The Heart Thief

the heart thief - |08|

Millie

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             I'd never been to a yacht party before, so I had no idea what to wear. I wasn't sure what I shouldn't wear or if what I did want to wear was too flashy. I couldn't possibly wear sequins, but that's the only cute dress I owned. So, a bikini? Shorts? Jeans? I really couldn't freaking decide. Probably something that could tell people I had been to a yacht party before and definitely not something that said the opposite.

           Isaac texted me and asked if I wanted them to pick me up or if I wanted to come alone. Now, I believe two weeks ago I would have said the opposite, but I ended up saying yes to being picked up. Mainly because I didn't want to trouble myself with looking for them, but partly because I didn't want to go alone.

           So I eventually dug up a shopping bag I forgot I had, dating back to 2001—I'm kidding, but it's two years old. I remembered purchasing it to officially usher in my thirtieth birthday, as everyone who reaches that age acts as if it's some sort of a ritual to celebrate the big thirty. That day on my birthday, I let my mother feed me breakfast, which resulted in me celebrating in the hospital due to food poisoning. It was memorable, but it was a different kind of memory, especially when she made me promise not to tell anyone that she was responsible for it. As a chef, it was her responsibility to provide the best possible service to her customers, and a chef with a history of causing food poisoning was not a good reflection of my mother's clean, respectable image.

           The dress became an item in my museum because I couldn't look at it without thinking of my mother blaming me for the food poisoning she caused. Taking it out of its bag reminded me of why I bought it in the first place. Wearing it made me feel like I missed dressing up and having somewhere else to go. When you're with friends, it's easier to put yourself in their confident shoes because they're like a giant warm embrace that shields you from all your self-consciousness, but without those friends to lean on for advice and support, I was left to pick myself up and tell myself that I could do it. I'd be fine getting inside the car of the most attractive men I've ever seen. I'd ignore the fact that they were younger and we had different lifestyles, or that they were of a certain age when they partied a lot, whereas I was of a certain age where I wondered when I was going to bed. They could drink and dance all night and wake up as if nothing had happened, whereas I would wake up with joint pain and wondering why I squandered a night when I could have finished a chore I had been putting off for days.

          I tried to push away all the negativity that was swirling around in my head because this was the first time I had been invited to a party, and not just any party, but one where women would flaunt their bodies and act as if the world should worship them. I wasn't passing judgment, but I wish I was more comfortable with my body and personality.

           Would it be a pool party? Would Roman want me to enter the pool? As in...half naked? Where everyone could see all of my flaws? I touched my stomach, pretending that my stomach rolls weren't visible, to see if there were any extra calories in there. I had never been interested in working out or watching what I ate. Having a chef as a mum didn't allow me to. Was my stomach bloated? Did I feel like I was carrying a two-month-old baby inside me?

           I was freaking out. But not too freaked out that I couldn't finish my makeup early. I had to double-check every angle of my face for flaws. The foundation must be the proper shade. My blush shouldn't be too clownish, and my lipstick should match my skin tone. And I was going to leave my hair alone. It's already a tangle of sexy curls.

It was unexpected how the black dress I was wearing turned out. I expected it to need some alterations, but it fit me like a glove. It was strange how I managed to keep the same weight I had two years ago. The dress was stunning, that's what I thought as I spun around in the mirror. I couldn't deny that the slits on each side that exposed my thighs were sexy as hell. My ass had never looked better, and I could see all of my curves, though I considered changing because the narrow v of the neck was so low. Was I putting in too much effort? But, hey, whatever. I wasn't only going there to have fun; I was also hoping that I would find someone interesting so I wouldn't have to use those dating apps again. Kidding. I was not going to use those dating apps again. With my clutch and confidence in hand, Roman texted me that they were outside. Before leaving, I had to take a shot of vodka.