As I march off, I reflect on everything that’s occurred between us: touching, bonding over books, strong cups of coffee. All this time, I naively thought these were seedlings of love. But it’s been pity and remorse. Of all the emotions he could gravitate towards, why those?
He was right from the very start. I’ll always be something lesser to him. Like everyone else, he sees me as some poor lambheled astray.Everyoneseems to think I’m incapable of deciding my fate. What a privilege this is, a chance to weave my own story. Who cares if the pattern isn’t a family design? My Mom would have wanted me to live. Regardless of the strings that came with it. Let the world weep for me. I’ll still be standing at the entrance of Hell, confident as ever.
I find Kas and a good chunk of the party goers in the mural hall. Kas lifts a brow, holding a flute of champagne. “Trouble in paradise?”
I ignore him and snatch the glass from his hand before downing the drink–or, at least, attempting to. The taste of bitter grapes makes me gag, and the bubbles go straight up my nose. I choke a little and Kas reaches out.
“If you get champagne on this dress Chanel will kill me,” he reminds me. “Slowly.”
I manage to swallow back the drink, the liquid heavy in my throat.
Rosier joins us but says nothing, his eyes narrow and distant. Kas looks back and forth between us, waiting for one of us to break and give some explanation. But it never comes. Especially not after I’ve recovered from choking on bubbles and make eye contact with a familiar figure across the hall.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…” I lament.
Alexander is standing there, his brows furrowed, seeing me next to the big, naked guy he found in my apartment a week after we broke up. Not a great look for me.
“Quite the company,” Kas says his words slow and pointed.
A man walks up next to Alexander, a woman with mousy brown hair on his arm. They’re talking, and I can tell from Alexander’s body language that he wants to impress this guy. His shoulders are back, but his neck is craned low, trying to balance standing up straight while not standing at his intimidating height.
Kas continues, “Wasn’t expecting to see Seira here.”
Rosier sounds intrigued. “With her walking bank account.”
“The very same–hey, where are you going?”
Rosier looks over his shoulder as he walks away. “To make a contract.”
Before I can follow him and toss the rest of the champagne in his face, there’s a commotion behind us. A woman in a large powder blue ball gown approaches the hall with her entourage: a man in a plain black suit who looks to be a bodyguard, a woman with a museum badge who’s talking her ear off, a girl with corn silk hair that reaches her midsection, and a familiar blonde man with glasses who’s holding her arm.
My blood goes cold. The group walks past us, and the woman with the museum badge gushes. “We’re always so grateful for your donations Mrs. le Fay.”
Kas leans down. “Your Dad’s genes are strong, Lance and him could be twins.”
“I don’t think that’s my Dad. I think thatisLance’s twin.” My voice shakes and I grip the base of the champagne flute so hard I think it will snap in my hands.
All this work, and he’s not even here. If I want him to get my message, it’ll have to be relayed through his spawn. I wonder if this twin will call me sister, too.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
MINNIE
My fingertips have gonepale from holding onto my glass so tightly, but I hardly care, watching as Guine le Fay schmoozes with other donors and socialites. The two accompanying her, both blond and pale, look like bored teenagers dragged out by their Mother.
It occurs to me that I can’t curse out Guine and her family–not when everyone here is fawning over them–but I certainly can cuss out Rosier. Maybe he’ll get turned on by it, and we can have hate sex in the bathroom. I’m upset with him, sure, but last time I was this upset he spanked me, and I felt better. Better than using any kind ofhealthycoping mechanism. Sex is kinda like meditation, if you don’t think about it for too long.
I hand Kas my empty drink and march after Roiser, finding myself on the makeshift dance floor, only for a lanky figure to step in my path.
“Care for a dance?” Alexander offers me his hand.
I look up at him, bending my neck all the way back and wondering how I ever enjoyed this painful position I had to contort myself into so I could look at his face. Saying no to his offer is obvious. Boring.
So I take his hand. We dance in silence before the peace is interrupted.
“I just don’t get it, Minnie,” he blurts out. “I wanted to give you a nice life. I really thought about us getting married one day. And then you break up with me out of the blue.”
“I wanted those things, too,” I admit. “That’s why we dated, and that was the problem.” A house, kids, a husband–that’s the dream. Or, at least, it was before the curse and the consequences of my own actions.
