Page 2 of Reckless
Better than fine.I’d put on a sundress soft to pass as effortless and fitted enough to remind myself I still had a body under all my jokes.My hair was down.My makeup was light.I looked like a woman coming to dinner, not a woman about to psychologically unravel because all four of her closest friends had somehow fake-dated into true love and she was now the cautionary tale haunting their group chat.
Amazing.
I got out of the car, smoothed my dress, and headed up the front steps.
A housekeeper smiled the second she saw me.“Kelly khanom.”
“Hi.”I stepped inside and automatically slipped off my sandals near the door.
No shoes in the house.Ever.
The first time I’d come here, I’d thought it was one of those intimidating rich-people rules meant to make the rest of us feel clumsy and American.Then I’d seen the rugs.
Handwoven Persian silk.Rare and gorgeous.I wouldn’t have walked on them in combat boots either.
Voices from the dining room already.Laughter.Someone talking over someone else.The clink of glass.
I made it three more steps before Hope popped around the corner and threw herself at me.
“There she is.”
I laughed and hugged her back.“Jesus.Are you trying to tackle me before appetizers?”
“Yes.”She pulled back and looked me over with suspicious softness.“You look hot.”
“You say that like it’s surprising.”
“It’s not surprising.It’s helpful.Since certain people are here.”
I narrowed my eyes.“I’m going home.”
Hope grinned.“You got here.”
“That’s enough.I made an appearance.Tell Maman I died bravely.”
Hope hooked her arm through mine before I could even fake an escape.“Too late.She already knows you’re here.Also Miley’s in a mood, Isabel’s pretending she isn’t in a mood, Avril brought dessert even though Maman made enough dessert to end us all, and Britney told me not to let you spiral.”
“I wasn’t spiraling.”
“Better.”
We started toward the dining room.My stomach tightened with every step.
The room itself was obscene.
And every seat looked occupied by someone glowing with romantic success.
Britney sat beside Michael, who looked like what he was, too elegant, too well-bred, too composed to be pretending to be anything as lowly as a butler ever again.Avril was next to Kir, soft and pretty and still carrying that fragile kind of happiness that made me want to protect her from weather.Isabel and Roman looked like an oil painting about money and cheekbones.Miley sat straight-backed and devastating beside Jeff, who kept leaning in to murmur things that made her mouth twitch even when she tried not to smile.
And then there was me.
No seat partner.No male hand draped over the back of my chair.No secret smiles.No one looking for me when I walked in.
“Kelly joon!”Roxanne rose halfway out of her chair with all the dramatic affection of a queen greeting her favorite daughter.“Come here, habibti.”
The woman was impossible not to love.Beautiful, polished and somehow able to make couture and maternal chaos look like a single aesthetic.She swept me into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and saffron tea.
“You’re late,” she said, kissing one cheek, then the other.
