Lorelei’s eyes widened, some sort of delight. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, a smile gracing her painted lips. “I almost heard your mother right then. You might be growing into your maternal figure sooner than you thought.”
“I know you must be feeling smug. Between your patron—”
“He is my intended.”
“—and whatever associating with my mother is getting you, it isn’t worth it,” I finished.
“Who said I was talking to your mother?”
“Come now, Lorelei”—I laughed—“you were wearing her brooch, her gown pattern from two years ago, and you had her old purse last I saw you. Did she let you raid her past-season closet? What did she ask you to do in return?”
“Unlike some people”—she paused, a twitch in her brow—“she has asked nothing of me in return, just my company.”
“Company? Or has she offered to mentor you?”
Lorelei lifted a shoulder, twirling the parasol as she turned away. “Keep up, or I’m leaving you behind,” she chimed.
If I let my blood boil any longer, it might come out my eyes, my ears, spewing from my mouth in the form of profanities.
I walked beside her, too disgusted to talk. Though, she didn’t seem to have a problem resuming her gossip as usual. Her expression was so bright, so positive and energetic.
Lorelei did well because she kept her composure. I supposed she couldn’t afford to fall out of line. I understood some of my privileges in that sense. I could throw fits and get upset without losing any stability in my life. But there were better ways than this, and I didn’t know what would come first: our friendship ending or her inevitable demise. It made the whole thing quite bleak. I felt like I could see the future, like watching a silver screen.
We arrived at my town house, but I was barely there. Lorelei didn’t notice, she was too busy talking. Even as we crossed the threshold and settled like birds into the living room, she wasstill talking.
She peeled off her gloves and set her parasol aside, her lips moving feverishly, but I couldn’t hear a sound.
“Eugh.” Lorelei swatted in the air, a moth fluttering by her hair. “You should really do something about these things. I don’t know how you live like this.”
“I don’t remember your living situation being much better.”
She ignored me, leafing through some photographs on the table, smiling brightly at one before pinching it between her fingers. “We should all have a night at the opera! Oh, how fun it would be! Don’t be miserable, let us do it!” she squeaked.
I stared at the photo, all the blood leaching from my body, as if by some type of vampyre.
“You can’t wear your usual—it needs to be nice. William likes to show off. I’m sure Arkady wouldn’t mind if he could show you off as well.”
She turned the photograph toward me. “Memory lane!”
It was a photograph of us. Me and Lorelei. Me, Lorelei, the rest of them. The whole troupe, when we were all whole.
“Petre?”
Her words fading, my focus waning.
Skinny, awkward legs, all at different paces of growth. Lorelei’s bangs curled in the front, awkwardly grown in. I remembered that day. My mother had scolded me that very morning for outgrowing my uniform for the third time that year.
All of us sat on a knee each, as if we were posing for a family photograph. Vincent, James, among other men’s faces I would learn to block out whenever possible.
“You know, it’s really a drag to talk to myself—”
“I suggest you get comfortable with the idea of being alone.”
Lorelei stared, mouth agape. “I’m not—”
“You are.” I slammed my hand on the table, photographs scattering. “You are alone, and you don’t even know it. You are a lamb whose cord was cut too fast by wolves with greedy palates.”
“What has gottenintoyou lately!” she shouted. “I’m just trying to include you—”
