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The others went through their usual crappy small talk. How was your weekend? Did you see Amy-Ann’s dress on Saturday night? Hemmings Vintage, right?
I sipped my black coffee, hoping that the gathering would disband as soon as possible. I barely said a word, just smiled my fake smile as everyone spoke, playing at being vaguely interested.
But I couldn’t be vaguely interested.
Not with Lucian Morelli racing through my mind.
I should’ve known it was inevitable that the questioning would turn in my direction. Manners cost nothing, so our au pairs and housekeepers had instilled from a young age.
It was Grace who spoke. My cousin was a picture as she grinned across the table at me, eyes fluttering under fake lashes.
“Hey, Lainey. How was your weekend, then? How come you bailed on the Longley fundraiser? Someone said you were busy . . .”
The other two were staring along with her. Harriet – my closest cousin of them all – was trying to look optimistic, like she didn’t know the answer would be something unacceptable to Constantine standards.
My sister, Vivian, wasn’t even trying to look optimistic. Her smile was paper-thin, knowing full well that I was likely coked up and barely conscious the whole while since she’d seen me last.
I nearly let loose an unhinged laugh – dark humor as I imagined what expressions they’d be pulling if they knew the truth of it. They’d be retching all over the table.
I was downtown with Tristan, watching some rocker guy he wanted a piece of dick from. I got fucked up on beer and coke with no security in sight . . . and then I was hoping to get fucked by Lucian Morelli before he killed me. As it turns out, he didn’t do either, just wound me up with his gropes and kisses. I guess I was just too pitiful a specimen for him to enjoy destroying.
I shrugged. “Yeah, it was good, thanks. Just took some time out.”
Three blank expressions looked across at me, paper smiles not even cutting it.
I summoned up a smile of my own and poked the conversation back to some regular numb chatter.
“Tell me about Amy-Ann’s Hemmings Vintage gown, then.”
Grace leaped up and into it, sliding her hands down her ribs as she bleated on about teal satin and diamonds. Same old crap.
I knew Harriet’s eyes were on me as I played with my coffee mug. I could feel them.
I loved Harriet Roosevelt. Not just because she’d been my closest cousin for forever, but because she was a really sweet soul and I wished I could learn something from her. She was on the straight and narrow with everything she ever did, and it wasn’t because the Constantines were dictators who demanded we all did what we were told – it was because that’s who she was as a person.
She didn’t fill her calendar with hundreds of different charity events because it looked good in the tabloids. She did it because she wanted to be there with her heart of gold.
Maybe we had more in common than I’d ever let myself believe, but my heart wasn’t gold like hers. Mine was tattered, dead.
Secrets. More secrets.
I’d have paired her up as besties with downtown Jemma if I thought they’d be able to spend any time together under the Constantine umbrella, but my mother would have blown a fuse to even catch sight of Jemma on Bishop’s Landing turf with her moral crusading and dreadlocks in her hair.
No matter how much I branded myself as pathetic, there was nothing any more pathetic than this facade of brilliance we pasted over the true corruption and brutality of Constantine life. At least the Morellis weren’t trying to be so glossy over their grime.
We were as highly trussed up in it as they were. Underhanded dealings and corruption. Bribing politicians and twisting their laws. And the rest of it . . . even lower. So low it would’ve kept me awake at night if I hadn’t been too wasted to stay conscious.
I barely noticed the girls checking their watches and preparing to leave. I must’ve been half dazed for the rest of our catch up. We did air kisses, same as usual, and I didn’t even bother downing the rest of my coffee before I gathered my coat up, ready to go.
I was at the front doorway when Harriet grabbed my arm. I leaped out of my skin, eyes opening wide on hers on instinct as she pulled her usual confused face, trying to make sense of just what the hell was going on with me.
“Come for a walk around the grounds?” she asked, and the flare up in my stomach was a fresh quest for cocaine, but I managed to contain myself enough to resist snorting a line at the Regent Club on a Monday lunchtime.
