The smile I paste on is stiff enough to ache, but my mom is ever gracious, while Eliza is her usual sweet self. “Hey—” she starts.
Blanca air-kisses Mom and me, entirely ignoring Eliza. “Hello, darlings!”
“We,” I stress the word, but Blanca blinks at me placidly, “are just back for a couple of days.”
Blanca taps a slender finger to her cheek, lips pursed. “I wonder if Will would have time to fly over. We could grab a drink?”
“You think it’s a good idea?” I take a sip of the spicy drink. “What if something urgent comes upagain? We’d be left missing your company.”
Her smile sharpens. “I was under the impression you’d appreciate a little alone time with Will.”
“I’d prefer to make that decision for myself.”
As always, Blanca changes the subject when she’s on the losing side of an argument.
“Clara, love,” she says, turning to my mother. “You have to do something about this year’s Women’s Gala theme.”
When Eliza tries to say something, Blanca overlooks her again, already digging into the reserve of patience I have for her nonsense.
“Of course, sit for a bit.” Mom pats the seat next to her. “I was talking to Joseph after the board meeting. It’s completely inappropriate.” She shakes her head. “Your heart’s desire?”
I nearly kick Mom under the table. But she doesn’t know about our little heated discussion in Maine. Or about the way Blanca spoke to Adam. She’d be furious, too.
Miriam, at least, has the decency to look apologetic. Of all the women fighting to be in Blanca’s clique, I have the least aversion toward her. She’s not as superficial as Blanca, but hasn’t yet figured out how to develop a personality.
It’s strange how time and history make you overlook someone’s biggest flaws. But I guess I never really got the chance to see this side of Blanca until Adam came into the picture.
I can pretend to be civil for fifteen minutes. But the thinly veiled comments about Eliza “landing” one of the wealthiest bachelors in town make my blood simmer, hot and restless beneath the surface.
By the time Blanca and Miriam excuse themselves for the bathroom, my cocktail is already drained.
“You don’t have to be so nice all the time,” I bite, and Mom recoils.
“What do you mean?” she begins. “You’ve been friends since—”
“And Eliza is your future daughter-in-law,” I hiss low. A Rawlings woman can’t make a scene. Still, the knife screeches on the porcelain plate when I cut into the food more forcefully than necessary.
Eliza drops her gaze, mechanically folding the napkin on her lap. She’s improved her poker face, but her embarrassmentburns through. That’s when my mom actually takes her in and immediately looks crestfallen. Good.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” I ball the napkin and fling it onto the table. “Be right back.”
Yelling at Mom won’t solve anything. Better to let her stew in her own guilt. I step into the small waiting room outside the women’s bathroom and stop cold at the conversation leaking through the door.
“Did you see the wedding announcement?” Blanca’s tone drips with disdain.
“Yeah,” Miriam replies with an edge of caution. “She looked pretty in those engagement photos.”
“Give me a break.” Blanca’s disdain echoes in the bathroom. “A polished turd is still a turd. I should’ve spent more time at their place before Jackie moved out. Carter would’ve clearly seenIwas what he needed in a future wife. Imagine if it were me. Exclusive photos inPeoplemagazine,” she giggles. “Who knows. I might still have a chance. Men like Carter get bored.”
My knuckles are white around the doorknob. Smashing Blanca into the gilded mirror would be satisfying. Tearing into her, too. But then I imagine the aftermath and Carter’s wrath for not lying low.
Against all my violent impulses, I choose to be rational and go straight back to our table. But before I let the door quietly close, Blanca’s next words open the ground under my feet.
“That woman doesn’t belong among us. Even less than that Adam.” It sounds like she’s rummaging through her purse. “I thought I’d managed to get rid of him. Poor Jackie. He’s circling her again.”
In a daze, I return to the table, my mind running through her words on a brutal loop.
“It’s time to leave,” I say flatly.
