Harold grins proudly. He knows, too, that custom Heritage should stay in the family.
“Okay, now that that’s settled, there is one last thing.” He picks up three white envelopes that have been sitting in front of him. “These are for you.” He hands us the envelope with our name scribbled on it. Inhishandwriting. I begin to shake, tears welling in my eyes like a flood. I inhale sharply, fighting to keep it together. I don’t want to fall apart, not again. I just sit there staring at my name while my sisters open their envelopes straight away. The room is deadly silent as they read to themselves.
Crying begins, but not to the extent I’m capable of. They sniffle and pat their eyes with the tissues Harold offers to them. I will give it to my sisters. They can stay cool and collected in any situation. Even devastating moments.
“Liv, aren’t you going to read yours?” Shyla inquires sympathetically.
“No. Not now.” I just can’t bring myself to read his last words. It feels too final. I’m not ready to accept he’s gone yet.
“It’s fine, Liv. You open it when the time is right,” Harold encourages me.
“Thank you.”
We say our goodbyes to Harold and make our way back outside where the air is warm and the sun is shining. The weather should help lift my spirits, but the aftermath of last night and the emotionally draining lawyer’s visit has me running on empty.
“So where are we going?” Sable types something on her phone. “I’m ordering a car.”
“Well, we can’t go anywhere people will recognize us; Liv looks like trash,” Shyla answers. “No offense.”
“None taken.” I smile condescendingly.
“Okay, so that means half of LA is out.” She strolls back and forth on the sidewalk.
“Honestly, I just want to go home and go to bed. I’m exhausted,” I voice what I would like.
“Um, hell no. You’re not leaving our side until we get every juicy detail of last night,” Shyla stipulates.
“There isn’t much to tell.”
“That monster hickey says otherwise,” she argues.
I’m reminded once again of my lovely parting gift from Damon.
“You can try to hide it all you want. That thing isn’t going away for days,” Shyla breaks the news.
Fantastic.
“Are you a hickey expert?” I wonder aloud.
“She’s had enough of them, so she just might be.” Sable looks up from her phone with an arrogant smirk. “We’re going downtown.”
“Really?” Shyla raises one perfect, dark, arched eyebrow. She’s not impressed with Sable’s decision, nor her backhanded comment.
“Yeah, this bar manager has been bugging me to check out his place in some renovated hotel. Says it’s got a great outdoor space. Lots of privacy. Sounds like exactly what we need.”
“True,” Shyla agrees.
“Why don’t you just put a bag over my head?”
“Way too obvious,” Shyla brushes off my sarcastic comment. “But I may have something in here to help fix you up.” She digs through her huge Fendi bag.
“Fix her up in the car, ’cause it’s here.” Sable raises her manicured hand so the driver sees us. A black SUV pulls up to the curb, and we all climb in.
In the car, Shyla pulls out some coverup and a sponge. I look down at her puny arsenal. “This shit can cover up a murder scene,” she assures me.
“Impressive,” I quip.
Shyla goes to town on my neck, dabbing relentlessly until she’s satisfied. Sometimes my life is so surreal. If someone told me ten years ago I would be in the back of an Escalade with my evil half-sisters heading to some posh hotel with one of them covering up an indiscretion from the previous night, I’d go into shock and fall into a coma.
