Nya wants to know if you’re feeling okay,” Ledi said, looking up from her phone, the same concern in her eyes that Portia had seen a million times over the years, made slightly more comical by the facial sheet mask Ledi wore. The concern bothered her, though; Ledi had swooped in to make things right for Portia so many times. With Project: New Portia, she thought all of that had changed, but here she was, pampering herself to distract from the fact that not only was she a fuck-up, but the whole world knew about her questionable choices in hookup partners and thought she had a thing for old Scottish men.
She’d snapped an “I’m cool guys” photo to post on social media, and taken a hiatus. From the internet, from her phone, from the reality that she’d allowed herself to think that someone would ask her to stay and mean it. Not checking calls meant avoiding who had called—and who hadn’t.
“Tell her I’m okay,” she said, trying to smile.
“She’s not okay,” Ledi spoke aloud as she typed. “But she will be.”
Naledi Moshoeshoe nee Smith, actually nee Ajoua, was suddenly an optimist, it seemed. Portia almost laughed, but she felt a painful pulse of envy radiate through her, because she knew what caused that optimism.
“I’m jealous,” Portia admitted. One thing she wouldn’t fuck up about Project: New Portia was the tenet “Thou shalt not lie to thine bestie.”
“Of . . . ?” Ledi looked confused and Portia did laugh this time. Ledi was finishing her master’s in a field that was actually useful to the world, had found the man of her dreams, and was a goddamned princess. Of course she would be confused as to what exactly was causing Portia’s jealousy.
“Of your surety. That you know someone loves you, and that changed you. You were so scared before . . .” Portia trailed off. “I used to think I was protecting you from being hurt when I chased away fuckboys, but I can’t even protect myself.”
Ledi put down the phone. “You think I’m sure? Of anything? You’re lucky I love you or I would be mad that I fooled even you.”
A timer pinged on her phone and they both peeled off their masks in unison. Now that the smiling sloth printed on Ledi’s mask was gone, Portia could see that her friend was frowning.
“I’m not sure of anything. I wake up every day wondering if this will be the day Thabiso decides he made the wrong decision, the day my in-laws decide they were right about their first impression, or the day my people decide I am not worthy to guide them. Thabiso’s love didn’t make me sure of anything. I’m scared shitless every day. It was so much easier living behind the barriers I’d put up.”
“Then why did you tear them down?” Portia asked.
“Because I’m brave,” Ledi said without a hint of self-consciousness. “And I think you were letting yourself be brave too, and that’s why this hurts so much.”
“I wasn’t brave. I was foolish. I let Tav storm my castle.”
Ledi shook her head. “Don’t you see? That is the brave part. Seeing an enemy at the gate, an enemy who could rip you to shreds, and then taking that deep breath, lowering the drawbridge, and inviting them in. You’d been defending your castle for years. Lowering the bridge must have been so hard.”
Portia sniffled, felt the heat of tears in her eyes. “No. It was easy. So damned easy.”
Ledi came and wrapped an arm around her and let her cry, and then Portia heard her friend sniffling, too.
“Why are you crying?” Portia asked.
“Because I’m proud of you,” she said. “Because letting down your drawbridge means that somewhere in this thick skull of yours, you’ve absorbed what I’ve been trying to tell you all these years.”
“Stop drinking so much?”
“Well, no, given what happened. That you are worth so much more than you were giving yourself credit for. Even if Tav isn’t the one, even if you decide you don’t want to be with anyone long-term ever, it’s not because you’re unworthy.”
Portia didn’t ask any more questions. She just hugged her friend and allowed herself to bask in the honest truth, to let itself be engraved on her heart: even if things didn’t work out with Tavish, someone had always thought she was worth it, had always stuck by her side, and seemingly always would.
“You’re pretty great,” Portia said, finally reaching for a box of tissues from the hotel bedside table. “Except now I’m going to have puffy eyes, negating the anti-inflammatory sheet mask.”
“Oh, I brought this cream from Thesolo that works wonders—”
The phone ringing in the room abruptly silenced Ledi. Their eyes met and Portia knew what both of them were thinking. This is the part where Prince Charming arrives with the glass slipper. This is where the dragon gets slain. Or this is where the hotel double-checks the wakeup call for her flight the next day.
She grabbed the phone off of the receiver. “Hello?”
“Why haven’t you answered my fucking texts?” Reggie’s slow cadence didn’t mask her anger. “You know I hate the phone. Mom and Dad and I were worried sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Portia said automatically. “I haven’t turned it on for a couple of days.”
“Well, I get that, but the internet has been going wild.”
“Umm, that’s what I was avoiding.”
“Typical. Stick your head in the sand and everything will just take care of itself, right?”
Portia was instantly submerged in a sea of guilt, and the desire to hang up, to ignore Reggie’s reminder of her ultimate fuck-up: pulling away from her twin sister. But this time she didn’t. She stood with the portable phone and carried it with her into the bathroom of the suite.
“About that. There’s something I have to talk to you about.”
“Are you pregnant?” Reggie asked, a little less angry. “Because oh. Em. Gee. Everyone is so invested in this, that would blow their minds.”
