Girl Before a Mirror by Liza Palmer Read Free Book Online

about . . .” My eyes fall on the photos of the men vying for Mr. RomanceCon, the romance novel cover model of the year. “Maybe it’s a little bit about them.”
    â€œIt can be all about them if you want,” Sasha says, clicking on last year’s winner. “Ryder Grant. Swoon, right?” Sasha says.
    â€œIf it’s a hero women want, why don’t we give it to them?” I ask, motioning at Mr. Ryder Grant.
    â€œI don’t—”
    â€œThey’re having a pageant, right? What if we could impress upon the RomanceCon higher-ups that this year’s pageant winner would have the opportunity to be the new Lumineux spokesman? I mean, it wouldn’t be guaranteed or anything, but if we land the campaign then—”
    â€œThey land the campaign,” Sasha interrupts.
    â€œExactly. And if not—”
    â€œIt’s still great coverage.”
    â€œHe’d be every woman’s hero, so to speak.” I pull over a yellow legal pad and begin furiously writing. “But it’s not just that. It’s the world. It’s that world. There’s something . . . The Brubaker tapped into something in romance novels and we can,too. In finding your hero, you . . . you have to believe that you’re worthy of being the heroine, right? That the story . . . this life . . . is about you. And what woman ever puts herself first?”
    â€œNot one.”
    â€œRight. That’s what’s—”
    â€œThat’s why I love reading romance novels. It’s where I’m allowed to be . . . I don’t know . . . it’s where I feel like I get to be the woman of my dreams.”
    â€œRight there. That’s it. That’s what we have to . . . Lumineux Shower Gel takes you to a place where you’re the woman of your dreams. Just like romance novels. The pitch would center on women empowering themselves by believing that they can be the heroine of their own stories. Going about their daily grind, but with this thread of that romance novel world. So, coming in from work and having that guy—”
    â€œNavarre,” Sasha offers.
    â€œYes. Navarre. You walk in from work and there’s Navarre cooking dinner and the kids are sitting at the table already doing homework. I’m missing something. I . . .” I think back to this morning. My own list of what I really want out of this life. Sasha is quiet.
    I want to be happy and not feel guilty about it. I want to be curious without being called indulgent. I want to be accepted regardless of what I look like, what I do for a living, my marital status, whether I have kids, or whether you think I’m nice enough, hospitable enough, or humble enough to measure up to your impossible standards. I want purpose. I want contentment. I want to be loved and give love unreservedly in return. I want to be seen. I want to matter. I want freedom .
    And then it comes to me.
    I want to be . . . I want to just be .
    â€œWe just want to be,” I say.
    Sasha and I look at each other across the table. That’s it.
    â€œI love the idea of these vignettes of a woman’s daily grind with some hot guy just amid it all, you know?” Sasha says, motioning for me to switch places with her. I oblige. She picks up her sketchpad and starts drawing. “That we matter. That we’re worthy of a hero.” Sasha draws as she speaks, her voice growing stronger and stronger. This is what I want to tap into. “No, that we are the hero.” The change in Sasha even thinking about the prospect of being a heroine is what is at the root of this idea. “That we’re human. And sexual. And vital. And equal. Every version of us.” Sasha is on the edge of her seat now, pulling different colored pencils from her bag. I wait. She turns the sketchbook to me and I’m blown away.
    It’s a rough sketch of a woman walking into her kitchen in a business suit to a clearly besotted, gorgeous