CHAPTER 4

By the time Maya and Reese stumbled into Maya's room, the sky outside was a soft dusky pink. The air was heavy with the scent of new clothes and leather shoes. Reese let her bags fall dramatically to the floor before throwing herself onto Maya's bed with a loud groan.

"We're done," Reese announced, stretching her arms wide like she'd run a marathon. "I have never worked so hard in my life."

Maya snorted, kicking off her shoes. "You call shopping work?"

"Yes, when it's gala shopping, it's an Olympic sport," Reese shot back, narrowing her eyes in mock menace. "It takes stamina, patience, and the courage to swipe a card over and over."

Maya smirked and started to dig through the mountain of bags they'd brought in. "If it's a sport, you deserve a gold medal. I have never seen anyone fight so hard for the last pair in their size."

"Hey, that woman was eyeing them! What choice did I have?" Reese replied, sitting up. "You really ought to thank me for not dragging you into a full-on duel."

The two of them laughed as Maya hung her new dress in the closet, already dreading the chaos that tomorrow would bring.

The next morning came quicker than Maya had anticipated. She was only halfway through her morning coffee when Reese burst into her room with an entourage in tow-makeup artists, hairstylists, and even a wardrobe assistant.

Maya groaned, still in her pajamas. "Seriously, Reese? This is overkill."

"No, this is preparation," Reese corrected, clapping her hands like a general rallying her troops. "We are not showing up looking anything less than perfect. Now, go shower while they set up."

With a resigned sigh, Maya let herself be directed-obeyed-and then spent the morning and afternoon being poked and plucked and polished. Brushes whisked across her face, curling irons clicked in a steady rhythm, and Reese flitted around her like a hummingbird, giving thumbs-up or vetoing decisions.

By the time Charles rapped on the door that afternoon, Maya was perched on a stool while a stylist added finishing touches to her hair. Her father filled the door frame, his tall frame allowing him to do so. His immediate, warm smile instantly set her at ease.

"Attending the gala, are we?" he said, his deep voice tinged with approval. "Good. I won't be able to attend myself-far too much work-but it's nice to know someone from the family will be representing us."

Maya glanced at him through the mirror, carefully not moving as the stylist smoothed a final strand of hair. "It's all Reese's fault," she said lightly. "She practically dragged me into this."

"Then maybe listen to her," said Charles, whose lips twitched in amusement. "Sometimes, stepping back into the fray is good, Maya. You have been far away from it for too long."

Maya didn't say a word, but the words remained.

By dusk, they were ready. Reese looked radiant in an autofocus red gown hugging her curvaceous figure, her hair styled to soft waves. Maya, on the other hand, was more understatedly chic with a black off-the-shoulder with light silver embellishments, her hair swept up into a classic up do as opposed to Reese, diamond earrings glinting softly against her skin.

"Perfect," Reese said as they linked arms and headed downstairs. "This is our Cinderella moment."

"Just hope it doesn't end in lost shoes," Maya grumbled, and Reese laughed.

The drive through the city was filled with the hum of excitement and laughter as Reese flipped through her phone, sharing the latest gossip. When the limo pulled up to the venue, the scene outside was pure chaos: paparazzi lined the red carpet, cameras flashing incessantly as celebrities posed and preened.

First to emerge was Reese, sporting the cameras with a well-rehearsed smile, waving assuredly. Maya emerged next, her face composed, serene amidst flashes of light.

Inside, the grand ballroom was indeed breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a soft, golden light, their light reflecting from gilded walls. Tables with silk and elaborately arranged flowers lined the area. A jazz band was playing live in one corner of the hall, their notes weaving through the air as the guests, equally elegant, sipped champagne.

Maya and Reese swam through the crowd with ease, their polite hellos and vapid small talk well honed.

"This is so exhausting," Reese whispered, during a lull between smiles.

"You'll survive," Maya replied, her voice smooth as silk, taking a sip from her champagne flute.

Their patience was truly tried, however, when they were approached by three women Maya immediately recognized as Hollywood's elite mean girls. The actresses were polished and poised, but their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes.

"Oh, Reese!"  One chirped, her voice oozed with fakeness and was syrupy sweet. "I didn't expect to see you here. How's the acting career going? Still doing those… experimental indie films?"

Reese's shoulders tightened, but before she could utter a word, Maya spoke up, her tone even and smooth. "Actually, Reese just wrapped with one of the most in-demand directors. People are already speculating Oscar buzz. And you? Still playing that zany friend in those rom-coms?

The woman's smile faltered, her friends exchanging glances. Reese bit off a laugh, her confidence returning as Maya held her ground.

"Excuse us," Maya said smoothly, steering Reese away.

Once they were out of earshot, Reese burst into laughter. "Maya, you're my hero. Did you see her face? Priceless."

"Someone had to put her in her place," Maya said with a smirk, raising her glass.

As they continued mingling, Reese suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze fixed upon a couple across the room. Her face lit up. "Oh my God, it's the Martins! I have to say hi."

Before Maya could respond, Reese vanished, leaving her to her own devices. Maya sighed and headed towards the bar to replenish her drink. She leaned her back against the counter as her mind drifted, her eyes fixed on the bartender pouring another glass full of champagne.

"Fancy seeing you here," a deep, familiar voice said from behind her.

Maya turned, startled, to find herself face to face with Zane.