I stand beside the opening of my front door as a mass of loose chocolate-hued curls rushes by me like a whirlwind.
“Oh, wow!” Short and slender, Lily’s stylist has a bright smile and way too much giddy energy. There’s a garment bag slung over one shoulder, a Chanel bucket bag draped crossbody against the opposite hip, and she’s carrying a bag from Bergdorf’s. “I can totally tell you and Lily are sisters! You’re both gorgeous.”
I lick coffee and Baileys Irish Cream from my lips. “We’re sisters-in-law,” I correct wryly.
“Really?! You’re not actual sisters? You look so much alike!”
It kills me that I have to take that as a compliment because Lily is the kind of drop-dead gorgeous you just don’t see in real life. In filtered pictures on Instagram? Sure. On photoshopped magazine covers and advertisements? Absolutely. But in-your-face, right in front of you? Nope.
I’ll be damned if her face will be slapped all over ECRA+ advertisements.
“Tovah,” she introduces herself, thrusting out a hand. “Your apartment is beautiful!”
“Thank you.” I accept the greeting. “I’m Amy. Would you like some coffee? Water? A shot?”
It’s early to start drinking, even for me, but when I saw the Google search alert in my inbox, everything stopped: my heart, my breath, time. I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark, staring at that subject line: “Google Alert – vincent searle.” Some days my mind just comes awake in the middle of the night, and falling back to sleep is impossible. I should’ve read a book instead of checking my email. One of Suzanne’s boink fests might have bored me into nodding off again.
How many goddamn people have the same name as my father? Enough to fuck up my day with an alert about an unrelated Vincent Searle in Daytona who had something to say about the library system in a pissant local newspaper. Not my father and not an obituary. Which doesn’t mean my dad’s not dead, just that there’s no one in his life to write something good about him. My parents are always either fucking or fighting, with rare bouts of peace and quiet in between, making them unfit company for friends and family.
I’ve always figured my mother will be the one to kill my father, whether by denting his skull with a cast-iron pan or by giving him a heart attack while screwing him beyond his limits. On any given day, she can go either way, depending on how manic she is and how drunk my father is. In any case, I expect they’ll leave this world with the same violence in which they lived.
I deserve a fucking drink after starting my day with that bullshit alert.
“Oh my God, I wish I could take you up on that shot,” Tovah answers with a laugh, her dark eyes bright. “I’ve got another client after you, though, so I can’t. And I’ve got water in my bag, so I’m good. I started carrying around one of those aluminum bottles, trying to drink more water and be kinder to the planet. Can I put this down here, or should we head to your closet?” She folds the garment bag over her forearm.
“My room is this way.” I gesture for her to walk ahead of me so I can gauge how she really feels about my condo decor. “Last door on the right.”
As I follow her, I sip my coffee and study her clothes. Cropped jeans, strappy heels, knotted white dress shirt and Chanel blazer in bright pastel colors. Her head turns from left to right, looking at the art on each wall, simple abstracts of gold paint on stretched white canvas. I’d wanted to style the house like the penthouse, the dark, textured sensuality of bohemian gothic. Darius wouldn’t hear of it. He wouldn’t allow for much in the way of color at all. Most of our condo is rendered in white, cream and gold shades. When I objected, he told me all the white shows off my beauty. How the hell was I supposed to argue with that?
Now I’m stuck living in a home that reminds me of Aliyah. I was able to add some of what I wanted via jute rugs, fur throw blankets and macramé pillows – as long as they followed Darius’s vanilla-ice-cream palette. It’s like he had to be as opposite from Kane as possible (while fucking the exact same type of woman). I heave out a frustrated sigh.
Some days I feel like I’m trapped in a padded cell.
When Tovah enters my room, her soft exclamation of surprise fills me with satisfaction. Here, I’ve recently redecorated to my tastes. A charcoal-gray fur comforter covers the bed, and black leather with gleaming silver tacks upholsters the headboard. A black rug with a botanical pattern lies on the floor, and a photo of a panther against a solid black background hangs over the bed. It’s a sexy room, even if the walls are taupe instead of the gray I’ve yet to pick out. For all his love of glaring white, Darius has come to prefer fucking me in here.
“What a closet!” she says, laying the garment bag over the island. “This is every woman’s dream! And neutrals are the foundation of every wardrobe. You just need some pops of color and a few trendy pieces that we’ll swap out every season. It’s not going to –”
“I like Lily’s style.” I cut her off because I don’t think she’ll shut up otherwise. “Like that corset get-up she had on the day you were at the penthouse. That’s what I want.”
The look on Aliyah’s face when Lily walked into the library …? Fucking. Priceless. It took everything I had not to snort gin out of my nose. Hours after Darius and I left, I found my sense of humor about the whole thing and laughed so hard my stomach hurt for days afterward. Darius said I was having a psychotic break because I was howling so loud.
I almost don’t care that every man in the room that day – minus Witte, with the usual stick up his ass – stood there bug-eyed, like they’d never seen a woman before in their entire moronic lives. I’m glad Lily woke up long enough to freak out Aliyah majorly. But Lily’s work is done, so she can die now. They can both die, actually, and end on a high note.
