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Emma blinked at herself in the mirror, her eyes transformed into those of a smoldering starlet. Gabby sat at the vanity while Lili stood behind her, wrapping one of her sister’s long blond locks around a curling iron. Through the open door to Charlotte’s bedroom she could see Laurel zipping Nisha into her dress, the hot pink silk perfect against Nisha’s dark skin. Madeline stood next to Emma in her bra and panties, applying a fiftieth layer of mascara to her already long eyelashes. Charlotte was downstairs, putting the finishing touches on the decorations.
“I could live in this bathroom. Like, just in this bathroom and never leave,” Gabby said, looking around. Emma privately agreed—the room was bigger than some of her old foster homes. A Jacuzzi-style tub occupied a pedestal at one end of the bathroom, a mini sauna next to it. A shower with six different heads took up the opposite corner. The bathmats were thick and soft, and the whole room sparkled pristinely with the cleanliness only a full-time housekeeper could maintain.
“Ew,” said Madeline, wrinkling her nose. “Who wants to live in a bathroom?”
“Well, maybe I’d build a separate bathroom off the bathroom,” Gabby admitted.
I perched on the edge of the counter, filled with a wave of longing as I watched my friends. How many times had we done this before parties, gossiping and plotting pranks while we helped one another get ready? Watching my life through Emma’s eyes, I’d realized how much we teased and undermined each other. It was nice to be reminded that we’d done things like this, too.
“Hold still,” Madeline said, turning Emma to face her. She held up an eyelash curler and pressed the trigger a few times threateningly. Emma tried not to move as Madeline fixed her lashes.
“Is everything okay?” Madeline asked quietly as she pulled the curler away, looking curiously at Emma. “You seem tired.”
Emma sighed. She’d felt shell-shocked and hollow since the hospital, unable to fully process everything she’d discovered. Becky had another daughter. Becky had defaced the picture of Sutton—or was it of Emma? And the most hurtful of all, Ethan had lied to her, had hidden something huge and important. What could Ethan have done to end up in the psych ward—and for a while, if the size of the file was any indication? Was it for something so awful he was afraid she’d be scared off?
She tried to smile at Madeline. In spite of everything, Emma was determined to have a good time tonight, to shut off the part of her mind that was stressing and just enjoy a few hours with her friends. More than anything she wanted to stop wondering what Ethan was hiding. She picked up the red plastic cup she’d left on the counter and took a long, slow sip of cranberry juice and vodka. The alcohol stung the back of her throat.
“I’m great,” she said. “Getting greater by the second.”
“Okay, then,” Madeline said, though she clearly wasn’t convinced. “To greatness!” She lifted her own cup in a mock toast.
Laurel peeked her head around the bathroom door. She looked stunning in the gold bandage dress she’d bought at the Saks sample sale. “Are you ladies almost finished? Some of us still need to do our makeup.”
Emma stood up. “I’ll go downstairs and check on Char.”
On the way through the bedroom, she stopped to check herself out in the full-length mirror. She’d decided on a pale pink halter dress that gave her skin a rosy glow. It was maybe on the sexy side for Emma and the sweet side for Sutton, but it felt perfect for the tenuous in-between that Emma lived in now. She pulled on a pair of strappy gold Miu Miu heels and headed for the stairs.
Of everything in Sutton’s luxe life, Charlotte’s house was probably the most over-the-top thing Emma had seen. A sprawling adobe villa, it had an Olympic-sized pool, a six-car garage, and a bell tower that had been transplanted stone by stone from a two-hundred-year-old mission south of Yuma. Stunning views of the city were visible from every window. The marble stairs curved elegantly down into an entryway the size of a ballroom, where the girls had spent the afternoon hanging crisscrossing strings of globe lights from the high ceiling. On the top landing Emma ran into a guy wearing a leather vest over his bare chest who was setting up turntables. He didn’t even look up as she stepped over the cords onto the stairs.
She found Charlotte in the kitchen, where they’d covered a table with Mrs. Chamberlain’s best linen and sprinkled glittery confetti across the surface for an accent. Platters of food covered every inch—a sun-dried tomato and pesto torta, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, garlic-stuffed olives, and fresh-baked pita wedges. She picked up a mini quiche and popped it in her mouth.
Charlotte glanced up when Emma came in. “You look mahvelous, dahling,” she said, air-kissing Emma’s cheek.
“So do you!” Emma exclaimed. Charlotte’s emerald-green dress brought out her eyes. She’d had her hair done by a stylist that afternoon, in a classic updo with a few ringlets artfully arranged around her face. Her crystal dangle earrings caught the light and made her positively glow.
Emma held up her cup. “I seem to be empty.”
Charlotte gestured toward the bar, which was almost as big as Sutton’s bedroom, complete with four different wine refrigerators across the back wall. Dozens of glass bottles were lined up on the counter, along with mixers, limes, and even a blender. Emma fixed two cosmos, one for herself and one for Charlotte. She did it properly in a shaker, the way a cool older foster sister had once taught her. Through the French doors to the back patio, Emma could see the big-bellied keg by the light of the tiki torches.
