Chapter 27
It’s past midnight when Cleo gets back to beauty camp. She sneaks into the living room, hoping not to wake anyone. Chezka, Nadia, and Julia are still residing at the camp. The three of them have been chosen to be part of the Filipino delegates sent to Japan to establish friendship and cultural understanding between two Asian countries. It’s an excellent opportunity for them, and Elle made it happen.
Just as Cleo’s off to her room, the lamp near the sofa lights up, revealing Elle sitting with her usual poise—legs slightly slanted at the side. “It’s past your bedtime, Cinderella.”
“I—I just went out to get some a-air,” Cleo stutters, flailing over the words. “The story about my mom has been . . .”
“Revealed, yes, I know. So you’re throwing a tantrum?”
“It’s not a tantrum, okay? It’s personal.” Cleo drops her head, too tired to argue. She knows there’s no winning against Elle anyway.
Elle pats the space next to her, and Cleo sits. “All the more reason to win the crown. Let them talk about it. It’s all they can do. Ignore, Cleo. You should be more than focused by now. You also know that getting to bed late isn’t healthy.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just . . .”
Cleo wants to tell Elle that she’s just trying to get a little space from all the pressure. She’s planning and strategizing how to counter-attack that big reveal. She doesn’t want people to think badly of her mother, so she’s got to do something on her social media account. But that one isn’t Elle’s territory.
“Are you still with me on this?” Elle questions, her hands on her lap.
“Yes.”
Elle smiles at that. She then hands a picture to Cleo. It’s a man in his mid-fifties and looks decent enough. “Have dinner with this man. Just be your charming self and talk to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. What’s that got to do with me?” Cleo trusts her gut instincts, and it’s giving her all the red flags. But she’s wavering, and the only reason for that is that the request is coming from Elle.
“Goody Two Shoes wins Lady Siquijor but goes no further. You won the national pageant for Thea. But you’ve done that! Now you’re going to win for you.”
“Why?”
“No questions, Cleo.”
Cleo laughs at Elle. “I know that. Why?”
“You want to do this now?” Elle dares, and when she sees Cleo’s serious face, she continues, “You want to win? This is how you win. You acquire power if you have influence. Don’t waste my influence, Cleo. This is politics in every way, unless you want to let Thea’s sacrifice go to waste?”
Cleo’s getting headaches again. She squeezes the pillow at her side and closes her eyes for a moment. She’s come so far; she can’t ruin this for herself and her mother.
“Of course not. When do I meet this man?”
“Tomorrow night. It’ll be at the Elite Hotel. VIPs only,” Elle elaborates. “Get some sleep, my little Cinderella, and wear your best evening dress with your charming smile.”
“Okay, do I look good in the picture?”
“For the nth time, yes,” Erik replies, giving his camera to Cleo. “What’s all this about again?”
Aira, who’s been sitting so quietly on the couch, has suddenly decided to speak up. “A counter-narrative for the Thea story. She’s going to make herself the hero of the crown or something close to that. Where is that honey boy of yours anyway?”
Right, Dom.
Cleo had texted Dom hours earlier about their secret meeting, but he hasn’t replied to her. In a book café—hidden from most of the public eye—with a good lounge, it’s a good secret HQ for building what she’s started, and Dom would have loved the place. But unfortunately, the little argument they had yesterday has pushed him away.
“They fought,” Erik answers for Cleo.
Aira scoffs. “Then just apologize.”
“I did. Many times. I texted him, but nothing.” Cleo rechecks her phone, hoping Dom’s answered at least one of her messages. She calls him, and thankfully, he answers. “I know you hate me, but please hear me out first. Don’t hang up. I’m really, really sorry, Dom with a Q. I’m not Lady Pearl of the Philippines without you. Please marry my dress.”
Seconds turn into minutes until Dom has finally answers. “I’ve married a lot of dresses. I don’t need another one, but I know you won’t survive without me.”
“Really? So, we’re good?” Cleo sweet-talks Dom.
