Chapter Twenty
Elizabeth
“You’ve lost weight.”
I merely smile at the mild rebuke. I know better than to argue with Yu-Jin.
First of all, the woman’s holding some very sharp pins. Second, she’s a genius with alterations, and I need her help.
The little tailor shop is the fruit of her lifelong dream and my investment four years ago. Until then, Yu-Jin worked for Grandma Shirley.
The business started out fairly well, but it skyrocketed when my brother Ryder started using Yu-Jin’s service. Nothing draws customers like celebrity, and Ryder is a huge movie star with an ego and appetite for publicity that’s large even by Hollywood standards. Thankfully, he has a good heart to go with it. Otherwise he would be insufferable.
As Yu-Jin checks the fit again, I start to drift, last night’s conversation with Marcella fleeting through my mind.
“I had no idea you were back with Dominic.”
“We met again at the dinner in the Sterling mansion,” I said, only because I knew it would bother her to know he was there and she wasn’t.
“Oh. I wish I’d been there! Then I would’ve been able to keep him away from you.”
I bit my lip. She wished she were there to hit on rich, unmarried men. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit to discover she sleeps with married men so long as they can give her the money to maintain her lifestyle.
“Don’t feel bad. Dominic isn’t your concern,” I said lightly.
“But given what happened before… I mean, he coerced you when you were too young to really consent. And you know, consent has to be the foundation of any relationship. Anything else is patriarchic misogyny. It just bugs me…”
The muscles in my jaw tightened. Marcella is many things, but a true feminist she’s not. It grossed me out to hear her give me the crap she’s read online. True feminism empowers women, gives them agency. Marcella—along with Shirley—took mine away.
“I was old enough to get a fake ID,” I said mildly. “I’m sure I was old enough to consent to sex.”
She’s this blithely arrogant because she thinks I haven’t discovered who ratted me out. But I did, soon after Grandma Shirley told me she would never forgive Dominic…that it was Marcella who betrayed me.
I shed my naïveté fairly quickly and started to see what the people around me were truly like. But Grandma stopped me from confronting Marcella. “No need to antagonize her, Elizabeth. Even cockroaches have their uses from time to time.”
“Tell me how your dad’s doing. Didn’t he start some new venture?” I asked Marcella.
She launched a long whine about how he wasn’t doing well, how it was scaring her because she had expenses. It never occurs to her to get a job and provide for herself.
And it never occurs to her that her father will never do well…because I won’t let him. He encouraged Marcella to sell me out to Grandma Shirley in order to curry favor. Apparently loyalty and friendship mean nothing to the man so long as he can profit. So I’m responding in kind…but without being overt. I can accomplish what I want with a few well-placed words, an obstacle here and there preventing him from meeting the right kind of people in the right kind of setting.
“All done,” Yu-Jin says. She straightens, then places her hands on her hips. “You really shouldn’t lose more weight. Why Americans don’t want to eat, I don’t know.”
“Food allergies?” I joke. The real reason for my weight loss is the lack of sleep, which has the side effect of killing my appetite.
Yu-Jin scoffs.
“You’re pretty slim yourself,” I point out.
“Because I grew up in Korea after The War.”
I can hear the capitalization in her voice. To her, the Korean War is always going to be The War.
“Food was scarce, so I couldn’t eat when I was little. That’s why.”
I change into my peach-colored Dior dress, and Yu-Jin takes the four outfits that require work. I hand her a check plus an envelope.
Yu-Jin’s gaze grows soft. “Year-end bonuses again?”
I nod. “They deserve it.”
“You know I can pay them.”
“I know, but it’s a little extra from me. I’m an investor in this business, and I want to take care of the workers, too.”
Although Yu-Jin pays her workers well, Los Angeles is an expensive city, and money is always tight around the holidays for people working wage jobs. The bonus will ensure they’ll have enough to have a good Thanksgiving and Christmas…maybe even pad their savings accounts a bit.
“You’ve got a good soul, Elizabeth,” she says.
“So do you.” I’m about to leave when my mother walks in.
Mom is still a beautiful woman. Her skin is radiant and smooth, her hair jet black and her eyes the color of sapphires. She never passes up an opportunity to show off her fashionably thin figure by wearing dresses with tight, form-fitting bodices. If she appeared just a tad more grateful for her good fortune to have been born wealthy and pretty, she would be dazzling. But the corners of her full mouth are always slightly downturned, and a miasma of vague dissatisfaction clings to her.
“Elizabeth, fancy running into you here,” she says.
“Mom.” I smile warmly, as Grandma Shirley taught me to, even as acid floods my belly.
“You’ve lost weight.”
I can sense Yu-Jin nodding. “My new diet’s been amazing.”
“Not that amazing.” Mom studies me critically, like I’m a whore on display. “It’s doing terrible things to your breasts. They’ve dropped at least half a cup. The key is finding something that can make you slim without losing the good curves. Otherwise you end up loose and sagging around your breasts and buttocks. Nothing repels a good marriage prospect faster than that, no matter how prettily you smile or how many children you feed. I know a good surgeon in the city if you’re interested in medical intervention. You’re still young enough that it would be worth it.”
I swallow the bitterness gathering in my throat. “That won’t be necessary.” My voice is hoarser than I’d like, despite the forced smile on my lips. “I’m sure I can find a man who’ll appreciate me the way I am.”
“That’s what I thought, too…until I met your father. You aren’t getting any younger, and if you were good enough, you would’ve been somebody’s missus by now.”
Humiliation burns me. How can she talk about my relationships like that, especially in public?
