Page 31 of Temporary Vows

“But it is,” I insist, even as something inside me flinches at the words. “You offer yourself, and your bidder pays. It’s simple.”

Simple.Like I’m talking about serving coffee.

Like I’m not talking about my body.

“The money is mine,” I add, quieter now, the desperation slipping through no matter how hard I try to clamp down on it. “And I don’t have to spend every second looking over my shoulder, so scared I can’t breathe.”

The last word cracks something inside me. I blink fast, but it’s too late. Tears clog my throat like wet ash.

Skylar’s shoulders drop. Her anger softens into something else when she sees my face.

She crosses the room and sits beside me, careful, like I’m breakable.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently. “Elodie… I really wish I could help you.”

I lift a hand, cutting her off before she can start blaming herself. “No. It’s okay. I can’t expect you to fix this. You’re helping tonight just by letting me stay here.”

Her eyes shine. “You stay as long as you need,” she says firmly. “You hear me?”

I nod, because if I try to speak, I’ll fall apart.

Skylar outright hated Clara long before she had a reason to. But she saw things in my childhood best friend that I’d never been able to see.

I’ve only known Skylar for three years. We met during our final year of college, when we were both placed on Ashworth Academy’s teaching-assistant program. She was at Yale then on the art history program, and I was at Columbia studying English literature.

We bonded over our love for classical literature and everything European.

It was a friendship that felt real. Like she was the one I’d known all my life.

Skylar is exactly like me. Strong-minded and a real go-getter but also a dreamer.

She’s not the party girl like Clara, and she—like me—wants the dream of getting married and having a family.

Knowing all that, I made the mistake of inviting both her and Clara to dinner to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I just wanted my two best friends to meet.

But it was a disaster, and it was all Clara’s fault. She was rude to Skylar and obnoxious at dinner—because Skylar is way prettier than her. Then she was doing drugs and got so drunk when we went out to a club that she passed out on the dance floor and threw up all over the bouncers when they moved her. She sobered up enough to leave with some guy without even telling us where she was going.

When she saw us the next day, she laughed it off and called Skylar a stuck-up bitch when she tried to tell her she needed to be more careful.

Over the years, there were other instances like that. Although, I never got Clara and Skylar together again.

Everything culminated to the final blow. The money. The lies. The betrayal.

Now I’m sitting here like an idiot feeling so very foolish. Because I should have known.

Should have known damn better.

“You should report her to the police.” Skylar reaches for my hand. “What she did was fraud.”

I nod slowly. “Yes. I’m going to do it next week. I just need to live through the next few days first.”

“Good. I’m so glad you’re finally listening.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen before. I just… trusted her. I didn’t want to resort to such drastic actions when maybe there was a chance she’d turn up.”

“I totally understand.”

“Hopefully,” I whisper, forcing the word out, “if I do this auction… everything will be okay.”