“Oh, I know, right?” Tovah says, almost on a worshipful sigh. “She was wearing that when I showed up, so I can’t take any credit for it, unfortunately, but it was one of those outfits that just stops everyone in their tracks. The corset was vintage. In fact, most of her closet is vintage designer pieces that she either got from her mother – who’s passed, isn’t that sad? – or she collected secondhand. She certainly knows where and how to shop. She’s got a great eye. She knows what looks good on her, and her closet is a fashionista’s dream. And she’s so gorgeous and tall and thin. Like a supermodel. Everything looks great on figures like hers. And yours! But her style, that kind of goth bohemia, it’s not really in, you know?”
I press my fingers to my left eye, which is twitching with an insane muscle spasm. Holy fucking hell, does the woman not know how to shut the fuck up?! How does Lily put up with it? I don’t think I can. And considering how poorly Tovah’s selling her ability to replicate Lily’s style, I think I won’t have to.
Tovah digs around in her bag. “There were only a couple of things she bought that I suggested. Anyway, what’s hot now is Millennial Pink – Pantone calls it Rose Quartz, but it’s the color of the year – and with your complexion, you could really rock it.”
“Pink?!” I query incredulously. I’ve touched every damn thing in Lily’s closet, and there wasn’t even a speck of pink anywhere.
She unzips the bag. “Look at this beauty! And with the accessories I brought, it will be appropriately sexy.”
It’s a pale pink blazer hung over a dark gray lace-edged silk camisole with a thin black velvet choker draped around the neck of the hanger.
“Are you kidding me?!” I choke out, feeling heat rise into my face. My left hand clenches into a fist while my right grips the handle of my mug so tightly I fear it might break. I want to throw my steaming-hot coffee in her face and then knock her sideways with the mug. I’m paying the chatty bitch to give me a Lily makeover, and she brings me something Kane’s wife would never wear?
With her back to me, Tovah drops the garment bag on the floor, revealing the matching pants for the blazer. “Right? Isn’t the suit gorgeous? And chokers are all the rage now. I’ve also brought a clutch and heels in black velvet. They’re in the bag.”
She walks over to a hook, sets the hanger on it, and steps back, admiring. “The color is unmistakably feminine, but the cut of the suit is masculine and all business.”
I take a deep breath. The shade of pink is pretty. Still, I say, “I can’t imagine Lily wearing anything like that. Ever.”
“The color? No. Maybe not even a suit, but she’s not a businesswoman like you are.” She turns and looks at me, her long curls swaying around her slim shoulders. She’s so petite; she makes me feel as tall as Lily is. “But I did add some gothic touches with the black velvet, the silk and the lace, but the most powerful message we want to send is that you’re a woman in charge. When I asked Lily what she did, she said her job is to make her husband look good. Not that he needs help in that department. I saw him in passing and … whew. Men don’t roll off the assembly line fully loaded like that very often, more’s the pity. Is he your brother, by the way?”
“No. Brother-in-law.” I take a sip of my coffee to wash out the bad taste left in my mouth from calling Kane that. I don’t want to be his family.
“Oooh, so you’re married to his brother. Lucky girl. Does he have another brother?”
I snort. “He does.”
Her brows raise with interest. “Married?”
“Nope.”
“Ugh. Too bad I am.” She grins. Her almond-shaped eyes are tilted up at the far corners, giving her a foxlike face, which happens to be very pretty. “Anyway, looking dramatically sexy is part of her job description. You, on the other hand, have staff and clients. You want them to see the beautiful woman you are but also to respect you and understand that you’re capable, fierce and in control.”
“Lily was all of that, wearing that outfit.”
“No, no, no. Lily was all that despite the outfit,” she corrects. “Confidence is the sexiest thing any woman can wear. She has that in spades. So do you. Here’s my rationale … You work in social media. That’s about setting trends and being relevant. Lily’s vintage. You want now.”
My lips purse. Maybe Tovah actually knew her shit after all. Who’d’ve guessed?
Shit. If I tried to launch my business today, would I fail? Three years have gone by in what feels like three weeks, and now pink is the fucking color of the year, and I have no idea what’s trending. I’ve got to hop off the pity wagon and get my ass in the office, get up to speed and get my employees to remember who they actually work for. Otherwise, when Darius pulls Social Creamery out from under the Baharan umbrella and serves it to me on a platter, I’ll fuck it up. No way am I giving Aliyah that satisfaction.
Better than that, though, will be the comparisons to Lily then. I can see it now, Lily and me standing side by side at one of Kane’s parties, with all the guests talking about us in hushed whispers behind our backs.
Are they sisters?
By marriage.
What’s the long-haired one do?
That’s Amy. She’s the owner and creative director of Social Creamery; they take brands to the next level.
And the one who dresses like Morticia Addams?
That’s Lily. She works on her knees or her back, inflating and deflating Kane’s cock.
I snicker. My sister-in-law is a worthless bitch.
“Just try it on,” Tovah coaxes. “If you hate it, I’ll have learned something that’ll hone my future suggestions for you. But I think you’re going to love it and look like the sexiest badass boss anyone’s ever seen. And I’ll pull some gothic looks together for casual and semi-formal events.”
Tossing back the rest of my coffee, I shrug and walk over to the suit. So pink. So pretty. So really not Lily. But I’ll give it a shot.