“Thanks. It’s my mother’s engagement ring.” My nana gave it to me on my tenth birthday, strung on a gold chain so I could wear it around my neck. It was my prized possession. The one thing I had left of my mom. I only took it off when I was sleeping.
“Is she . . .”
“Yes. She passed away. So did my father. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Do you want to watch some TV?” I didn’t want to talk about my dead parents. And I definitely didn’t want her to feel sorry for me.
“Sure, that sounds good.”
For the next hour, we sat side by side on our old beige sofa, snacking on popcorn and drinking Sprite from the can while we watched sitcoms. Until eventually my eyes became heavy and I was fighting to stay alert.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’m okay.” I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted more time with her. She seemed like the big sister I’d always wanted.
“I’m kind of exhausted myself.”
“Oh, sure. Do you want to go to bed?”
“I think so. I want to get an early start in the morning.”
“Okay. Follow me.” I walked her into Nana’s bedroom. “I can try to find fresh sheets.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can lie on top of the covers. It’s probably better that way.”
“You can borrow a pair of her pajamas if you want.” I knew she was way too tall to wear mine. “They’re in there. Help yourself.” I motioned to my nana’s dresser.
“Thank you.” She nodded. “You saved my life. I hope I can return the favor one day.”
“It was nothing.” I didn’t need anything in return from her. “Can I get you some water? Or an extra blanket?”
“Don’t suppose you have a lighter?” Jordana asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Matches?”
“Maybe somewhere.” I thought about where Nana might keep them.
“I guess you don’t smoke, then?”
“I’m twelve.” I replied, as if twelve-year-olds couldn’t smoke.
“Don’t start. It’s a shitty habit.”
“I can look in the kitchen drawers.”
“No big deal.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of her blue jeans and stuck one in her mouth. “I can use the stove.” She held the cigarette between her lips as she spoke. It looked so cool.
“Okay, well then . . .”
“Good night.”
“Wake me up before you go. I’ll make breakfast.”
“That sounds great.” She smiled at me one last time. “And again, I really can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled back.
I never did see Jordana the next morning. She never even slept over that night. It wasn’t until 7:00 a.m. that I awoke to a cloud of smoke filling my bedroom and spilling through the crack beneath my door. I jolted upright, as mind-bending fright permeated every cell in my body. There was a fire somewhere in the house. My instinct was to scream for Nana, but Jordan and I were the only ones there. I couldn’t open the door. And there was nowhere to stop, drop, and roll. That’s the first thing they tell you to do in the safety drills at school.
I reached to grab my necklace off the nightstand, but it was gone. I didn’t have time to look for it. I rushed toward the window, opened it, and climbed out, dropping the few feet to the ground, wearing only a knee-length T-shirt and no shoes. I thought about going back in. I’d saved Jordan once. She’d said it herself. How could I not try to save her again? But I knew better than to run into harm’s way, so instead I raced around the exterior of the house frantically, shrieking and crying at the top of my lungs. My feet carried me this way and that, through the muddy grass, which was sodden with dew. Until I couldn’t move any more. I just stopped in our front yard, fell to the ground, and hugged my knees to my chest, as I rocked back and forth, howling into the eerie silence. Why didn’t anyone hear me?
I don’t know how long I sat there alone, praying that she would appear. But eventually the blare of sirens sliced through the unnerving hush of my neighborhood as two fire trucks and a police car came pummeling to a stop outside. Before I knew what was going on, they’d invaded the house. I didn’t tell them that Jordan was in there, even when the cops questioned me. I was too shocked, and also too afraid to betray her. It didn’t matter anyway. She was already long gone. What I didn’t know is that Nana had come home early from her shift. And by that time, there’d been no sign of Jordan. My nana lit two candles in the kitchen, as she so often did. Then she went directly to sleep, unaware that the dial had been left on low and the stovetop was emitting a steady stream of gas.
The fire never reached her room; they were able to put it out fast enough so that much of the house was still intact, including the dresser in her bedroom, without her hard earned cash in it.
Still, my nana died that day. Of smoke inhalation.
And Jordana took everything from me. Nana’s money. My mother’s engagement ring. And the person I loved the most in the world.
I cannot let her get away with it.
The phone rang, jolting me from the past. Speak of the devil.
“Hello? Jordana Pierson Wedding Concierge. This is Olivia. How can I help you?” I answered through gritted teeth.
“Hi, Olivia. It’s me.” I seethed at the sound of her voice. It was impatient. As if someone was listening in. Clearly, she hadn’t gone to Boston. I knew that was a lie the moment it escaped her lips. “I’m just checking in. How’s it going?”
“All good here. Staying on top of everything.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” I heard her exhale.
“How are you doing?” I feigned concern.
“I’m okay. I guess.”
“I’m here if you need to vent.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” She spoke quickly. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, anything.”
“It turns out that I’m going to stay the night. I have an old friend in Connecticut and I’m planning to stop there on the way home. So I need a little bit of clothing and my toiletries.”
