My mother approached me, blocking my view of them. She was in a bright and glittering gold gown I’m sure she would say tastefully shone.
“Your sister is missing.” She waved a hand in the air on a sigh. “And your wife is looking for you.”
If she was talking about Lottie, I highly fucking doubt it.
“You’ll find her next to Lynette who, by some strange coincidence of fate I’m sure, is wearing a very similar dress to mine…”
I zoned out my mother’s passive-aggressive rant, which would take the next five to ten minutes.
I checked my Finsta for more secrets from Story, but only found photo after photo of tonight’s debauchery.
A princess from some small, little known European country doing a line of cocaine off a hockey player’s cock.
Two assholes lighting something on fire.
And my “missing” sister, clearly high on something, dancing on the bow of a yacht.
That was the New Year’s I knew. Bored rich kids trying to outdo each other. Not this, my mother’s parties, which were so rigid in their opulence, it was as if they were trying to make up for the darker world living directly parallel to it.
This time last year I was blitzed out of my fucking brain. Now I was almost too sober.
Too aware of my empty inbox.
I was getting impatient waiting for Snitch to tell me her secrets. Impatient and…fuck. I don’t know.
Eager.
I felt like a voyeur. A pervert in my own wife’s soul. I was addicted to the secrets, strung out on pieces of her soul. Maybe that was why I didn’t tell her, maybe it was entirely fucking selfish.
Lay claim to my mouth, because it’s yours.
Her words spun like a drug in my blood.
I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do if she keeps denying me access.
“Grayson?” My mother tapped my shoulder. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. Lynette stole your look.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t not say that…but that isn’t what I meant. Your wife—”
Whatever my mother was saying completely faded into the background.
Story.
Hands down the most beautiful person in this room. Silver was her color.
Fuck.
All colors were her color.
She looked like a fucking princess.
Her eyes scanned the ballroom, searching, until she found me.
And then she stopped.
Smiled.