Antilove

Tre

CAPITOLO TRE

the beginning of a tryst

***

ROMANCE HAS ALWAYS BEEN a hit or miss with Rose Kaufman. Just because he fits doesn't mean that he's going to be competent. The girls that Rose has been with were always misses—maybe she just doesn't work that way. They worked on two poles of a spectrum: completely uninhibited or far too conscious. Infidelity never played into that equation until Rose fully grasped the concept that a relationship doesn't always guarantee complete satisfaction.

Gray was placid. So were many people before him. Rose knows exactly why girls would keep away from her and why she used to get stares during school. It's a learned principle in theory of mind.

"Eyes closed," she directs the model sitting a step below her.

The brush in her hand is held steady as she packs on glitter and smoke to the trembling eyelid. The girl in front of her has skin that hasn't been touched by the California sand yet and hair that hasn't been manipulated by the salt water—yet. It's beautiful here but it's tragic and Rose sees these girls come and go in the agency. There's too many temptations everywhere, too much for wide-eyed beauties who aren't driven the way conquerers are.

Emma, that's her name, watches Rose the entire time as she gets her face sculpted, carving cheekbones that mimic faces far beyond Emma's age. It takes Rose a bit by surprise, to have her stare at her like that but she only dusts her prominent nose with moonstone and baby beige.

"Remember." Rose tilts Emma's chin up so that their eyes meet. "Be what the camera demands."

This gesture displays less animalistic tendencies when it's not Alex doing it to her and Emma gazes at Rose, who has plump red lips cut from stone and skilled hands crafted from marble. There isn't a single glimmer in Rose's dark eyes and it frightens Emma when she sees that the only light in those irises comes from the reflection of her own. She nods before she totters away in her heels, ready to be fitted.

"How's the boyfriend?"

"Dead to me," Rose tells Amber.

They went to art school together and Amber never felt the need to shield her relationships away from Rose so it was imperative that they stick through life together. In a sense, the two girls are made of the same materials, sandpaper and perfume.

Amber runs a makeup wipe along a brush. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't with Liam. He doesn't do anything," she says.

"Take it or leave it," she helps Amber clean up their station for the second batch.

"Look at her. She's so new. I wish I came out fresh like that."

"It's no use now."

"True, true."

"Can you cover me? I have a hot date," Rose says, slapping a towel against the back of Amber's thigh.

Amber scowls but she relents.

***

Dusk brings about a drop in temperature, one that Rose never accounts for when she goes out at night. It may be the black lace dress she has on—with matching lingerie—or the up-do her hair is in however, if the Devil asks for a date, she's going to offer the full-ride and package. On her neck is a single leopard charm, on each her ear, a gold rose, and on her feet, black heels.

"What's it like having Satan as dad? Do you call him dad?" she asks after ordering ravioli and Pinot Gris.

They're sitting at Patina, a rare alternative to the places Rose would dine at, mostly because on other days, she can't afford to. But if Lucien is the date and she'll get flowing assets after a couple months, she'd buy him flowers if he wants.