Cupped in my palms, the water drained through my fingers in long, cool streams. I wanted so badly to splash it on my face, but I didn't want to ruin Mary's careful makeup job or get water on my dress. Reluctantly, I let the water go, then grabbed a napkin from the stack beside the sink and dampened it before pressing the cool cloth to my forehead. There. That was a little better.
Everything about this night felt like a mistake. Jared's unnerving presence, Janette's pressured hints, Miranda's surprise appearance... Ray was right; even Brandon's pending announcement just seemed wrong. The anxiety already lodged in my stomach was blooming into full-on frenzy, making me feel lightheaded. All eyes were on my beautiful man, and soon they would be on me too. I gasped into the mirror and focused on inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. With both hands braced on the countertop, I stared at my reflection: the reflection of panic.
This wasn't me, this primped princess. I looked like an alien version of myself, preserved in a mask of diamonds and couture. I did look like Janette's twin. I was playing dress up in silk armor, but all the pretenses of wealth in the world couldn't protect me from the inevitable avalanche of press coverage and scrutiny that would, in all likelihood, expose every secret I had.
Green eyes or blue?
God, I was so stupid. I should have told him when I had the chance, when it was just the two of us. I took another deep breath, but it stuck in my throat. Everything made me feel like I was choking.
The door to the bathroom swung open, and Janette swept in like a queen. When she found me, it was clear by the look on her face that she hadn't come to use any of the stalls.
"Darling," she said frankly as she quickly crossed to where I stood. "You look like death. Do you have some concealer for those under-eye circles? Whatever is wrong?"
I maintained my grip on the counter.
"I'm just..." I started, finding it difficult to get any words out at all.
"Terrified?" Janette asked with a knowingly look. She reached up and patted a nonexistent hair back into place. "Well, of course you are, my love, and for good reason. In about thirty minutes, your life is going to change forever."
I clenched my teeth and inhaled again deeply through my nose, holding the counter even harder so I wouldn't fall over. "That's not really helping, Janette."
"Oh darling, please don't worry. It's nothing you can't handle. Especially once that man does what he's planning and finally pops the question, if he hasn't already. Things will get easier then."
I reared my head up, eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"
Janette leaned her slim hips against the counter so she could look at me in the face instead of through the mirror. She examined the tips of her French manicure as if we were discussing the weather.
“I hope you’re giving him a run for his money with the prenup," she continued. "He’s a catch, but in my experience, quickie weddings almost always end in divorce. Be smarter than that other woman. Get pregnant, make sure the contract compensates for it."
As an ice-cold chill spread through my entire body as I wondered what the hell had just gotten into my mother. Granted, Janette often thought it was appropriate to give me advice that assumed far more intimacy than we actually had. But this was eerily close to the truth.
I stared stonily at the gold-flecked granite of the counter. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Janette tapped a long finger on the side of her nose. "That's it, darling. Keep your cards close. But I've seen the way he looks at you. You'll be married by the end of the summer."
"What the hell are you doing right now?" I demanded, feeling increasingly uneasy as I stood up to face her. "What is this, some kind of demented pep talk?"
Janette shrugged, although she had the grace to look uneasy. "I'm just trying to help. I know how to play this game well, my love."
I might have believed her, except the kind look in her eyes turned to something colder.
"For instance," she continued as she drew a graceful finger up and down the edge of the sink, "I know that secrets in this world are capital. And since I've done you a little favor by protecting your secret, I'm hoping you'll do me one too."
"What are you talking about?" I asked shakily as my stomach dropped to my toes. "What secret?"
"You see, my love," Janette said, "we're a bit at the end of our ropes here, your stepfather and I."
I stared at my mother, suddenly finding her unrecognizable. Janette was a lot of things: a flake, a dilettante, a tease, a doll. But never this...Machiavellian. Who was this? She looked up, her wide green eyes, the same green eyes I had, suddenly as sharp as a knife.
"Goodness, this is awkward, isn't it?" Janette asked. "If you'd taken any of my calls, we wouldn't be here. We could have determined a path privately. But, as it happens, Maurice just can't wait any longer, and neither can I. I need my life back, Skylar."
"Your life back? What does that mean?" I asked, although I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.
Janette blinked. "Don't play stupid, darling. It really doesn't suit you."
"Janette, I don't know what you think I know about Brandon's business," I sputtered "but we don't really talk about the deals he's making. Mostly because it would be illegal."
