What did I expect—that he’d come begging for me to take him back? That’s not his style, and I know it. I know that he’s proud, and he’ll probably never look at me again. If I told anyone that I hurt him, he’d deny it to his dying day. And why would anyone believe a whore like me?
But that doesn’t matter. I didn’t do what I did for the glory, for the reputation points. I did it to hurt him, and I succeeded. Now I live with that. I don’t get to cry about it. I’m not the victim here.
I tighten up my pony, toss the coffee in the trash, and go to class. I don’t look at Devlin, even though we sit together in science. The next day there’s another coffee, and I hold onto a sliver of hope as I walk to class, picturing what we’ll say to each other about it. When I walk into the class, though, Devlin’s sitting in the seat next to Dolly.
I swallow hard. I know she means something to him, but the first day of school, he refused to sit with her. Apparently, that’s better than sitting with me.
I slow when I reach their spot.
“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” I ask.
Devlin looks at me, his gaze cool and a smirk on his beautiful lips. “No, Sugar,” he says. “That’s how it already is.”
“I’m real sorry,” Dolly says, glancing nervously between us with her big blue eyes. “Want me to sit with you?”
She looks like she means it, too. I don’t know their complete history, but I was told that she still had a thing for him. I thought people were wrong, that she was into Preston, but maybe not. And who am I to stand in the way of their future together?
I’m no one, that’s who.
“No,” I say, forcing a smile before letting my eyes meet Devlin’s. “I work better alone, anyway.”
I drop the coffee in the trash as I walk back to my seat, picturing myself how my classmates must see me. Because of course they’re watching. Anything to do with the Darlings, and they want the drama. Well, they’ll just have to keep on wanting, because I’m not giving them anything. All they get is an image, a mirage. Something perfect and unreal, like a doll. Every strand of hair smoothed and tamed into place. Flawlessly made up face. Prim and proper dress masking curves that might cause uncomfortable thoughts, whether that be lust or jealousy.
Like a mannequin, a Dolce daughter exists for the sole purpose of giving everyone else a palatable, bland experience that makes them agreeable enough to what they’re being sold. Something they want, but not too much. Something they admire but can’t quite replicate for themselves. Something that’s not beautiful but fashionable, something they crave but in a detached way.I will be that girl. It’s all I have left. I sold my heart to keep my name.
At lunch, no one barks at me. But by the time I’ve walked to the table where I usually sit, I’ve been eye-fucked by half the school. I’m not sure which is worse, that or the dog noises I used to get. Just as I slide into my seat, thinking I’m free, the barking starts. I look up, dread gripping my heart.
But they’re not barking at me. Dixie has arrived. She stops in the doorway, planting her hands on her hips like a badass superhero girl. And a damn good one at that. She seems to have gotten the makeover my brothers suggested. She’s wearing black eyeliner and red lipstick, and her red hair is piled on top of her head with a few strands framing her round face. Her outfit consists of black, thick-soled boots, fishnets, a black-and-red schoolgirl skirt short enough to show her thighs rubbing together when she walks, a black leather jacket, and a corset top that shows a whole lot of boob.
She marches through the cafeteria, through the sea of barking dogs, her face flaming red. I tense, praying she won’t look at the Darlings table when she passes. She glances their way, but at least she holds back her smile until she collapses into a chair at my table, her back to the cafeteria. Then, a huge grin breaks out over her face.
“Damn, girl,” I say. “Way to make an entrance.”
“Do I look okay?” she asks breathlessly.
“You look like sex in boots.”
“I second that,” Duke says. “I’d fuck you in just your boots.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think they’d fit you.”
“Better cut it out before Dolly hears you flirting,” Baron says to his twin. “Just because we’re the sharing type doesn’t mean she is.”
“What are we talking about?” Dolly asks after mincing over to the table. Hurt twists inside me at her appearance.
“My outfit,” Dixie says with a giggle.
“And whether I could rock fuck-me boots,” Duke says with a grin, pulling out Dolly’s chair without standing.
“No,” she says definitively.
My brothers all burst into laughter, and I try to join, but I feel like there’s a knife twisting in my back.
“What do you think?” Dixie asks, leaning forward eagerly.
“Good god, did you go goth?” asks Dolly, the antithesis of goth, as she looks over Dixie’s outfit. She sets down her purse—a tiny, bejeweled unicorn head that can’t fit more than her phone and a tampon—and opens her Dr. Pepper while she studies our freshman friend.
That earns her another round of laughter—even Royal smiles. An ugly dart of jealousy pierces through me. He’ll barely look at me.