Submitting To The Mafia

Rosalind

Someone’s watching me.

My skin burns with the touch of a stranger’s gaze, sending shivers skittering down my spine. It’s strong enough to stop me mid-step in

the center of the Grand Theater.

The garment bag is heavy on my shoulder, but I turn anyway. Holding my breath, I scan the sea of people around me, either scurrying to get backstage or waiting to take their seats when the doors open.

I don’t catch anyone’s eye—at least, not that I can see—so I scold myself and force an exhale.

I’m being silly. Just some pre-show nerves, that’s all.

Being looked at is part of the pageant world, something I have to start getting used to. Maybe whoever it was thought I was someone else. Or maybe the prickly sensation of someone staring at me is left over from my mom and our endless nomadic life, or even my guilt of running out to get the dress I’d almost forgotten earlier.

“Rosalind, hurry your ass up.”

I snap out of it and grin at my best friend, Genius, who’s waving at me frantically from the door to the dressing rooms, her blue and purple hair standing out in like a cool breath of reality.

“Come on, Roz!”

“Coming,” I mutter, hoisting the bag up so I don’t trip. Weaving through the throng of bodies, I manage to find my way over to her.

We hurry to the side door designated for contestants and show our passes to the guard, hulking and intimidating in all black and a pair of sunglasses. He lets us pass without a fuss, and we rush down the hall into our designated dressing room.

Even though there are only a handful of girls left in the competition, the room is bustling with activity, mostly their managers or mothers trying to get them as close to perfection as possible.

Moving to my assigned station, I quickly strip down and wiggle into my pale mauve gown. When I glance in the mirror, I force myself to smile.

It’s good. It fits the image I want—demure with a hint of sophistication I don’t have.

I mean, I’m twenty-one. I graduated early from college, one I attended online after a life of bouncing from place to place. Forget sophistication. It’s a wonder I don’t look like a freak.

Then, I notice the fierce frown and crossed arms behind me. I raise my gaze to Genius in the mirror. “What? This is what we decided on,” I tell her.

She scowls. “Nuh-uh. You decided. Thankfully, I’m your pageant queen fairy-god-sister from another mister.”

She spins on her heel and marches off to a black bag draped over the chair next to us. Picking it up, she unzips it and hands me a sea of red. “Put it on.”

“But—”

“Trust me?”

I sigh. Genius and I met on one of my few-and-far-between chaperoned trips to the library. She popped up and asked me if I was a vampire and never left. She stuck with me through untold bumpy rides and… she’s my only friend. Real friend. Best friend. “Trust you.”

Unzipping me, she pushes the dress off my shoulders and helps me put on the red one.

When I’m secured into the garment, she smooths out the non-existent wrinkles on my ass and stomach before stepping back and admiring me.

Glancing down at the vibrant red silk, the complete opposite of the gown I’d chosen, I hold out my hands. “So? Is this one better?”

“Better is an understatement.”

I’m not sure I’d go that far. It’s definitely tighter than the mauve one, and that alone makes me more uncomfortable, but that’s what doing these pageants are all about for me—stretch my limits. Experience all the things I never got to growing up. Be in the spotlight for once, not hidden away.

Oh, and the money. I need that too.

Genius grabs me by the arms and roughly spins me around to face the mirror again. The moment I find my reflection, my mouth falls open in utter shock.

Woah.

I’m a bombshell.

Running my fingers over the soft, silky material, I’m transfixed at how the dress shows off my breasts in a deep swoop at the neckline, how it hugs my waist and hips before flowing to the floor in layers of gorgeous ruby fabric. It’s like another woman stands before me, but when I swing and twirl, she does too, confirming the person I’m staring at is actually me.

I blink, stupefied that a simple dress change can make me look so… different. Feel so different.

My pulse kicks up with excitement. I feels gorgeous. I look like I know all about romance. I look timeless and well-traveled. I look interesting.

Which is not like me at all.

My anxiety returns, along with a flutter of doubt in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure I can pull this off. All these girls have been doing pageants for years—some since they were toddlers—and I jumped into this world on a whim. I shouldn’t be here.

“I don’t know about this…” I groan as my nerves get the better of me and my stomach turns.

“Don’t start with that shit again,” Genius snaps. She glares at me through the mirror. “You deserve to be here, Roz. You do. Hundreds of girls competed to be Miss Queen 2023, and yet here you are, in the top fifteen.

You deserve to be here.”

“It’s actually Miss Elite Royal 2023,” I correct her with a smile.

She rolls her eyes. “Miss Elite Royal Yasssss Queen 2023. Whatever. I had very limited time to read up on this stuff, so give me a break.”

I laugh—I can’t help it. With her more… unique style of short blue hair, rhinestone and cat-eyed glasses, vibrant makeup choices, and undying obsession with the undead, parading women around and judging them on their appearance isn’t exactly her idea of a good time. She’s told me as much, but since I wanted to do it, she’s been supportive, and that’s all I can ask for. She’s trying.

I peer at myself again in the mirror and sigh. “You’re sure about this?”

She nods. “More than sure.”

“It looks expensive. How did you even—”

“Shhh… Don’t worry about that. I told you to trust me, and once you give trust, Roz, there’s no takesy-backsies.” She gestures up and down the dress for emphasis. “Besides, you look hot. Spectacular. This dress is going to be the extra oomph you need to make the finals. I just know it.”

I guess she’s right. The gown is stunning, and I do feel like a million bucks in it. Hopefully the judges think so, too.

“Watch your posture,” she notes, patting my back to make sure I stand up straight. “Make sure you show off the goods. Here.” She points to my ass— “and definitely here—” She does the same with my breasts.

“Right…”

Genius digs through my make-up bag and pulls out a lipstick. It’s red, heavily pigmented, matte. “The color suits you. God, with your pale honey complexion, those light eyes and dark hair, you look like a movie star. I saw it and it screamed ‘This is who Roz wants to be, who she is inside.’”

I let her apply the lipstick, and when I glance at my face again, it surprisingly goes well with the eyeliner and mascara she already painted on me in the car.

“There are shoes to match.” She continues with my hair, sliding in pins but keeping it simple, up on one side so my natural waves can do their thing. As the minutes pass, I transform even more into the vixen she wants me to be.

“You’re going to knock their socks off. You’re beautiful; you have flawless skin and plump lips that are things of fantasies. Then, you’ll make their heads explode with your brain power. Your speech was fucking amazing, even if it’s not about vampires.”

I laugh. Genius gives the weirdest pep talks ever.

“Thanks. It’s about Rwanda and women and nothing to do with the

Middle East, but—”

“You’re killing my vibe here, Roz.” She steps back. “There.”

We both admire her handywork. “There’s a saying about how it takes a village.”

“True,” she says as she brushes her shoulder. “I do have the power of an entire village inside me.”