Then she walks away, as if this journey isn’t going to be monumental—orcomplicated—enough already.
I stand here, frozen for a moment, watching her enter Madison Manor, my mind racing.
Cornelia Livingston never approved of my friendship with Ebony, in high school or thereafter. Whether she knew Julian wasn’t nearly good enough for Ebony or not, I’ve got to believe she was ecstatic when Ebony finally cut ties with me.
But what’s in it for Cornelia with our working together?
As I stretch out the stiffness in my neck, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, half expecting a permit email or update on the wood and stone I ordered. Instead, the screen lights up with a single message from an unnamed number.
+1 (470) 555-3269
Please let me know your availabilityto meet next week.
I don’t need to look it up to know it’s her. I’ve had the number memorized since I was eighteen.
Chapter Three
The Switch-Up
Ebony
My phone trembles against mycluttered bathroom counter.
Giving myself a mental countdown, I meet my own lined and faux-lashed gaze in the mirror, taking in the warm brown angles of my half-contoured cheeks, then force myself to answer.
“Hey, Mom, I’m just about to head out the door. What’s going on?”
Her excited squeal fills the line, and immediately I know. This isn’t just her usual “maintain the façade of a perfect life” crusade. The Ellswood grapevine has twisted its way around her ear.
“Sweetheart, why am I just hearing your news? I about fainted.” She heaves an exhilarated sigh. “And your first wedding back? Lord, won’t he do it!”
Yes, it seems he will, given the opportunity, yoke my daydream to a nightmare. “It’s really something,” I say.
“Something glorious. Ebony, this is Hailey Winston and Donovan Livingston…” she states, as if I need the reminder that I just freed myself from the mother of the groom, and now I’ve gone and backtracked.
Right on cue, another text notification from Julian pops up at the top of my screen, which I promptly ignore, like all the others.
Pause, peace, power.
I’m gliding on the backing to my earring when she pauses, and I sense the other expensive shoe about to drop.
“Listen, I know you’re still sour about the way things ended with Julian.”Why yes, I am, Mother.“But there is a silver lining, sweetheart.”
“Oh, there is?”
Her exhausted sigh echoes through the line. “Yes,” she says, matter-of-fact. “It’s no coincidence that we’re here, a year later, and neither of you has been in any…noteworthy relationships.”
I laugh, plucking lint from my cardigan. “Wow.Nicely done, Mom.”Let’s just forget about infidelity and thosepesky divorce papers. Who needs ’em, anyway?“Eleanor King has her ear to the ground, ladies and gentlemen.”
I suck in my cheeks one final time, assessing the results of my mediocre contour job in the mirror before I hurriedly tug on my cream-colored wide-leg knit pants.
“There’s no need to get haughty with me. All I’m saying is, this wedding doesn’t only have to be an opportunity for you career-wise. This could be the opportunity to get close to Julian, go to this year’s cotillion together, and win him back from that…”Hussy of a news anchor. It’s her usual preferred term for Nora Whitfield, but for some reason, Mom holds back. “My point is, people are talking—”
“Like I said, I really need to get going to my appointment. I’ve got, like, five minutes to zhuzh up the wrapped mane under this bonnet, throw on some heels, and grab my coat before I hop on the road, so…” The words are in the air all of two seconds.
“Ebony, he’s a man, and they have needs—”
I cut her off as I grab my coat and keys, jingling them loudly. But something inside me snaps under the pressure of knowing how far she’ll take her “good man who made a one-time mistake” crusade. “Besides, I haven’t mentioned it, for obvious reasons, but I’m seeing someone, and, um…I might bring him to the wedding.”
