Her words echoed in my head.Just like Mom.
I slumped my shoulders. Julia knew that bit would crush me. I was tired of all of this. It felt like I couldn’t breathe anywhere I turned. I had heard that time and time again. Friends of mine said it often as a shining compliment. They thought it was the best praise they could give. Everyone wanted to be Jacqueline.
Unless you were one of her daughters. When Julia said those words, and she made sure to tell me any time we spoke, she meant them as the worst possible insult. Couldn’t she just tell me to go fuck myself and move along?
Julia turned her back to me, huffing as she grabbed her backpack from the floor, and muttered, “Pathetic” over hershoulder before stomping off. As she headed for the door, something told me to go after her.
I pulled myself out of my stupor and closed the gap between us, taking hold of her arm and spinning her around so that we were face-to-face. “That’s not fair, Jules, and you know it,” I spat, pointing my finger in her face. “You’re never around anymore. You’re out there doing God knows what with God knows whom. And guess what? I’m here by myself. I’m so fucking alone. What did you expect?!”
This was shaping up to be the first real fight we’d ever had. The first time I ever went against what she was saying.
Sure, we fought over trivial matters, but this—this was big.
She didn’t approve of who I was becoming.
She didn’t approve ofme.
All my life I’d sought praise from my mother, and when I realized I would never get that, I’d grasped on to Julia. I looked up to my sister, admired her sense of self. Her values and beliefs weren’t something she compromised for money or notoriety. Two things that were vital in my mother’s world—in my world.
Julia had expressed many times how betrayed she felt that I was not only partaking in high society but that they’d welcomed me with open arms.
I was the golden girl. The IT girl. She insisted it wasn’t something to be proud of—high society to Julia was pretentious and not sustainable.
“Grace, get your finger out of my fucking face,” Julia muttered through gritted teeth.
Her tone and the serious expression on her face told me she wasn’t messing around. Julia could throw down. I’d seen her wrath and didn’t want to be on the receiving end, so I put my hands up, conceding defeat. I truly didn’t want to fight—not with her. I didn’t want to hurt her. She was all I had.
“Everything I worked to protect you from—all for nothing.” Julia shook her head in disgust. “Go right ahead—wear your expensive rags, Grace—but news flash, you’re no better than the rest of us.”
“Jules, enough.”
The doorbell rang and I huffed. Grant.
The last thing I needed was Grant and Julia in the same room together. They hated one another.Hateprobably wasn’t a strong enough word, and it probably wasn’t an accurate description of Grant’s feelings. I’d had a hunch he’d had a crush on Julia for years.
I took a deep breath, plastered a false smile on my face, and went to answer the door, tightening the belt on my robe once more.
“Grace, I’m not finished talking to you,” Julia called out from behind me.
There was pounding on the door as I went to open it.
“Grace, what took you so long?! I’m getting soaked out here!” Grant scolded before I’d even fully opened the door. Rain had saturated his usually perfectly coiffed hair. His tailored black suit had droplets running down the fabric.
“Afraid of a little rain? What a pussy,” Julia snarked from behind me.
Grant grinned his classic devilish smile as soon as I swung the door open enough for him to see Julia. “Well, well, well, speaking of pussy, look what the cat dragged in.”
Seemed like my hunch wasn’t that far off base. Even noncommitted relationships had complications. Loyalty being one of them.
“Grant, stop,” I warned and rolled my eyes when he had the audacity to check out Julia’s ass as she walked away.
“Pig,” I mumbled under my breath as I let him into my house. I didn’t even know why I kept him in my life. Just another mistake to add to the mile-long list.
“Oh, Grace,” Grant singsonged, reaching into his jacket pocket, displaying the signature embroidered monogram. Details like that didn’t go unnoticed in our world, and I was sure Grant took every chance he could to flaunt his status through his clothing. Between his fingertips, Grant held what was often a much-needed escape for me. For all his faults, he did always bring the best party favors.
The fine, crystal-like white powder was my drug of choice. The high that came with just one bump of cocaine was unlike any other. Anybody from our circle who told you that they didn’t do drugs was either lying or they had a prescription from a “doctor.” I wasn’t addicted by any means—my use definitely leaned more toward recreational than habitual—but I enjoyed the high, literally. It was like being transported anywhere but reality, and I so desperately needed a change of pace.
Grant went over to my coffee table, tapped the powder onto the mahogany surface, and pulled out a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill.
