“Yeah…” I stared off, feeling hot. Sticky.
Some part of me knew I should be alarmed. My life was quickly changing, warping into something I couldn’t recognize. Maybe that was why I had such a visceral reaction to being a godmother. It was another thing highlighting the chasm between my two selves that was quickly growing too wide to cross.
I grabbed my towel, covering up my naked chest, staring out at the ocean.
“Gemma, you’re blocking my sun,” Kennedy moaned.
“Good,” Blaire snapped. “You’re not even wearing sunscreen.”
“It’s winter.”
“And? The sun still exists in winter.”
“I swear toGod, Blaire,” Kennedy said, “if you go on another one of your skincare rants.”
“At least Gemma put sunscreen on her boobs,” Blaire said, gesturing to me. “Your tits are gonna look like raisins.”
“Remind me to record this and tag all the stans who think you’re body positive,” Kennedy muttered.
It was already four. The sun falling in the sky. That stiff, hot feeling in the air when the sun has already hung around for too long.
“Shit.” Kennedy sat up. “We should probably start getting ready.”
“For?” I asked.
They stared at me. “The sponsored event in New York? You know, that new tech brand paying us to party.”
Oh, right.
There was no reason for menotto go. Ishouldbe going. I’d have to pay a huge fee for breaking contract, not to mention it was great press.
So I don’t know why the lie left my lips. “Oh, right. There was some contract issue.” I slipped my sunglasses on, hoping they wouldn’t question me. “Can’t go anymore.”
“Fucking lame,” Blaire said. “Can we still use the helicopter?”
“Wait,” Kennedy interrupted. “Are you still going to the tea tomorrow?”
I’d completely forgotten about it. It was like every other event in my world, somehow both perilously important and utterly banal. It wasn’t like I was missing something once-in-a-lifetime, but the thing is, the more you miss in this world, the less you matter. I’d always understood that rule, but lately it was getting harder to follow it.
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.
They shared a look,what the fuck is wrong with her?written on their faces.
After agreeing to let them use the Crowne family helicopter, they left. I watched them disappear, wondering if this was what insanity was: knowing what I was supposed to do, and doing the wrong thing anyway.
I know he’s bad for me. I know I shouldn’t be near him.
And yet.
A few hours later, when I was supposed to beAmerica’s Princess,I instead found myself at the Underworld.
My attraction to Grim, to thisplace, wasn’t logical. It was the antithesis of what I should be. I promised my mom—myself—I would find another Horace, I would somehow find a way to makeCrowneacceptable again.
I traveled up the glowing stairs, the steps changing colors beneath my feet from pink, to purple, to blue. My fingers glided across the silky gold railing, and I looked down at the partiers below me, their bodies moving in snakelike unison with the beat. I’d tried to wear something nondescript. Not my usual platforms and mini. Opting for a skirt, an oversize tee, and hat. Because Gemma Crowne had every reason to be on that club floor, but no reason to be on these stairs.
Our eyes locked the second my foot hit the floor.
His black eyes were a nightmare.
