingered, curling like smoke at the edge of her mind.

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, the hoodie crumpled in her lap.

“He might not even fall for Celeste,” she said aloud, more to herself than to the empty room.

But the thought was short-lived.

“Oh, of course he will,” she muttered bitterly. “He’s a man. And men like fake boobs and blonde hair.”

She scowled at the hoodie, but underneath the irritation was something else. Something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.

Vivi sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of it. Guilt rose above the bitterness.

“Fine,” she murmured, lifting the hoodie to her face. The fabric was cool against her cheek. “I’ll go to the coffee shop. The day after tomorrow.”

It was a ridiculous plan. There was no reason for him to remember her. He probably wouldn’t even be there. But at least then…

“At least then I could say I tried,” she whispered.

Vivi stood and let the towel drop. The hoodie slid over her head, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. The warmth of it settled over her skin like armor, even though it had long since lost any lingering trace of his scent.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she swore she could still catch a phantom wisp of him in the fabric.

She curled beneath the covers, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands.

Her eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, her world narrowed to the soft weight of the hoodie and the steady beat of her heart.