by Score, Lucy
I hated the vile spark of hope that flared pathetically to life in my chest. I wanted to kill it.
“I don’t know. Does it even matter?” He was still doing something wrong, my survival instinct screamed at me.
Cam took the empty wine glass from me and refilled it from the bar cart. There was a bonsai tree next to a bottle of her favorite organic vodka.
Luna shook out her wild hair over her shoulders. “Cam’s right. There’s no way all of these stories were cooking independently of one another. Someone is out to get you.”
“Yeah, and that someone succeeded.”
The sound of a small boat engine caught our attention. We saw lights out on the bay. They were speeding in our direction.
“If this is the paparazzi, I’m shooting them with a flare gun,” Cam said, gaining her feet.
Together we walked down to the beach, wine glasses wielded as weapons. A glossy wooden dinghy beached itself a few yards from us. Something disco-ball sparkly moved behind the wheel. “All yours, Martin.”
Daisy, dressed in a captain’s hat, glitzy, silver cocktail dress, and life preserver, climbed over the stern and hopped down into the water.
“Shoes!” she called.
A pair of silver stiletto sandals sailed through the air and landed in the sand at my feet.
“Champagne!” Daisy said again. A steward lugged a case of champagne to shore and dropped it next to the shoes. He gave me, then Daisy, a salute before returning to the dinghy.
“Girl, you sure know how to make an entrance,” Luna said, hugging Daisy in the surf.
“Like I’m not going to leave a flotilla when my friend may need my underworld connections to have a bunch of people disappeared?” she snorted.
“Thanks, Dais,” I said, giving her a hug. The sequins on her dress bit into my skin, but the hug more than made up for the discomfort.
A long gong sounded.
“What the hell is that?” Cam asked.
“Doorbell,” Luna said, bopping cheerfully back toward the house.
“It’s probably the food,” Daisy called, flipping the sopping wet train of her dress over her arm. “I ordered a smorgasbord from the Village. Cuban, sushi, grilled cheese.”
Champagne and comfort food and a ruined six-thousand-dollar cocktail dress. That was Daisy. That was my friend.
“So, who set you up?” Daisy demanded as we trooped back to the terrace. “Was it Derek? He’s got the network for it obviously, but does he have the dastardly soul?”
“Honestly, I don’t have the mental capacity to work it out right now. Let’s just leave it for tomorrow.”
I knew.
That picture had proven a truth that I was unprepared for. It hurt too much to examine. If I could keep it in the dark for a few more hours, maybe then I’d be prepared to face it. Maybe then I would have a plan.
“Sweet Jesus, what the hell is this music?” Daisy complained. “Let me at the stereo.”
“Let me at the champagne. Damn girl, a case of Veuve Clicquot?” Cam swooned.
“Only the best for heartbreak.”
I excused myself and went inside. I needed to splash some cold water on my face, maybe check in with Jane. I hadn’t heard from her since she left to track down Nina, the girl who claimed the product I developed had permanently scarred her face.
It was too much. It was all too much.
I heard Luna’s voice coming from the front door.
“Listen, Derek. I appreciate the intensity of your emotion right now.”
My insides went to jelly. Derek was here. Fight or flight? I desperately wanted to do both. Instead, I ducked behind a pillar like a coward, out of sight but within eavesdropping distance.
“She’s not answering her phone, her texts. She’s not at her house.” He sounded desperate, and somehow his pain lessened mine just a bit.
“You obviously care deeply for her,” Luna continued. “But this isn’t the time to talk to her. You need to leave, and I want you to think about the part you played in all of this. Find out what lessons you can learn from this.”
She was giving Derek Price homework. It would have been laughable had I not been ready to cry or bash my forehead into the marble.
“Luna,” he said her name desperately. “I just need to see her. I need to know she’s all right.”
“I understand, but right now, my friends’ needs come first, and if you try to step a shiny loafer over this threshold, I’m going to have to junk punch you. And I really dislike violence.”
Luna was the friend that every woman in the world needed.
“Nothing happened. With Lita, I mean,” he said. “No matter what those pictures say, I’m Emily’s.”
I could hear Luna soften. “I know that. And I think deep down Emily does, too. But you can’t rush her through her pain.”
They were both silent for so long, I wanted to peek around the marble to see what was going on.
“You’ll take care of her then?” Derek asked, his voice rough.
“I will. Go take care of yourself.”
“Will you tell her that I… that I’m thinking about her?” he asked.
“Probably not,” she said cheerfully.
I peered around the column. Derek stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. He hung his head. “I just need to see her,” he said so softly I wasn’t sure those were his words.
He lifted his head, and those blue eyes zeroed in on me.
“Emily,” he rasped.
“Junk punch, Derek,” Luna reminded him, slapping a hand to his chest. “Don’t make me do it. I promise you, I will take care of her. She doesn’t need you right now.”
He was still staring at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. There was so much pain and frustration stirring the air between us.
“Tell me what to do.” He was saying it to me.
It took everything I had to turn my back and walk away.