“Acting cute doesn’t suit you, but okay. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Cleo grins, pumping her fist up in the air, and Erik bumps his against hers. She looks at him warily, and then he says, “I thought you might need it.”
“Dom’s on his way!” Cleo announces, going back to her original position in between bookshelves. “Okay, so back to the photo shoot. By the way, do you guys think a video of me would get more audience?”
“Why not?” Aira says.
Cleo scrolls through her social media, thinking that the issue will resurface no matter what she does. If she responds to it, it’ll just highlight more of her mother’s past, so she thought maybe if she could share how her everyday training is progressing, she’ll be shifting their attention to it.
“Change of plans. I’ll give you guys my training schedule, and then late at night or on weekends, the content can be about the best places to visit in the city. What do you think?” Cleo suggests, taking a bite out of her croissant. “But for now, we can make a video of me sharing what’s it like to be a beauty queen.”
“Got ya,” Erik tells Cleo, already positioning his camera at the side. Cleo then invites Aira to sit across from her.
“Okay, Aira, this will be like a talk show. Just ask me random questions, as in really random. Sort of like five things you didn’t know about Cleo Walter, but much more fun,” Cleo instructs, and Aira just nods.
And so Cleo has managed to find new content. Being a famous personality gives everyone access to her life, but it should be Cleo who gets to decide what she shares. They don’t have to know everything—they just have to know enough to keep them interested. In the end, it’ll still be she who gets to control it.
Once Erik has finished setting up his camera, Aira begins with the interview. “So, we know who you are, but we don’t know you. If not a beauty queen or actor, what would you have been?”
“My secret dream is to be a dancer. Sadly, I can’t dance to save my life, but I can be funny sometimes.” Cleo chortles out a laugh at that.
“Oh, come on! Everyone has moves. Can you give us a sample?” Aira teases.
Cleo doesn’t know how to dance, but she wanted this to happen, so she’s decided to be bold about it. She shakes a bit of booty here and there, looking at the camera with a wink. She slides to the side and turns around, smiling and whipping her hair back and forth. And then she adds a catwalk for the final touch.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Dom slides in the frame, watching Cleo with her moves. “Oh, are we rolling?”
Cleo’s never been so happy to see Dom. She grins, wrapping her arms around him. He groans and attempts to pull her off, but she’s not letting him. “You’re here!”
“Of course, I am.”
Cleo turns to the camera and introduces Dom. “Okay, guys, this is Dominique, as in Dom with a Q. He’s my overall stylist, and he makes me magically beautiful.”
“Correction: she is beautiful in her way,” Dom adds. “Alexa, play pretty hurts by Beyoncé.”
“Yes.” Cleo stares softly at the camera. “We are our own beauty.”
The video ends there. It’s a snippet of what’s more to come, but Cleo feels good about it. If there is at least something totally of her own, then it’s this. Elle can make her do anything but this. She has her secret weapon. She just hopes tonight will not be what she thinks it is.
“Cleo Walter? Please follow me.”
In an elegant short maroon dress and burgundy pumps, Cleo waltzes into the restaurant of the Elite Hotel. She doesn’t need VIP access; Elle’s taken care of everything she could possibly need. Thankfully she can count on one hand how many of those are there. Most of the clientele are foreigners and aren’t fans, so she’ll have no problem thinking about what this will look like to them.
Cleo follows the hostess until she spots a short, stocky man with a goatee. He’s seated under dim lighting at the far edge of the restaurant near the skyscrapers. The booth seems to be private, and as they get closer to him, she knows this is the man she’ll be talking to over dinner.
“Dinner will be served shortly. Let me know if you need anything else,” the hostess says, leaving the two of them alone.
“It is a pleasure, Lady Pearl,” the man greets, taking her hand and kissing it. “You look stunning as always, more so with your flawless diamond earrings.”
“Hmm . . . you know your gemstones,” Cleo observes, hoping to keep it professional between them. She still doesn’t know what this meeting is all about, but Elle insists it’s a crucial part of the plan.