“Absolutely.” An old friend?
“Great. So can you please take a cab over to my apartment right now? I’ll need my black silk pajamas. They’re in the top drawer of the dresser in my bedroom. The one closest to the bathroom. My undergarments are also there. Then I need the darkest blue jeans you can find—in the third drawer down. And a white cream L’Agence blouse, which should be hanging in the closet near the bed. And my toiletries . . .You know what? I’ll just text you a list. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll let the doorman know you’re coming and to allow you upstairs. He’ll have a spare key, too. Then if you could messenger everything to me, that would be amazing. I’ll text you the address. Tell them I need it immediately. My friend’s clothing is too big to borrow.”
“No problem.” I already knew the address.
“You’re a lifesaver, Olivia.”
Now, where had I heard that before?
27KERRIE
When I arrived at Jordana’s building, the doorman rushed to help me out of my taxi and then escorted me inside. So that’s what doormen are for.
“Hi, I’m Olivia Lewis. Here for Jordana Pierson. She said you’d have a key for me.” I smiled politely.
“Sure thing. Got it right here!” Joseph—his name was monogrammed on the breast of his starched gray uniform—smiled back. “Just return it to Bill on the way out. I’m off in”—he consulted his watch—“five minutes. Goin’ home to the family. Six kids. Would you believe it?”
“Wow, that’s a lot of kids,” I acknowledged, and then headed straight for the elevator.
Upon reaching the eleventh fl
oor, I found that Jordana’s apartment was the only one there, unlike in my building where there are ten apartments, five on each side of the hallway. I turned the key in the lock and let myself in.
When I tell you that I gasped, I swear it’s not an exaggeration. It’s one thing to peruse photos in a magazine, but to experience the real thing—in person—is another story altogether. In a word, it was majestic. The entryway alone felt like the size of a football field. And everything was white. The floors, the walls, the furniture. I remember the article calling the style “enriched minimalism.” I had no idea what that meant until now. I also remember it saying that the space was over four thousand square feet. Four thousand square feet! I’ve never been in a house that large.
I found my way into the kitchen, just to check it out. White marble everywhere. Or was it granite? I have a hard time deciphering the two. There was also the most amazing refrigerator I’ve ever seen. It had a glass front so you could view all the neatly organized bottles of Pellegrino and Dom Perignon. I wondered if they’d notice if I swiped one.
I wandered around some more and then made my way up to the bedroom to pack Jordana’s things. Her list and corresponding directions were so thorough it only took a few minutes, so—once I’d finished—I sat down on her four-poster bed. I needed a moment to let everything sink in.
I felt more resentful than ever. And the need to leave before I did something I regretted to this apartment.
When I got downstairs, I left the bag I’d packed with Bill and let him know that a messenger would be by to retrieve it within the hour.
It had been my intention to head home so I could order in dinner and catch up on Game of Thrones before Sara comes over. But instead, I had a better idea.
I walked a couple of blocks, hailed a cab, and took it straight down to Wall Street and Water. Straight to the Andaz hotel, where I planned to sit on a park bench outside and eat the roast beef sandwich I’d purchased at a nearby bodega. I thought maybe I could catch John in the actual act of cheating. Well, not so much in the act, but perhaps I could bear witness to a hasty departure—a march of dishonor, if you like.
Just because we’re supposed to be targeting Arthur, doesn’t mean I can’t go after Jordana in other ways.
Unfortunately, just as I was about to unwrap my sandwich, my phone rang.
“Hello,” I answered, smiling once I realized it was William.
“Hey, friend. What are you up to?” I felt a little flutter in my chest.
“Not much.” You know, the usual, just stalking my boss’s husband.
“Can you meet me for a quick bite? I need to talk to you again.”
“Um, sure, yeah. That’s fine. Where?” I tried to sound casual, but I was more nervous than usual about seeing him. What if I unintentionally revealed something about our plan to ruin his future father-in-law?
“How about the Silver Star Restaurant on Sixty-Fifth and Second. Does that work?”
“Yup.” No point in raising questions about why I was so far downtown.
“Great, I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I was back uptown, seated across from William in a torn, faux-leather booth.
“This doesn’t strike me as your scene.” I lifted a spoonful of onion soup to my lips and tried not to slurp. I may not be truly sophisticated, but I try.
“I wanted someplace where I wouldn’t bump into a million people I know. And anyway, aren’t diners everyone’s scene?” William took a generous bite of his turkey club. A dollop of mayonnaise oozed out the back and dropped onto his french fries. The rest was smeared across his cheek. I defied the impulse to reach out and brush it away with my thumb.
“You’re asking the wrong person. I don’t eat out much. And when I do, this is about as upscale as it gets.” I glanced at the revolving display cases full of fluorescent-lit cake slices and tapioca pudding.
“Trust me, most of the fancy restaurants aren’t worth their eighty-dollar steaks and fifty-dollar hamburgers.”