It hurt. So much more than any of the rest of it. Derek Price held the key to my destruction.
“Here’s what you can do.” Luna’s voice carried. “We’re almost out of ice, and we’re moving on to the chilled champagne and mixed drink portion of the evening. You can leave two bags of ice at the front door. And you can go to Emily’s house since you’re so very good at breaking in and pack her an overnight bag. She’s staying here tonight,” she said firmly.
I stepped into the powder room and shut the door. Sagging against it, I closed my eyes, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. Derek looked as gutted as I felt. But was it because he’d lost the game or me?
I took my time washing my face. Letting cold water shock my skin.
When I stepped out of the powder room, Luna was lugging two bags of takeout in the direction of the terrace.
I took one of them from her. “Don’t you have a commercial ice maker in the catering kitchen?” I asked.
She feigned innocence. “Hmm, come to think of it, I do. And you already packed an overnight bag, didn’t you?”
I had.
“What’s your game, puppet master?” I asked, following her in the direction of Bruno Mars and the pop of a champagne cork.
“Just giving him a chance to show you how he feels without you having to face him before you’re ready.”
“What if he doesn’t do anything?” I asked, my intestines still simmering.
“Then you’ll know.”
What if he did what he was tasked with? At this point, I wasn’t sure which was worse.
I wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact that I wasn’t ready to face him. Not until I was immune to those devastatingly blue eyes.
45
Emily
We ate. We drank. We danced to club music and traded stories of broken hearts.
And no one said a word when four bags of ice, a crate with all the ingredients for Bloody Marys, and a Louis Vuitton weekender bag with four fast food burgers stuffed in the pocket appeared at the front door.
&n
bsp; I couldn’t sleep. Luna’s guest room was beautifully appointed in a Zen-yoga studio style complete with white noise machine, aromatherapy diffuser, and a lavender eye pillow. The bedding was soft and plush. The art was soothing, and there was a stack of poetry volumes on the chrome nightstand.
And I couldn’t stop thinking.
After overthinking it for an embarrassing amount of time, I opened the bag Derek had packed for me. My favorite pajama set, organic cotton shorts and a long-sleeve tee, were neatly folded on top. He’d included gym clothes and sneakers, a dress and wrap-around strappy sandals, three packets of Imodium, and a bag of my usual makeup and hair products.
The man had packed better for me than I had.
There was a notecard tucked in between the layers of clothing.
Emily.
My name was scrawled across the envelope. Going forward, did I want my name passing Derek Price’s lips?
I leaned back against the great wall of organic silk-cased pillows and closed my eyes.
What do you want?
Derek’s favorite question echoed in my head as I fingered the envelope.
What did I want? Now that my box had exploded open. That there were no walls, no structure. What did I want?
My iPad, another thoughtful addition to the overnight bag, vibrated.
Messages. I assumed there were many.
I debated another long moment because what else did I have to do? Besides write my resignation letter, of course. I pulled it free of the pocket.
I wondered if Derek had done anything all day long besides call and text me. There were dozens of messages from him. I skipped over them. There wasn’t a single part of me that was prepared to have any direct contact with the man yet. Not when I was so… damaged. My defenses were down, and I couldn’t engage with him until my head was clear.
Ugh. There were more voicemails from my mother. Steeling myself, I clicked on the latest one from an hour ago. It looked as though I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping tonight.
“Emily. It’s your mother. I don’t know why you’re not returning my calls, but we have a family emergency. Trey needs to leave the country. There’s some nonsense about a warrant, and frankly we just need to buy some time until your legal team can get involved. I need you to have the plane ready for him tonight. He says Vietnam doesn’t have extradition and has nice beaches. And I’m sure he can get by on a few hundred thousand.”
No “Your father told me what happened and I’m so sorry/angry/hurt on your behalf.” No “Are you all right? This has to be devastating.”
She was incapable of loving me in the way that I needed to be loved. The realization was both painful and a relief.
I used the phone on the nightstand and dialed my mother.
She answered immediately.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Emily, oh thank God! Where have you been? I need your help.”
“Did you talk to Dad?” I asked, interrupting her.
“He is insistent that Trey handles this on his own,” she scoffed as if it were the most ridiculous notion she’d ever heard.
“I mean about me. About Flawless, Mom.”
“What? Oh, he mentioned something about you resigning. You keep the money and don’t have to do any of the work,” she said airily. I could picture her waving it away like a tiny gnat not worthy of her attention. “Emily, this is an emergency. I need you to get your plane ready. Have you talked to your attorneys? I can’t get ours to return my calls. I think your father forbade them from getting involved.”
I was losing family members left and right. Their titles and blood suddenly no longer good enough to earn them a place in my life.
My mom continued her tirade over the injustice of Trey being held accountable. “I wouldn’t be able to show my face in public ever again. Bethenny would positively salivate over a morsel like this.”
“No, she wouldn’t, Mom. Because Bethenny doesn’t give two shits about you and your image. She’s too busy living her life and being happy. You should try it sometime.”
“Emily,” my mother gasped.