I purposely invade her personal space, then lower my voice so only she can hear. “If you want to know the real reason I’m still alone, reflect on what you’ve done to me. Grandma might’ve forgiven you, but not me.” I pull back, pasting on a brilliant smile. I have to get out of here now if I want to maintain my calm. Mom isn’t someone I can deal with without at least two fingers of vodka. “I should get going. Don’t want to be late for my appointment.” I turn to Yu-Jin. “I’ll see you later.”
“Take care,” she says with an uncomfortable look on her face, frowning at Mom.
Not wanting Yu-Jin to know how running into my mom has affected me, I wave a carefree goodbye while Mom glares. Once outside, I go to my metallic white Aston Martin. Fast cars are my weakness, and I can’t seem to give them up, no matter how frivolous they are in the grand scheme of things.
“Liza?”
I freeze, air catching in my throat. I haven’t heard that name in a decade. Not even Dominic uses it anymore.
I turn slowly and face a pretty young woman in a beige peasant blouse, cropped skinny jeans and pink ballet flats. Her long hair is now bright red and pulled back into a loose ponytail, but her eyes… They’re the exact intense blue of Dominic’s.
“Kristen?” I whisper.
“Oh my God, it is you! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Ten years. But I don’t point that out.
“Do you have some time? Want to grab a coffee or something?”
I warily study Kristen. Doesn’t she know about the way things fell apart back then? I can’t understand why Dominic’s sister wants to have coffee.
The silence stretches a bit, and Kristen begins to look less certain. “Um…but if you’re busy…I, you know…understand.”
The disappointment and embarrassment in her voice make me feel like a kitten kicker. I make a show of checking my watch.
“You know what? I do have a few minutes, so why don’t we grab something?” I gesture at the Starbucks next to Yu-Jin’s shop.
Kristen’s smile returns. “Perfect!”
We walk inside together. The place is redolent with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Over the speakers, Ed Sheeran sings about the perfect girl he found. The lyrics always make me wistful and sad because it could’ve been a song about me and Dominic.
If only he’d said, “Yes,” when I asked for his trust. Instead, here I am, a pretty heiress who’s so messed up that not even an army of shrinks can fix me.
I get a hot chocolate, while Kristen orders a skinny latte with two extra shots of espresso. We sit in a booth in the back, away from the windows.
Kristen sips her latte for a few moments, then inhales deeply. “I kept hoping I would run into you, but…I didn’t realize it’d take this long.”
“Any reason in particular?” I ask calmly, even as I brace myself. She and Dominic are tight. She undoubtedly wants to cut me for hurting her precious brother.
She clears her throat. “I wanted to return the dress, for one.”
I just stare. What is she talking about?
“The prom?” she says.
Oh. I’d forgotten all about the dress—some Versace, wasn’t it?—I lent her. In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t really important. “It’s okay. I hope you got some good use out of it.”
“Well… I couldn’t. I felt really bad about wearing it again after the prom because it wasn’t mine. It seemed a little bit like stealing,” she whispers, as though she’s confessing to grave robbing.
She isn’t angry. She feels bad about the dress.
Relief courses through me, and I blink away sudden tears before she can notice. “I didn’t think of it that way at all. Believe me.”
Kristen smiles a little.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” I say, desperate to steer the conversation away from the heartbreakingly happiest moments in my life.
“Well, you know. The usual. Finished high school. Went to college. Studied fashion and design.” She tells me about her internships, working with some of the best up-and-coming designers in Paris, Tokyo, New York and Los Angeles.
I nod. That’s the Kristen I knew. Always with her face buried in Vogue and designer catalogues, always exceptionally knowledgeable about fashion.
“I was lucky because I got so many scholarships and stuff, so my education ended up being more or less free. I went to college a year earlier than normal because I graduated early.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She flushes. “Come on.”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you. I’m proud of myself, too.’ Women are often modest for no reason.”
“Well, I’m not. The fact is, I just feel ridiculously unaccomplished next to you. You’re, like…super, and I admire everything you’ve done. I read all those articles about your charity work.”
I blink. “You follow the gossip columns?”
“I read the society columns and articles about what people were wearing at fancy parties and events. And you usually get mentioned as one of the best dressers. I thought your white cape dress was, like, amazing.”
“Thank you,” I say, even as I wonder if Kristen saw a photo of Dominic at the event too. There were a couple. And he looked fantastic, heart-rending…like a beautiful dream that can never be.
Maybe I should talk about the breakup, just to make sure Kristen isn’t talking to me without knowing all the acrimony…but I can’t bring myself to ruin the warm rapport.
Kristen chats some more. I listen, proud of the girl for forging ahead and creating her own path…much like Dominic.
My phone beeps. It’s a reminder about a meeting at a clinic I’m helping raise funds for.
“I have to go,” I say. “It was nice catching up with you, Kristen.”
“It was great talking with you too, Liza.”
I dump my cup, which is still mostly full, and walk out to my car.
Kristen waves, and I wave back. As I’m getting in, my phone pings again. I take it out, wondering if I forgot to hit dismiss on the appointment reminder—
One look at the screen and my throat tightens. A shiver runs down my spine even as anger burns in my gut. I look around.
Tourists and locals walking down the streets. A few parked cars, but no one inside. A woman getting her toddler out of his car seat. A guy who looks like a paparazzo, but he isn’t even glancing at me.
Nothing stands out as suspicious. I swing my gaze in Kristen’s direction. No weirdos following her as she makes her way across the pavement.
This isn’t about Kristen. It’s about you.
And whoever it is…he wants me to know he’s watching.
Pulling into the traffic—and keeping an eye out for any car that tries to follow—I call Tolyan.