Emerson. Emerson Wyle. The supermodel-turned–#MeToo activist who’d abandoned fashion for law school and was now a prominent human rights lawyer. Her recent speech at the UN women’s conference had gone viral. “It’s nice to meet you,” Olivia said, using every ounce of self-control to keep her voice from shaking. To keep her wholebodyfrom shaking.
“I know it’s bad guest etiquette, but Marigold said it was fine to add a plus-one at the last minute,” Andrew explained. “Emerson wasn’t sure she’d be back from Indonesia in time, but here she is!”
“Here you are,” Olivia echoed weakly. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thanks!” Emerson said with a warm smile. “It’s really great to meet you. Andrew said that you and Marigold have felt like sisters to him ever since he started working with Bill.”
“ForBill,” Olivia corrected before she could stop herself.“Will you excuse me? I need to look over my notes for my toast. Have fun tonight!”
She hurried off, praying that she’d slipped out of sight before either Andrew or Emerson noticed her burning cheeks. He’d brought a date? What the hell had happened to picking things up where we’d left off in Maine?! That’d beentwo weeksago! Had Andrew had a girlfriend the whole time? Then why on earth had he been flirting with Olivia?
It’s not complicated, a weary voice sighed inside her head.It’s because he was bored and you were there. You only convinced yourself it was more than that because you wanted it so badly.But that wasn’t true, was it? That’s not who Olivia was. That wasn’t how she operated. She didn’t let her imagination run away with her. Andrew had been about to kiss her when he got that call.
She just needed a moment to collect herself, to straighten the knot of thoughts sparking like tangled wires in her head.
Oliva drifted toward an empty table on the edge of the lawn. She knew she was expected to sit with her family, but right now, she needed to mope. And drink.
She slumped into a chair and sipped the champagne Andrew had handed her, trying to pace herself so she wouldn’t be too hungover to run in the morning. She was already itching to sprint down her favorite trail, letting the fire in her lungs incinerate all memory of tonight.
A server appeared at her shoulder and began to refill her glass. “Actually, I’m fine, thanks.” Olivia said, pulling her glass away so quickly, champagne spilled onto the table.
“You just spilled a hundred bucks on that tablecloth.” She looked up to see someone walking by, his plate piled comically high with seafood. It was Jonathan’s insufferable best man, Zack.Olivia ignored him, just like she always did whenever Zack chimed in with his shallow critiques of the 1 percent. When he’d first moved to New York after college, Zack had started an anonymous blog about class politics in the city. Despite its hyperbole and reductive, familiar arguments, it had developed something of a cult following to the point thatGawkerhad launched an “investigation” to discover the author. He now taught at CUNY despite offers from Columbia and NYU, a decision that made him some kind of saint in Jonathan’s and Marigold’s eyes, and a fool in Olivia’s.
The irony was that Zack had never experienced anything close to poverty, not like Olivia had. And of course, Marigold wouldn’t have told him what their life had been like before Lulu married Bill. Marigold had only been five—three years younger than Olivia. A lifetime at that age. She knew that Lulu had struggled as a single mom to two young girls, but only because she’d been told about it. Marigold didn’t remember moving every six months to stay ahead of the eviction notices. She had no memory of birthdays without presents, of weeks spent eating instant ramen in poorly heated apartments. But Olivia did. She knew what life was like without money, and she sure as hell wasn’t going back.
Bill was supremely generous and had set up trust funds for Olivia and Marigold as large as he would’ve given to any biological children. But Olivia knew how quickly money could vanish, which is why she’d fought so hard for a career that would allow her to support herself, no matter what happened. Markets crashed. Bequests got tied up in legal battles. But no one else had any claim to her salary. She’d be able to take care of herself—and her family—if necessary. Because, let’s face it, Marigold had never held a real job in her life. She made decent money as abrand ambassador, leveraging her It Girl status, but it was just a matter of time before a new crop of ingenues arrived on the scene. And what would Marigold do then? Why did she just assume that life would always work out for her?
Because it always has, Olivia thought, looking around the party. A gathering of happy, beautiful people eager to celebrate her happy, beautiful sister who’d never known heartbreak. Who’d never obsessed about a man after an almost-kiss. Who’d never been rejected by anyone, for anything.
Before Olivia realized what she was doing, she’d downed another glass of champagne, one that’d been filled when she hadn’t been paying attention.
I should get some water, she thought. But before she could make her way to the bar, she spotted Andrew and Emerson making their way toward her. From a distance, Emerson looked even bonier than she had up close, as if she’d just stepped off the runway. “We just wanted to say good night,” Andrew said, clapping a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Emerson’s still on Western Indonesian time, so we’re going to have to miss the speeches, unfortunately.”
