Narcissus the Narcissist

“Ethan, are you ready yet?” Jessica’s voice drifted down the hall, sharp, like the clack-clack-clack of her heels against the hardwood floor. “We’re going to be late.” Impatient, as usual.

“Almost, Dear,” Ethan called back. His fingers slid through his hair which he coaxed into perfection. The brush lay forgotten on the counter. His movements meticulous. Deliberate. He leaned closer to the mirror. And inspected his work under the bathroom vanity’s warm light.

Jessica hated waiting. He could practically hear her pacing back and forth. Arms crossed over the black dress she’d bought, just for him. He grinned to himself. It wasn’t her night. No. Not really. Tonight was all about him. The Gala. The recognition. The award.

“Just a few more minutes, Love,” he murmured. But not loud enough for her to hear.

He straightened his jacked. The silk lapels captured specks of light. Boy, did it fit well. He ran a hand along his jawline. Felt the faint stubble he’d decided to leave—rugged. But not unkempt.

“Look at you,” he whispered. His reflection stared back. It was as every bit as flawless as he felt. A sharp jawline. Perfect tailored tux. Deep brown sparkling eyes like a movie star. “You’re killing it, Ethan”

His reflection seemed to agree.