"Skylar, I'm sorry, but you cannot expect me to believe that you are so impossibly clueless!" Janette finally broke completely through her polished façade. "You must know what dire straits Maurice and I are in. Everything we had in France is gone. The house, the cars, all of it. We're living with my family right now, and it's horrendous! My mother––no, don't give me that look. You should be grateful I never subjected you to her."
"Janette, what in the hell are you talking about?" I asked, my voice rising with every word. "What happened in France? What did Maurice do?"
She turned a little green at the question, but to her credit, didn't completely turn away.
"My dear husband," she said in a voice that sounded anything but fond, "led some of his investors on a scheme that went...awry, shall we say." She gulped. "I refuse to go into the sordid details. But needless to say, all of our personal assets went to paying back some of that debt, and Maurice was sent here to procure new accounts. Otherwise, he'll be out, and will likely go to prison." She laughed, a sharp sound that cut through the air. "Hilarious, isn't it? I ended up marrying the French version of Bernie Madoff."
"So he thinks that Brandon is the golden goose that will get him back in the game," I finished, more to myself than to Janette.
When Janette looked up, her green eyes were wide with pure terror, set off further by the fringe of threaded eyelashes.
"Don't you see? We can help each other this way!" Her voice began to sound manic. "I'm from this world, Skylar, in a way you will never be. You help me stay in it, and I can help you navigate it. Teach you how to talk, how to dress, how to interact with these ridiculous people. Keep you from being a laughing stock! Help you keep your deepest, darkest secrets, even the baby!"
At the end of her final sentence, I froze completely, my hands utterly and completely glued to the counter. The rest of my body suddenly felt like cracked glass. Like someone could push me with a single finger and watch me shatter across the posh marble floor.
"What-what did you say?" I managed to get out.
Janette had the decency to look contrite. She closed her eyes for a moment and reached up to touch her hair again. It was her nervous tic, fixing imperfections that didn't exist. Checking her armor for chinks.
"I don't judge you for it, darling." She reached out a hand to touch mine gently. "Don't be like that. I understand, really. I've...been there myself once."
I blinked, confused. "With...Dad?"
Janette shook her head. "No, no, no. Later. One of...the others."
Her other husbands. I had always wondered, really, why she'd only ever had children with Maurice. Maybe in her odd way, she actually loved the man. But that didn't answer the question that was circling my head. How in the hell did she know about this in the first place?
Then, all at once, everything fell into place. I snatched my hand back and stepped away.
"So it was you," I muttered. "You were having me and Brandon followed, weren't you? It wasn't Miranda at all. It was you and Maurice."
Once again, Janette managed to look a bit contrite. "It was Maury's idea," she said. "I told him we didn't need to, that you'd help us out of the goodness of your heart if we just made the effort. But he was convinced we would need leverage. Awful, I know, though it turns out he was right."
"So that's what this was all about?" I asked, more to myself than to her. "Spending the weekend in Cape Cod? Gallivanting to all of these stupid events? Carting your kids around like sideshow spectacles to lure me in?" My face felt like it was on fire, and I pressed my palms into my temples. "How long were you planning this? When I was in New York, Brandon and I were broken up. When did you start this...this...spying?!"
The words fell off my tongue like pieces of raw meat. I was disgusted by this. By everything. My own mother had had someone follow me, had paid someone to pry and uncover my deepest secrets so that she could blackmail me into helping her regain her fortune.
"That's not important." Janette looked uneasy as she wrapped her slim arms around her waist.
I furrowed my brow. "So how did you know about..."
"You were awfully loud at that bar after your exam," she said. She sighed. "I heard the tapes, and the boy you were talking to was more than happy to corroborate after you jilted him."
I gulped. Jared had ratted me out. And, I realized, was mostly likely the person who had corroborated Miranda's story to the Globe as well. What the fuck?
"One of the things I can teach you about is putting off potential suitors," Janette said kindly, almost as if she read my mind. "It's something I've learned well over the years."
Suddenly I had absolutely no patience for her self-aggrandizing bullshit. "Did you tell anyone?" I demanded. "Anyone at all?"
Her green eyes widened and she shook her head. "No, Skylar. I swear it, no one knows. And no one has to, if you'll just––"
Before she could finish her contemptible sentence, the door to one of the bathroom stalls opened, squealing on its hinges. Janette and I both froze, staring at each other in twin looks of horror as, on impossibly sharp heels that clipped across the marble floor, Miranda Sterling strode out in all her perfection.
Swathed in a sleek silver gown, she walked to the sink, and without looking at me, calmly washed her hands and dried them. I wondered if she did it that slowly to emphasize the fact that she still wore her rings: an impossibly large, square-cut diamond and an equally brilliant eternity band.