“Fifty dollars for a hamburger?” I almost choked on a glob of cheese. “That’s insane. What the hell is in it?”
“A little foie gras. Some truffles.”
“They put chocolate in the burger?” Gross.
“Truffles, as in mushrooms.” He laughed, bringing out his dimple. Again, I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face. “You crack me up.”
“So what’s going on? You sounded upset on the phone.”
He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “I’m struggling.”
“With what?” I had an idea, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“With this wedding. With Tatiana. Things have been really weird lately.”
“Weird like how?” I probed, but didn’t push. William has enough pressure on him.
“Like, I tried what you suggested. I sat Tatiana down the other night and I said, ‘Let’s elope. Let’s just forget the whole wedding, leave town, and get married on a beach somewhere. Just the two of us.’ ” Suddenly I was queasy. That wasn’t what I’d hoped he was going to say.
“And?”
“And she wasn’t into it.”
“Were you surprised by that?” I caught my reflection in the mirror next to me. I looked tired, maybe even older.
“A little.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“She said it was out of the question. That her parents would be furious. That they’ve already spent far too much money. Not to mention the social humiliation they’d endure if The Wedding of the Century didn’t go off without a hitch.”
“We’re still calling it that?” I wrinkled my nose, then took a sip of my Diet Coke.
“I know, right?”
“Okay, so I get what Tatiana is saying about the wedding. Because I agree that Ethel would freak out. But what does that have to do with your feelings? I mean, you did agree to the wedding in the first place.” I wanted to get to the heart of it. I wanted him to tell me he didn’t love Tatiana anymore. And not just so I wouldn’t feel so damn guilty about possibly ruining his fiancé’s father’s life.
“It doesn’t. Or maybe it does. It’s all tied together. Money makes people act in ways they shouldn’t. I promise you, Tatiana did not used to be this way.”
“I know, you’ve told me that. But she’s always been rich, hasn’t she?”
“Yes. It just takes on more meaning as you get older. When you feel the pressure to define yourself in other people’s eyes. I told you, when we were in college, she was pretty normal. She never said who her parents were or what she came from. It was almost like she was embarrassed by it. The complete opposite of how it is now.” I watched as he tried to conjure other examples of her purported normality. “She used to go to the movies without having to wipe the seats down with sanitizer and bring her own sugar-free snacks. She used to shave her own legs. She once backpacked through Europe and stayed in . . .hostels.”
“Come on.”
“It’s true. And despite what you may think, Tatiana is smart. She was an economics major and she got into Yale Law School.”
“What?”
“Okay, so Arthur did go there. For undergrad, too. But even without his influence, she would have gotten in somewhere decent.”
“I take it she didn’t go? To Yale.”
“Clearly not.” Go ahead, twist the sword. “Can I tell you a secret?” His eyes locked with mine and a smile crept up behind them. I knew he was going to divulge something juicy. Something he knew I’d want to hear.
“You mean another secret?” I teased.
“Ok, ready.” He paused for effect. “Tatiana used to be chubby.”
“Shut up!” I looked over both shoulders. “Don’t let the word get out,” I whispered.
He grinned.
“I don’t believe you anyway.”
&
nbsp; “I’m not lying. Cross my heart and hope to die!” He drew an imaginary X on his chest.
“Okay, so how chubby are we talking?”
“Don’t get me wrong—she wasn’t fat, by any means, just solid. A good ten to fifteen pounds above average.” I tried to imagine Tatiana as anything but skin and bones. I couldn’t. Her gauntness defines her. “And you know, the thing is, I liked her that way. She was natural. She was happy. Now she’s just distant. And cranky all the time. I’m not even sure she’s in love with me anymore.”
Oh wow. My heart ached for him. Who in their right mind wouldn’t love William? He’s perfect in every way.
“Maybe you need some time to think about things?” I nudged gently. I can’t be the one to tell him to call things off with Tatiana. Even though I want to.
“I don’t have time to think. The wedding will be here before we know it.” We sat in silence for a minute. “Let’s get out of here.” He motioned to the waiter for a check.
“Sure.”
“You live near here, right?”
“Not far.”
“Great, I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I may not have to, but I want to. As long as you don’t have a hot date waiting for you.”
“Nope, no hot dates to speak of.” Just you.
“Great, then we’ll take the long route so we can grab some ice cream.”
“Perfect.” I smiled, as we exited the diner and stepped outside onto the sidewalk. It was a gorgeous night. The kind filled with promise. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur. And how the fallout—if there is one—will affect William. If he gets hurt in all of this, I’ll never forgive myself.
“I wonder if all in-law relationships are a little awkward,” I mentioned as we strolled up Second Avenue. If William thought the comment was out of left field, he didn’t say so.
“It’s not that I don’t like them.” He didn’t sound convinced. “As you know, Ethel is a handful. But her bite isn’t as bad as her bark.”
“Really?”
Pretty Revenge (ARC) Page 17
