PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

14. Rory Preston

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             "THAT SMILE—IT'S FAKE."

              Rory had just finished giving her signature shit-eating grin to the nurses off-duty in the cafeteria. She whipped around towards Paris. 

              Disbelief surged through her like electricity.

              There was no way she could tell.

              Nobody had ever been able to tell which of her smiles were real. Nobody had ever been able to tell the difference. 

              As Rory led Paris through the corridor, pushing the wheels of her chair towards the elevator, there was something hot in her chest. A kind of . . . vulnerability. Nobody—not even Declan—had known which of her smiles was real.

              Her hands shook a little as she asked, "How?"

              She chanced a glance at Paris. Who was watching her with a soft, mystified look in her eyes. 

              Like . . . like Rory was a painting.

              As though she could spend hours staring. Trying to figure out the meaning between every shade of colour and each stroke of the brush against the canvas.

              Rory was an abstract masterpiece, and Paris was contemplating the meaning of life.

              "The dimples in your smile," breathed Paris. "When it's fake . . . there's only one. In the right cheek. But when you smile for real, I see both."

              Rory hadn't even known—hadn't realized.

              "How often do you see my fake smile?" she asked.

             "I don't know," Paris said quietly. "Whenever you're around me, it's always real."

             Thinking about it now, Rory realized it was true. Whenever she was around Paris, she was happier. The laughter came easily. The smiling came naturally. What was it about Paris that made Rory feel happy? 

             And why, why, had Rory ever been foolish enough to let her go in the first place?

             Because you were afraid, whispered a voice inside of her.

             You were afraid, and you didn't want her to be right.

             You didn't want to believe her. 

             Rory shoved the thought away and grinned at Paris. There was a warmth inside of her that made the world around her seem hotter. Brighter. Clearer.

             "Come on," she said. "The treasure chest is waiting."

             And this time, though Paris was blushing deeply enough to shame a dahlia flower, for once in her life Rory decided not to tease her.

            Because if Paris's cheeks were pink, then Rory knew she was as red as a rose.

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           PARIS BLINKED. AND GLARED AT RORY.

           "The treasure chest . . . is the hospital basement?"

           Rory only rolled her chair through the cluttering of objects, navigating the maze of lost-and-found items.

           "I was helping out Dhonielle and Gloria and Cat earlier," she began.