My left hand drifted up to my neck to touch the necklace. Miranda caught the movement, but her eyes dropped to my hand with its bare ring finger and down to my flat stomach. Then her gaze––cold, haughty, and blood-curdlingly knowing––swept up to my face. She smiled, and her slow, seeping grin turned my blood to ice.
She finished drying her hands, then turned on her heel.
"You ladies have a nice night," she said, and pushed the door open in front of her.
Janette brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh my. Was that..."
The terror that had been lodged firmly in my stomach since last night, when I'd seen the first evidence of Miranda's vendetta, blossomed throughout my entire body. Previously frozen in place, suddenly I couldn't move fast enough.
" I have to find Brandon," I said, moving quickly to leave. "I have to find him right now."
"I'll help you!" Janette said with sudden determination. I whirled around to face her, with a finger in her face.
"You!" My voice was shaking while tears started to stream unbidden down my cheeks. I had fury, fear, frustration, all of it bubbling to the surface like I was a teakettle about to burst. "You have done quite e-fucking-nough! Stay the fuck out of my life! Stay out of my family's. And tell Maurice he can take his fucking surveillance tapes and shove them up his tight French ass. If I ever feel even a whiff of a PI on my tail again, you two will be the first to enjoy a restraining order!"
"Skylar, wait!" Janette called out as I stormed out of the bathroom.
I didn't wait to listen to my mother. I should have listened to my own gut when it had told me not to let her close. But it was too late for that now.
I stormed down the hall, barely able to walk properly in the tubed shape of my dress, much less the heels that Mary had paired with it. I almost ran into Jared on my way back to the ballroom.
"Wow!" he yelped as I shouldered past him. "Skylar, what's up? Are you okay?"
Two seconds from losing it, I spun around.
"Am I okay?" I asked. "Am I okay? Well, I don't know, Jared. Would you be okay if you found out that your friend was a two-faced, shit-eating bastard who told your most personal stories to a perfect fucking stranger? Would you be okay, Jared?"
Jared held his hands up in defense, but when he caught the look on my face, they dropped. And then, to my surprise, he sneered.
"Well, what did you expect?" he said plainly. "You think you can get away with how you treated me? Do you know who my family is? People like us don't get turned down by a garbage collector's daughter."
He spat out the last words like they were some kind of disease. I shook violently.
"But I'll be honest," Jared continued. "Once you told me about your little secret, I was glad I'd dodged that bullet. I don't want used goods, especially a baby killer."
His words echoed down the tiled corridor, each one stabbing through my chest like a dagger. Jared just folded his arms over his chest and watched with something approximating glee while I crumpled.
"Who are you?" I asked, unable to think about anything else. Tonight was just one betrayal after another, to the point where I felt like I was living in an alternate universe.
Jared smarted. "I'm the same person I've always been, Skylar. You were just too dumb to see it."
He didn't even need to say anything else as the pieces clicked together. The number of times he'd mentioned that Miranda wasn't as bad as Brandon said. The fact that the Rounsavilles and the Keiths were old family friends. The way she never seemed to show up except when he was around.
"Oh my God," I gasped, my breath ragged as realization hit me. "You're the reason Miranda keeps showing up, aren't you? You were at the gala that that night, and now here again. You called her, didn't you? Didn't you?"
Jared didn't have to reply. His smug expression was answer enough.
"And the Globe article?" I continued. "It was you that confirmed that story? Who gave them my name?"
Jared shrugged. "They called. I don't have anything to hide, Skylar."
"You're a fucking sociopath," I spat back.
"Skylar?"
I turned around to find Kieran standing behind me, watching Jared with a curious, concerned look. How fitting, really. It was under Kieran's mentorship that I'd first learned about these kinds of people––consummate liars, pathological narcissists, people with no functioning sense of empathy. People who were excellent at posing as friends or lovers. A prince, she'd said, could turn out to be the devil in disguise.
I'd been so overwhelmed by Brandon's wealth at first, so worried that he would end up being that devil, that I'd forgotten to watch out for the other people in my life who fit the bill to a tee: My mother. My friend.
"What's going on?" Kieran asked, darting a sharp look at Jared. "Are you okay?"
I grasped her thin arm, an anchor in this crazy storm.
"I need to talk to Brandon," I said in a steadily cracking voice. "Before he gives his speech."
Kieran watched me for a half-second, then guided me to a small, empty conference room that stood off the side of the hallway. Jared strode away, hopefully back to the hole where he came from.
"Stay here," Kieran said as she guided me to a chair at a long conference table. "I'll get him."
So I buried my face in my hands and waited.
~