But I steamrolled on, fueled by already having lost everything. There was no point to pretending to be the good, dutiful daughter. Not anymore. “I’m not helping Trey. If he defrauded people, then he deserves whatever punishment is coming his way.”
“How can you say that? He’s your brother! He needs you!”
“This is what happens when you build your life dependent on someone else’s net worth. In the end, you’re powerless. Something I will never be.”
“It’s not that easy for everyone else, Emily,” my mother said icily.
“Easy?” I laughed without a hint of humor. “You think what I’ve done is easy? Do you have any idea the sacrifices I made to build this life? The things I’ve given up to be the good daughter, the strong leader, the unimpeachable Stanton?”
“Don’t be so sensitive,” Venice crooned. “Not everyone wants to build a business. Your brother just isn’t entrepreneurial. It’s hard for him to be happy for you or proud of you because he doesn’t understand you. And quite frankly, darling, I don’t blame him. You’ve made no effort lately to be likable.”
I took that as a compliment. There was no power in being likable.
“What about you, Mom? Are you happy for me? Are you proud of me? Do you even care that my life is falling apart because people who haven’t earned it think they’re entitled to what’s mine?”
“Not everything is about you, Emily! This is a family crisis, and I need you to do what’s necessary to keep your brother out of trouble and the family name out of the mud.”
“I’m losing everything because of something I didn’t do. Trey is going to be punished for something he did do, and you’re more concerned about that.”
And while Trey was her favorite, my mother still couldn’t see him as anything more than a charming pawn.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re keeping your shares. Trey is your brother!”
“He’s barely more than a disrespectful stranger to me,” I shot back.
“I do not have time to deal with your issues right now.”
“You never did. So I’m going to make it easy for you. From here on out, you and Trey and I are acquaintances. Nothing more. I’m no longer available for your social climbing or your family manipulations. I’m done.”
“What does that even mean, Emily?” she asked caustically. “You are being beyond selfish. I honestly can’t believe that you’re my daughter.”
“I can’t believe it either. Best of luck, Venice.”
I hung up the phone and pulled the plug from the wall. No need to wake the house with my mother’s incessant middle of the night demands.
Feeling stronger, I returned to the iPad and scrolled through more messages.
There was a text message from Bethenny.
Bethenny: This is complete bullshit. Whatever you need from me and Ed, say the word. I will raise an army of attorneys or hire Ed’s third cousin Louie who may or may not have questionable New Jersey ties. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. P.S. I spoke to your father who didn’t seem concerned enough about the situation for my liking. He’s in the fetal position sobbing on a golf course somewhere now.
I wanted to cry.
My circle was small. So very small. But it was mighty.
Me: That means everything to me. Thank you. Lunch soon.
I put the tablet down, picked up the still unopened note, and crossed to the terrace doors. They were romantic, arched French doors covered in delicate water-colored sheers. I opened both sets and stood in the doorway, absorbing the humidity that lingered in the dark hours of the night, the steady thrum of the waves on the beach.
I wasn’t powerless. And I wasn’t stupid.
The picture from my twenty-first birthday was one that Lita had taken of me. “Lady Stanton at her finest,” she’d teased while I vomited the poison out of my system. She promised it would never see the light of day
. Friends didn’t do that to friends.
She’d been the one to insist we go out. Insisted on shots. Insisted on getting guys to buy us drinks. “You know who she is, don’t you?” she’d whispered conspiratorially in the ear of every bartender.
“You’re wasting this great privileged life,” she complained. “You should be vacationing on the Mediterranean for spring break. Or renting a compound in Cabo for Christmas. Not studying and hanging out in labs. You’re missing out.”
I’d believed her and acquiesced to spending my birthday in a more traditional fashion.
I’d nearly gone home with someone. A stranger. I was drunk and flirty. And the guy, a friend of a friend of Lita’s, had been… insistent. At the last second, I’d bailed. And he’d died.
Lita had done this. All of it. I’d known it the second I saw the photo.
Derek’s pointed questions about trust. Jane’s snide comments about Lita. Was I the only one who was surprised by the betrayal?
But what was Derek’s role in it all?
I couldn’t picture him with her. Couldn’t see him falling for her wiles. He had his own, and he’d wielded them on me. Somehow, in a way that made no logical sense, I still didn’t doubt his feelings for me.
But he’d gone behind my back. He’d put himself in a situation that forced the doubt. And again had told me nothing.
I’d surrounded myself with too many people who didn’t love me, didn’t have my best interests at heart. And that was the price I was paying.
But I was finished with that mistake. And now that the purge had begun, I was ready for more. Rock bottom was nothing but a foundation. And I would rebuild. But this time, it would be the life that I wanted.
I tapped the notecard against my palm, debating.
“Screw it,” I sighed to the dark. I slipped my thumb under the fold and ripped it open.
Emily,
We still have business. Tell me what you want.
Love,
Derek
Of course, it wasn’t an apology or even a plea to explain. That wasn’t Derek Price’s style. This was a reminder that we weren’t done yet.