“No!” Portia said, confused.
“Well, good. I’m too young to be an aunt.”
“Reggie! Look. Do you remember when you got sick?”
“Kind of hard. My brain was swelling and pressing against my skull. Not optimal for remembering things.” She said it so blandly that Portia might have thought she didn’t care.
“Well, I do remember. I’m sorry I didn’t come see you enough. I was selfish and cowardly and I ruined everything. I was a terrible sister, and everyone knew it, especially Mom and Dad.”
“What are you talking about? You were there all the time. Even when I couldn’t talk or move much, I’d open my eyes, and you’d be there.”
“I . . .” Portia’s throat closed up. She’d thought she was cried out, but some previously unknown well of tears had been tapped.
She remembered the Hot Mess Helper video about being too hard on yourself. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s feeling bad. Hell, sometimes we’ll take a tiny inconsequential thing and turn it into DRAMA for no damn reason. We’re so used to being wrong that we invent shit to be wrong about! ADHD is a trip.
“I don’t remember things that way,” she said.
“Yeah.” Reggie was silent for a bit. “Honestly, it was after I started my recovery that you stopped showing up. That really sucked, if you want to apologize.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Wait, why were you telling me this like it was a confession . . . ooooh fuck. Are you kidding me? Is that what all of this has been about? Guilt?” Reggie was incensed now. “You dumb motherfucker.”
“I thought you didn’t want me around,” Portia said.
“Well, I thought you were ashamed of me!”
Portia had never heard her sister cry—not during the physical therapy. Not when the temporary wheelchair became permanent. She’d always been cool, collected, and ready for all challenges. But she was gasping through a sob on the other end of the line now.
“Reggie, how could I be ashamed of you?” Portia asked. “You’ve always been this perfect golden child. You always go after what you want and get it no matter what. Everyone knows you’re amazing.”
“Why would I think that? Hm, maybe never wanting to spend time with me after I started using a wheelchair? Does that ring a bell?”
“That wasn’t why,” Portia said.
“You’re telling me all these years were wasted because you were too fucking stubborn to apologize for something I wasn’t even mad about?”
“I wasn’t stubborn! I was scared you would hate me even more.”
“What the fuck, Portia. More? What does that even mean, more?”
“Yes, more! Because everyone knows it should have been me who got sick instead of you!” She almost dropped the phone but somehow managed to avoid it, even as a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. There it was, the thing everyone had always avoided saying—but never shied away from implying.
“God, I knew you were selfish, but I had no idea.” Reggie took a slow breath. “I’m happy with my life and I don’t want or need your pity. You of all people should know that. And guess what? I never thought it should have been you. Did you ever think of that? I was always glad it was me and not you. I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if something happened to you because I love you, you asshole! I mean, how would I have coped with thaa . . . and oh, I guess maybe I would have spent half a lifetime being a jerk, too.”
She laughed in frustration, but Portia was silent. She couldn’t talk. She’d already said too much.
“Portia.”
“Yeah?”
“I never hated you. Like, why? I obviously got all the good genes. You didn’t even know what a tardigrade was.”
Portia hiccupped out a laugh, and a little of the pain and fear that was all blocked up in her chest escaped with it.
Reggie sighed heavily. “Jesus. And I thought I was a masochist, trying to get your attention all these years. You’ve been carrying this half our lives.”
“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“By pushing me away?”
“I didn’t say it made sense!” Portia dropped a hand onto her hip.
“You know, I should be mad. But I’ve done some nonsensical things myself lately. Speaking of which, the reason I’ve been blowing up your phone.”
Portia was unsurprised by Reggie’s pivot. Cool, calm snark was her general setting and she was sure the outbreak of emotion had thrown her off as much as it had Portia.
“My friend saw that pic of you being carried out of that party like a bag of potatoes and he noticed something.”
“Friend?”
“Yeah. The guy you found for me? It’s a long story. Anywho, he’s pretty good about detail stuff. And he noticed something up with your nail polish color. It’s pink in the earlier photos and black when you’re getting carried out.”
Portia’s brow crinkled. Ledi had treated her to a manicure when they arrived at the hotel, and she’d been too numb and disappointed with herself to pay attention as her polish was removed.
“That’s weird.”
“Well, maybe this is nothing, but we’ve promoted this safety polish on our site a few times. For college students. It changes color if you’re drugged.”
“Wait.” Cheryl had grabbed the polish from the kit they’d received from a company that wanted to provide products for the self-defense courses Portia had talked Cheryl into teaching . . .
“Oh my god.” Her face went hot with anger as she realized someone had drugged her and worse—had made her doubt herself. She’d believed that she drank until she passed out, even though it made no damn sense. The world believed it, too. Her past had been dragged out for judgment, and no one had been a harsher judge than Portia. But, as it turned out, Portia was pretty shit when it came to judging herself.
“Was it that prince? That guy is kind of creepy,” Reggie said, blunt as usual.
“No, Johan is my friend,” Portia said. “But I know who isn’t.”
“Oh man. Who do we have to kill?”
Portia opened the door to find Ledi pretending she hadn’t been listening. “We might just have to shank an ex-duke.”