Kamille
“Kam, wait! Please, let’s talk about this!”
Kamille heard Kass behind her, following. That slore Simone wasn’t even bothering. Hopefully, she was crawling home in shame like the rat that she was. Or jumping out of the second-floor window and plummeting to her death. Either was fine with Kamille, she could give a shit.
Word about the incident must have spread like wildfire, though, because Kamille spotted two more cameramen up ahead, filming her as she headed in their direction. Fuck it. She didn’t care anymore. Let the TV viewers, let the entire fucking world, see what deceitful, lying sluts her ex-sister and her ex-friend were.
“Kamille, what’s going on?” Her mother had appeared out of nowhere, carrying a sewing kit and a lint remover. She fell in step beside her. “Why are you out here in your dress? Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful! It’s exactly what I would have picked out for you! That Vera Wang is a genius! But, honey? Did you know your zipper’s undone? And the guests are starting to arrive, and they’ll see you, and why do you look all red in the face, like you’re about to kill somebody? Is it the caterers? Because they were kind of making me mad, too, but I think I straightened out the problem with the Thai beef skewers—”
“Mom, shut up!” Kamille barreled ahead of her.
“Kamille! Sweetheart! What’s going on? Are you having cold feet, or—”
“Ask your whore daughter Kassidy, she’s right behind us.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Kamille started down the stairs without waiting for a response. She remembered to pick up her long skirt, but a second too late; she heard a loud ripping noise as her heel caught on the hem. Whatever.
“Kamille!”
“Kamille, wait!”
“Kamille, can you slow down, we’re having a hard time framing this shot!”
Now the entire entourage was following her: her mother, Kass, Courtney, and what seemed like most of the TV crew. Hank and the network must be getting some killer footage, she thought darkly.
As she approached the boys’ dressing room on the first floor, she heard Chase and the others laughing and joking about something. She pushed the door open and marched inside.
They were all in there, dressed in their elegant gray-and-black tuxedos: Chase, Beau, Benjy, and Chase’s brothers. Benjy, Zach, and Justin were sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing a video game on somebody’s iPad. Beau was adjusting the knot on Chase’s tie. Two cameramen were already set up and filming; they’d obviously gotten the word.
Chase stood there, looking more gorgeous than ever in his tux. He wore a single cream rose at his lapel—just like the cream roses he’d given Kamille after their very first fight, when they’d told each other “I love you” for the very first time.
But at this moment the memory of those roses was doing nothing for Kamille. She wished she had a knife . . . so she could cut off his wretched little penis and watch him writhe and scream in agony.
“Babe? You look amazing! But you’re not supposed to let me see you,” Chase said, his blue eyes bewildered.
“You okay, sweetheart? You want me to get your mom for you?” Beau said, sounding concerned.
Kamille wriggled her engagement ring off her finger. She started to throw it at Chase . . . then changed her mind.
“No, actually, I’m not gonna give this back to you so you can return it to the store and spend the money on Simone or Kassie or one of your other girlfriends,” she announced. “I’m gonna keep it and spend the money on myself. Yeah, I’ll buy some billboard space on Sunset, babe, so the entire city of Los Angeles can know what a fucking man-whore, what a fucking con job you are. Or I might take out a contract on your head. Whatever. I’ve got lots of time to think about it, now that I don’t have this bullshit sham of a wedding to go through. Fuck you, Chase! I hope you rot in hell.”
All the color had drained out of Chase’s face. “Kamille? Babe? I don’t understand where this is coming from. Could we just go somewhere alone and—”
“No! You’re wasting my time, douche bag. Oh, and by the way? About Simone? She did tell you about her herpes and all her other STDs, right? Better get yourself to a doctor. ’Kay, bye for now! Have a nice life!” Air-kissing, Kamille turned and walked away from Chase.
This time, for good.