Page 132 of Nash

In the mirror’s reflection over the dining table, I look like a different version of myself and love it.

I’ll always have a gothic heart, but I can drip with some boujee French fashion, too.

But my twin?

Her life changed on an NFL dime. In a matter of days, Beau Bronson and his teammate Colton Hawke whisked Blair away to a Caribbean island. But now she’s blowing up my phone, and instinctually, I know something’s wrong.

I answer her FaceTime call. With one glimpse at my new look, Blair’s pressing her face to the screen. “You look like a New York City socialite. What is that? Chanel?”

“How do you know Chanel?”

“Because,” she scoffs, “I got champagne taste on a box of wine budget. That’s a couture bouclé Chanel jacket, and it’s pink! What the hell? I’m gone for three days, and you’ve moved to the Upper East Side. I swear, if you have an ankle-biter yipping dog in your Birkin bag, too, I’m having you committed.”

I tell her my glow-up is for a meeting with Nash, and she’s all shook.

“Vaaallleee,” she drawls suspiciously. “What’s going on? You’re not eloping with your best friend’s dad or some shit like that. Because I’m your maid of honor no matter how fucked up the union.”

“We’re not eloping, you naked nosy ho.” I caress my hair, twisted into an elegant chignon. “It’s a meeting. That’s it. Quit asking questions I won’t answer.”

“Quit saying you have a meeting with Mr. Allen when I know you’re fucking him and someone else tonight. Probably Tarzan with the way y’all ripped the sex swing from the ceiling at Delta’s.”

Meeting? No, it’s my initiation.

And Tarzan? Try Jace. He’ll be the someone else tonight, and only tonight.

I’m dying to tell Blair about it. Keeping this from Alena is bad enough, but usually, I tell my twin everything. Hell, we share the same DNA. When she fucks too much, I get the yeast infection.

But I’m thankful to have Wren now. She’s here with Nadine, sitting on the sofas in the living area, sipping champagne and looking highly amused as Blair and I resolve her NFL double-dick dilemma and get to the bottom of all of Blair’s pain. It’s the same as mine.

Our dad.

Blair has a different relationship with him. I think my dad sees himself in me and our mom in Blair, which makes him kinder to her. But still, he’s broken our hearts too many times.

Blair fears she’s repeating the same cycle, going from being the daughter of a famous athlete to the girlfriend of one.

Or maybe two?

She worries she’ll get hurt again. She stresses about Beau, saying he’d never treat her like a distraction, but “What if I am,” she frets, “and he loses and resents me for it? Like Dad did?”

“Look…” My heart softens. Yes, I fight with my sister. It’s only because I love her with a ferocity I can’t control. “Think for yourself, not for someone else.”

Tears brim in her eyes. “That’s what Mom used to say.”

“Exactly, and that’s what she’d say now,” I sigh, knowing we miss her. Then I see Nadine sipping champagne. She’s another strong woman blessing my life, so I tell Blair, “I never thought I’d say this to my boss-bitch bookish twin, but just do it. Be a WAG.”

Her face twists. “A WAG?”

“A wife and girlfriend of a high-profile athlete.”

Because I’m about to be a queen, a Belle to the Beast I love, so I hope my sister can follow her heart, too. No matter the risks.

But she scoffs at my advice, so I tell her, “Then be the girlfriend in love with that cute guy from college that you write all your alien porno love books about. The guy who really loves them and lovesyou, too.”

That’s who Beau is to Blair, and Blair is to him—the one who got away.

And that’s what Nash is to me.

The sweet man who brought me red tulips and cheeseburgers. The brutal man who ended my nightmare with Chad. The tender man who held me by my mom’s grave, and I cried even harder in his arms, holding me for the first time … because I couldn’t have his love then.

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