Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,50

Ruby comes every couple of hours to do that.

I rehearse my lines for tomorrow’s interview all the while worrying I won’t be able to sell the reporter on my transformation. I think part of the reason people are still fascinated with me is that I left a life most only dream about having. Fame, wealth, rock star fiancés—it’s elusive stuff. I just wish I could tell people they don’t know how good they have it without all of those things.

Fame brings constant pressure to be something bigger and better, to live up to an impossibly inhuman level of perfection. I went to great lengths to uphold that ridiculous standard. I was always hungry, I exercised extensively, I was forever having my hair trimmed and highlighted, and I had weekly facials in hopes of keeping the hands of time from affecting my complexion.

One of the dreams I had the night of Cash’s dinner party was that the whole party died—probably poisoned from eating the food she served.

We were all standing at the gates of heaven—there were two. Saint Peter sat at a scroll-top desk between them and was hammering away on a computer.

He asked the first person in line, “What is your greatest accomplishment?” After they answered, he told them which line to stand in.

I overheard snippets like, “I directed three Oscar winning films,” and “I played Mary Queen of Scots so perfectly people wept.” One after another he asked them. One after another they all lined up at the same gate.

When it was my turn and St. Peter asked his question, I hemmed and hawed and really thought about what to say. I was sure he didn’t give a wit how many boats, houses, or awards the people before me had. He was after something more fundamental.

I finally answered, “I haven’t accomplished nearly enough. I need to go back.”

I heard Romaine yell, “Tell him about all the magazine covers! Tell him how you were the toast of fashion week when you were only fifteen!”

St. Peter looked up from his screen and asked, “Do you want to tell me about those things?”

“No, sir, I don’t. I want to go back and accomplish real things. I need to live a different life.” I was bone-tired of trying to live up to people’s unrealistic image of me and I was suddenly awash with the feeling that none of that stuff mattered.

“Go stand at that gate,” he told me, pointing to the entrance with no line.

“Where is everyone else going?” I asked, nervous for the people who accompanied me to this place.

“They’re going back to school.” I’m not sure what he meant, but I got the feeling they were going to be reminded of the things that really mattered in life. I was certain none of their possessions were going to be on that list.

“Where am I going?” I asked, equally anxious for my own destiny.

“You’re going to go back to make those changes you claim to want to make.” Then poof, like a magician making a rabbit disappear into his hat, my consciousness transported back into my bed.

My eyes immediately popped open and I had the strangest feeling I was being given a second chance. The first thing I did was sign up for culinary school. Then I went out and bought the biggest chocolate-filled croissant I’d ever seen. I may have gone back for another, but that’s beside the point. I was a changed woman.

While I ate, I made a list of charities that I believed in, some that I had actively supported and some that I hadn’t. Afterwards, I started writing checks. From that moment on, I decided my looks would not be the first thing I was remembered for.

The revenge fantasies I’d cultivated against the mean girls from my childhood evaporated into nothing. The only person I felt any anger toward was myself. I wasn’t going to waste any more of my life caring what other people thought of me. I was going to let my heart lead me, and somehow I was going to make a real difference in this world.

The only thing that is currently standing in my way is the press’s unwillingness to leave me alone. I’m more convinced than ever that I have to quit hiding and tell the world once and for all that I’m done modeling, I’m done with Hollywood, and I’m done with Romaine Choate.

As long as James plays his part, everything will be smooth sailing. I know he’s nervous about our ruse,