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The look she casts me is sympathetic. “I gave him hell after that shit he pulled. Even if it wasn’t his idea to play that video, he could have done more to stop it.”
“Does it make me sound crazy if I say that isn’t even my problem anymore?”
Her eyebrows shoot up so high they’re practically in outer-space. “Are you seriously telling me he did something worse?”
Is lying about what happened with Anton actually worse or such a surprise that the betrayal is agonizing? “Well…”
“You know what, I don’t actually want to know the answer to that question.” She raises a hand, as if to stop me from saying anything else. “Let’s change the subject before I have to shun my own brother.”
“I’m still mad, but it’s almost certainly not as bad as you’re thinking,” I admit with a sigh. “Drake might get upset if he finds out you’re willing to disown him for me.”
“I doubt he’d be surprised. When we were kids, I didn’t talk to him for two weeks because he ate a cookie I was saving.” She laughs, but then reaches across the narrow gap between our chairs to squeeze my hand. “You were the only person at St. Bart’s who actually tried to make me feel welcome. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be spending this weekend in the school library and not out getting my nails done. I love my brother no matter what stupid thing he does, but that doesn’t mean I won’t let him know when he’s wrong. I am totally on your side.”
Olivia chooses that moment to interrupt. “You should at least let them give you a trim, Via. That old cut of yours is looking a little ragged around the edges.”
Her turn in the chair is done, judging from the cascading waves framing her face and going down her back. She kept the darker color, but there is a glossy sheen to it that even I have to admit looks good.
“Go ahead, a chair just opened up, and the stylist did a great job with me.” A glowing smile stretches across her face, but it isn’t directed at me. “You’re not going to hog poor Felicia all to yourself, are you?”
I can see what Olivia is trying to do, like her plans are laid out right in front of me. For whatever reason, she has decided to do everything in her power to usurp whatever position I’ve managed to carve out for myself at St. Bart’s.
But I won’t give her the satisfaction of the public fight that she seems to want.
Rising from the pedicure chair, I return her fake smile with one of my own. My gaze moves over her with mock concern. “Only if you’re all done?”
Olivia flips her hair over her shoulders as she takes my vacated seat. “Make sure you tell her to brighten you up with some highlights. I don’t know how you’ve managed to make blonde hair look so drab.”
I decide to walk away before saying something I shouldn’t. It isn’t lost on me that Olivia has effectively separated me from everyone else for however long it takes to get my hair done. I still feel enough guilt that I’m swallowing the shit she serves up. But if she isn’t careful, I’ll be taking a pair of clippers to her head without a trace of guilt.
“What are we doing today?” the stylist asks as she cranks up my chair.
I frown at my reflection in the mirrored wall. Behind me, Olivia is laughing uproariously at something Felicia just said because she knows I can see it. “Just a trim.”
“I’d love to give you some highlights.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
The stylist leans closer to whisper in my ear. “I bet I can make you look better than your sister.”
As much as I hate to admit it, that strikes the right chord. I guess I really am just that petty. “Fine. Do it.”
She sweeps the fabric drape around my shoulders. “I’m thinking an all over lift and some platinum highlights would look amazing on you.”
I listen to her prattle on with half-an-ear, barely paying any attention. My phone has been in my hand since we arrived and it hasn’t once pinged with a notification or message. The silence between Drake and I is loud enough to drown out everything else.
The asshole needs to reach out to me, so he knows I’m still ignoring him.
A warning alarm goes on the far side of the room from one of the dryers. There isn’t anyone sitting under it, but the stylist goes to shut it off.
Olivia sidles up to my side. “You always hated being blonde.”
I dyed my hair for the first time when we were twelve, using a box from the grocery store. Our mother had been irate when she saw the mess I’d made. The cheap dye made me look like Wednesday Addams. “I’m being more flexible in my old age.”
“But a tiger can’t change its stripes,” she drawls. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”
“Via…” I whisper.
She sweeps away as the stylist returns, like we never even spoke to each other at all.