“I told you to stay!” Emerson smiled, even as her eyes darted uncomfortably from Andrew to Olivia.
“It’s okay. I want to swing by that whiskey-tasting thing on Ed Growler’s yacht, anyway. There’s an investor I need to butter up.”
“Of course,” Olivia said. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She imagined Marigold rolling her eyes at what she called Olivia’s “suggested response” voice. “You sound like those prompts at the bottom of an email.” But there was nothing wrong with being polite, even if she did occasionally veer toward formality. Those stock phrases were a weapon—words untainted by emotion. Because she’d rather die than betray the slightest hint of the hurt and shame that would’ve made her cheeks flush red back before she started using Botox.
Andrew and Emerson said good night and headed toward the golf carts shuttling guests back and forth to the inn, and Olivia refilled her glass with a bottle the server had left on the table. Would it kill them to replace the water carafe as well? Shereallyneeded to start hydrating.
Olivia stood up and stumbled slightly, grabbing on to the table for balance. The bar suddenly seemed very far away, and the fairy lights looked weirdly blurry. Across the dance floor, Lulu rose from her table. The chatter and laughter died down as she clinked her champagne flute with a knife. “Thank you all so much for coming,” Lulu said, eyes shining as she surveyed the crowd. “It means a great deal to me, Bill, and to Jonathan’s wonderful parents, Carol and Robert. And most of all, I know it means the world to Marigold and Jonathan to have you all here to celebrate the start of their joyous life together. I believe some of you have been asked to say a few words, so I’m going to pass the proverbial mic—or the actual mic,” Lulu said with a laugh as the party planner handed her a microphone, “to my lovely daughter, Marigold’s sister, Olivia.”
“Oh, shit,” Olivia muttered as she fumbled for her phone. She’d saved her notes in her email. But now they seemed to have disappeared? She frantically tried to typetoastinto the search bar, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate.It’s fine, she told herself.I remember enough of it. No big deal.She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing caterer, downed half of it in one gulp, then made her way toward Lulu, trying not to sway. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had this much to drink.
“Hi… hello,” she said, leaning too close to the mic. The speakers screeched, and a few people yelped and covered their ears. “Sorry.” She lowered the mic and tried again. “Is this better? Okay, good. Well, as you know, I’m Olivia, Marigold’s sister. Though some of Marigold’s newer friends might not have known shehasa sister, since I’ve never made it onto her Instagram grid. I guess I’m not right for the ‘aesthetic,’?” she said, using her free hand to make air quotes.
Laughter bubbled up from the guests, and Olivia felt herself relax slightly. “I couldn’t be happier that she and Jonathan have found each other. Because now, it’s someone else’s job to make sure Marigold gets home safely. I don’t think she’s ever made it through an entire night out without losing her phone, or her keys… or her underwear.” There was more laughter, though not quite as much as before.Shit, Olivia thought.Why did I say that?That hadn’t been in her script. Out of the corner of her gaze, she saw her mother raise her eyebrows.
“I’m joking… joking!” Olivia raised her glass to punctuate her point, and champagne sloshed over the rim. “My sister has never actuallylosther underwear… though, okay, that’s probably because she doesn’t always wear underwear. She doesn’t like panty lines, and says that thongs are unhygienic.” She heard a few guffaws, but for the most part, the crowd had gone silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two of the bridesmaids, Liesl and Bri, exchange faux-horrified smiles.
“Jeez, everyone, relax,” Olivia said, turning to survey the guests. “It’s how my sister makes money. Would you trust a beauty ambassador with visible panty lines? Um, no. It’s calledbranding, people.”
Bill had stood up and was walking toward Olivia with a huge,fake smile. “Okay, let’s hear it for Olivia, ladies and gentlemen!” he said loudly as he reached for the mic.
Olivia twisted away. “I’m not done!” She couldn’t end like this. She needed to get things back on track. “But of course, we all know that Jonathan is the lucky one here,” she continued. “Marigold has a heart of gold. She’s kinder and more creative than anyone as beautiful as her has any right to be. She loves deeply, and Jonathan will have the fiercest champion in his corner at all times. They make an amazing team, and the world is going to be a better place with this kind of love in it.”
There, she thought.That was sweet, wasn’t it? More than enough to make up for the misstep.But when she braved a glance at her sister, her heart sank. Marigold was staring at her with a fake, frozen smile that was far worse than a scowl, or even tears. Her defenses were up; she’d retreated into her cheerful, public persona, hiding behind a shield, where no one could hurt her.