“I have a sharp eye for perfection, no matter how small.” The man grins at Cleo. “Is this table agreeable to you, or should we find another?”
Cleo sits down across from the man and smiles. “This is fine.”
“Are you hungry?”
Cleo tilts her head to one side. “I wouldn’t be having dinner with you if I weren’t.”
“Ah, now I see why you’re Elle’s favorite. Obedient, but also a spitfire.” The man laughs, amused. He locks eyes with Cleo and reaches for her hand across the table. Cleo doesn’t blink.
“If you were anybody else, I’m sure I’d be talking to air.”
“But I’m not anybody else. I’m Cleo Walter, and I’m Lady Pearl of the Philippines, and I’d appreciate it if you’d take your hand off mine,” Cleo says with conviction, taking her hand away from him.
The man backs away, his mouth curving into a smile. Cleo holds herself back, but she wants to punch the man in the face. “I’m just being friendly.”
“You don’t have my consent.”
The man pops open the first button of his polo shirt, relaxing. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to come off as a pervert. I wanted to see how you’d react.”
To see how she’d react. Cleo forces a smile, stopping herself from getting up and leaving because Elle has asked her to do this. If it weren’t for her mother’s sacrifice and her father’s meddling, she wouldn’t be here. She doesn’t want to wait for dinner. She just wants to get this over with quickly.
“Oh, good! Here’s the food. I hope you like steak,” the man is enthusiastic about the approaching tray.
Feeling trapped and wondering where this is going, Cleo decides to keep him company. She eats the food on her plate and sips her wine, waiting for him to open up about whatever important thing she needs to hear.
“How’s life as Lady Pearl? Elle giving you a hard time?”
Cleo doesn’t even know what his name is. “Mr. . . . um, how would you like to be called?”
“Mister or Sir is fine.”
As far as Cleo’s concerned, not knowing the name of the man she’s talking to means this meeting is shady and sketchy as hell. She shouldn’t be here, and she wants to get out of this building right now, but Elle’s words echo in her head. Goody Two Shoes can only take her as far, and is she willing to give it all up because she feels weirded out by this man?
“Okay, sir. Training has been excellent, and I’ve gathered a good following on my social media. Elle and my team are working their hardest to put my name out there. So far, I think it’s working well.” Cleo’s confident in what she’s saying because it’s all true.
“And you’re close to winning, aren’t you?”
Cleo savors the tender, juicy steak. “I like to believe I am.”
The man is looking at Cleo, and it makes her feel uncomfortable. Why can’t he just eat his food like she’s doing right now? She doesn’t want to be rude, but she might say something she means if he continues staring.
“I think you are.” The man smiles as if he knows something she doesn’t. “You’ve got a very rich background, and everything that’s happened to you has pushed you toward the crown. You’re good at surviving, Cleo Walter.”
“Thank you.”
I want to survive this dinner, too, Cleo thought.
Their small talk lasts for almost an hour, and Cleo’s still not getting anything she needs from him—whatever it is. At some point, the man hands an envelope. He tells her not to open it just yet.
“I need to talk to you about something,” the man finally says, wiping his mouth with a tissue.
Cleo finishes her wine, expecting to return to the camp as soon as possible. She knows it must have something to do with this envelope she’s holding. “What is it about?”
“Can we talk somewhere in private?”
Cleo stops, and it feels like time is suspended. She’s endured so much of this torturous dinner already. The man’s suggestion is a quick drop from a rollercoaster. Her heart’s beating fast, and her leg’s shaking. She wonders, what’s the cost of the crown? What does she sacrifice? And does she trust Elle more than she trusts herself?
“No, thank you.” Cleo stands up and smiles. “Dinner was lovely, but I have to go back. If it’s about the envelope, you can have it back.”
The man frowns at Cleo, disappointed. “I won’t hold you back, Lady Pearl. Take the envelope as a gift from me. Let Elle know I’ve enjoyed the dinner anyway. Good night.”
Cleo leaves the hotel and takes a cab. On the way back, she’s only thinking of one person: Elle.