As we were all climbing the stairs, Olivia, in all her drunken glory, decided to assign each woman to a princess. Celeste was labeled Belle, and Giselle was Rapunzel, but that wasn’t the part that got my attention. What did was what Olivia said afterward:
“And one day you’re going to meet a prince you will trust with all of your secrets, and he’s going to save you just like Flynn Ryder saved Rapunzel.”
Giselle’s eyes went wide, much like they are now, as she silently pleaded with her best friend to shut up. But her eyes weren’t angry…they were scared. She’s always been a damn contradiction: strong, yet she relies on her best friend to support her. Hard working, yet she dates rich men who want nothing more than a trophy wife on their arm. Maybe I was focusing on the wrong part of what Olivia said. On the part about her needing to be saved, when what I should’ve been paying attention to was the part about her having secrets. Is it possible there’s more to Giselle than what meets the eye?
The rest of the night goes smoothly, and I force myself to push any more thoughts of Giselle out of my head. It doesn’t matter what she’s hiding. None of it is my business. Giselle isn’t my business. And the last thing I need in my life is a lying, sneaking, secret-keeping woman. I’ve dealt with those type of women more times than I can count, and I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I’ll be damned if I put my hand on the hot stove after getting burnt.
Once the night comes to an end, Tabitha and I say our goodbyes. When we’re a few minutes away from her apartment, I can’t help myself. I told myself I didn’t care what Giselle is hiding, but I can’t get her off my mind.
“What did you major in at NYU?” I ask. Tabitha flinches.
“I…um…I didn’t make it that far.” She shrugs. “I dropped out.” Her eyes dart everywhere in the limo but at me.
I open my mouth to ask her another question when she squeaks out, “Oh, we’re here.” She scoops up her clutch then quickly swings the door open. “I hope you had a good night.” She smiles awkwardly then slides out, shutting the door behind her and scurrying up the sidewalk like her ass is on fire.
Oh yeah, something is definitely up.
Once I’m back home, I shower and change into some lounge pants. I try to get Giselle off my mind, but it’s not happening. I lay in bed and turn on the television, willing myself to drop whatever I’m thinking. But the more I try not to think about her, the more I do. A memory surfaces from our night in the Hamptons—after Celeste, Nick, and Olivia disappeared into their rooms, and I thought Giselle had done the same thing.
“Hey! Do you mind?” Giselle snaps at me.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in the bathroom.” I should’ve knocked, but when I grabbed the knob and it opened, I assumed it was empty. Now that I know it is indeed occupied, I should close the door, but instead my eyes are frozen on Giselle’s sexy body. She’s wearing a powder blue lace bra that matches her eyes. Her nipples are hard and pebbling through the thin material. My eyes drag down her body, over her toned stomach, and land on her tiny matching lace panties. Without thinking, I lick my lips as I imagine what her cunt would taste like. It’s been a long time since I—
“See something you like?” She smirks and takes a step forward. “Too bad I don’t fuck athletes.” Her hand lands on my chest. She pats it condescendingly, effectively snapping me out of my trance as she saunters past me, out of the bathroom, and leaves me standing there with a raging hard-on.
I think what confuses me the most about Giselle is while everyone is privy to that version of her, the beautiful woman who hides behind her ice-queen persona, I’ve seen another side of her. A side I’m not even sure Olivia has ever seen.
The next morning, Giselle gets a phone call from her sister that her dad left her mom. She has no way of getting there, so I offer to take her. After a completely silent two-hour drive to Rye, we pull up to her house. Giselle quickly unbuckles her seatbelt, throws open the car door, and runs up the short sidewalk to her parents’ house. It reminds me a lot of the home I grew up in before I could afford to buy my parents a nicer place. A single story home on zero lot land with paint probably twenty years old peeling off the walls. There’s a beat-up looking Ford Focus in the driveway that must be at least thirty years old. I step out of my vehicle and my eyes land on some teenagers who are currently standing on the street engaging in what looks to be a drug deal. One of them gives me a curt nod, and I hit the alarm on my car, knowing damn well it won’t really do any good in a neighborhood like this.