I went to the railing, leaning over and looking down at the club floor. I felt like I’d beensplit in two. Like, down there, in some other timeline, Gemma Crowne was still dancing to the beat.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed up there, but it was longer than a few song changes. I headed toward the exit just as the DJs were switching out.
“Gemma?”
Downstairs, I paused at my name, turning to find my friends. In sparkly pastel minis and strappy metallic pumps, Blaire and Kennedy were dressed for a night out.
“Uh, hey,” I said.
“Hey,” they said in unison.
“You missed the party,” Blaire said.
I used to have a constant mental loop of which party to go to, what my goal was there, what the headline should be when I left.
Now?
I wasn’t even sure what party she was talking about.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was busy.”
“Oh, right,” Kennedy said, bright. “The Crowne anniversary party is coming up.”
“Right,” Blaire added, elongating the word torighhhht.
We had perfected the art of ignoring the elephant in the room.
When Blaire came back from holiday with a new nose? We asked her if she met anyone cute skiing. When Kennedy’s parents’ divorce was tabloid fodder, our conversations never strayed far from high school gossip.
I was so sick of it.
“No, actually,” I said. “I’ve been fucking the head of the Horsemen.”
Their eyes grew, sharing a look.
“Oh, um, congrats?” Kennedy said.
“Yeah, slay, girl…” Blaire trailed off. “So when are you coming back?”
Back?
Of course. They probably thought I was just getting it out of my system. Like when Kennedy fucked a guy who had just gotten out of jail.
“We have that interview next week,” Blaire continued.
“And we’re behind in content,” Kennedy said. “Because your family didn’t do their vacation, we don’t have any PJ photos?—”
“God, who the fuck cares?” I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t talk about private jets and who fucked who and which designer was loaning which person what dress.
I was getting too comfortable like this, starting to like being indebted to Grim more than I liked being free. That was a problem, because we had an expiration date.
I would have to go back.
Back to my world. Back to endless, plastic parties. To never saying the real thing out loud.
“Would you have ever been friends with me if I wasn’t Gemma Crowne?” I asked.
“Um…” Kennedy worked her mouth to the side. “What?”
