Page 45 of A Perfect Fit

For makeup, I opt for a light smoky-eye look and cat eyeliner to match my dress. It takes me five tries to achieve an even, winged eyeliner look, but I get there in the end.

As I’m applying my lipstick, there’s a call from my dad.

I hesitate for a moment before picking up. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad’s voice is cheery. “Hey, Belle. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. You?”

“I’m doing well, thank you.”

There’s a pause on his end, and a pit opens in my stomach because I know what he’s probably about to bring up next.

“About Ivy and Ben’s engagement party falling on the same day as your fashion show, I know it’s less than ideal.”

Pain slices through me at the reminder. “Why does Ivy hate me, Dad?”

“I don’t think your sister hates you.” There’s a softness in Dad’s tone.

I plop down on my bed, not believing his words. “Then why would she do this?”

Dad sighs. “I don’t know that either. But I want to let you know that your mom and I are going to split up our time and ensure we can make both events.”

His words come as a surprise, albeit a welcome one. I thought my parents would easily choose to attend Ivy’s event over mine.

“I know your mother isn’t the best with words, but she’s genuinely happy for you,” he adds. “And I’m proud of you, too, Belle. I know this is something you’ve always wanted to do.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I smile even though he can’t see me right now. “I appreciate the support.”

“Of course,” he says. “Love you, Belle.”

“Love you, too.”

Loud conversation fills the air as Jen and I step inside the gymnasium at Summerhurst High, grabbing our name tags for tonight’s reunion.

I do a stocktake of who’s shown up. Around eighty percent of our cohort is here, which is a solid turnout. A buffet-style table is set up near the back with appetizers, finger foods, and alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks.

By the time I finish my scan of the room, one observation stands out—Jackson’s not here.

Jen and I arrived ten minutes late due to traffic, but it’s unusual for Jackson to be late to anything. The guy always had a reputation for always being early, and I doubt things have changed now. He could probably write a whole book about the art of punctuality.

A sinking feeling unfurls beneath my ribs. He’s really not coming tonight.

“Oh God, he’s here,” Jen suddenly mutters under her breath.

“Who?” I ask, an unexpected rush of anticipation flowing through my veins. “Jackson?”

She shakes her head. “Oliver.”

A chill runs through me, and I brace myself as I turn around and watch Oliver walk inside the gymnasium, a black suit fitted against his frame and his blond hair neatly slicked back.

Normally, men in suits are a weak spot for me, but right now, I might as well be staring at a rock.

A gorgeous brunette woman, wearing a white blouse and dress pants and pearl earrings, emerges from behind him, looping her arm in his.

I watch the two, waiting for any hidden emotions to erupt. But after several moments, I realize I’m not feeling anything. No anger, sadness, jealousy, or discomfort at seeing Oliver again or seeing him with another woman.

If anything, this whole thing feels anticlimactic.