“That they can turn ashes into stone. It’s strange, right?” London’s voice quivers, and I imagine her shuddering at the thought.
“It’s not strange to me.” I frown. “I find it fascinating.”
“Of course you do. You’ve always been a romantic like that.”
“Me, a romantic?”
“Yeah, you know. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re the writer, expressing yourself through that book you spent nearly all your adulthood writing. You have a way with words, and everything you touch has meaning to you.”
I snort on that last part. “Not everything I touch has meaning to me, London.” My voice is softer than I intend. Fuck, maybe my sister is right. Maybe I’m not as mysterious as I think I am.
But I don’t agree with her about wearing my heart on my sleeve. If anything, I keep it well covered and protected.
Although London isn’t my sister by blood, sometimes I wonder if my parents secretly had her and accidently gave her up to the orphanage before they’d found her again and decided to adopt her back into the family. Despite our closeness, though, we couldn’t be more different. Where she is sleek, with rich black hair, pale grey eyes, and full lips I’m certain her fiancé West constantly reminds her how much he appreciates them daily, I have near platinum blonde hair, green eyes the color of swamp water, and lips half the fullness of my sister’s.
Despite our differences, sometimes I think London knows me better than I know myself. Except for the part where she says everything I touch has meaning. With that, she couldn’t be more wrong.
“You had Grandma’s ashes turned into a necklace so you could keep her with you, Selene.” Her tone is flat, no hint of judgment. “In my opinion, it’s a little strange. Also romantic in a weird, slightly morbid way, I guess.”
I know London is sad over our grandmother’s death, but neither of us are naïve to how her death has hit me harder than her.
London has been through some shit in her life. Aside from bouncing from foster home to foster home until our parents adopted her the day before her fourteenth birthday, she’d gotten into an accident that caused her to lose her memory. She only recently regained it a few months back after reuniting with the love of her life, Weston Knight—the love she’d been forced to leave behind at the foster home. He also happens to be in our friend circle, as well as being her ex-husband’s brother.
Oh, and there’s the teeny, tiny, minor detail of him being a billionaire.
Regardless, London is absolutely head over heels in love with West, and his obsession with her is enough to make even the most hardened of hearts jealous.
Or their stomachs sick with nausea.
With my key hovering in front of the deadbolt, I stare down at the gem in my hand. Is it strange my grandmother’s ashes have been turned into a gem? Maybe. It’s not like I kept a lock of her hair or anything and made it into something weird. This is a necklace. A gorgeous one. I can’t help looking at the gleaming stone and admiring how something so dark and depressing can be turned into something beautiful.
Maybe London was right. Maybe I am a romantic.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin as if she’s standing in front of me instead of being on the other side of the city, speaking to me over the phone. “I think Grandma would have thought it was poetic.”
A few moments of silence pass before her heavy sigh hits my ear, laced with a nostalgic tone. “You know, sis, I think you’re right. She would have.”
“Thank you.” I smile softly, even though she can’t see it.
After sticking my key into the deadbolt lock, I turn it, ready to shed out of these sticky clothes and into something nice for tonight’s event, but my stomach flips, not feeling the lock’s usual resistance.
“Oh shit.” I groan under my breath.
“What?” London quickly catches on, the panic in her voice raising.
I drop my grandmother’s necklace into my purse and shift the phone to my hand. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“What?” she squeaks out. “Why?”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
I knowexactlywho is in my apartment without even opening the door. Still, I place my keys between my fingers to create a makeshift weapon, just in case. Even if it is who I think it is, and not an intruder, I’m likely to use them to stab him in the neck anyway.
“Selene, you can’t just say things like that and hang up?—”
“Everything is fine. I’ll see you later tonight,” I insist, ignoring her plea yet again.
“Wait! Before you go, Julianna had your dress?—”
