Page 24 of The Lovers
“The first,” Piper replies. She edges closer. “You haven’t forgotten how you talked about her for hours, have you?”
No.I clench my jaw. I remember every word.
I just didn’t think Piper would recognize her that easily. It’s been almost three years since I made the endorphin-induced mistake of telling her about my first love.
“I’d just fingered you until your knees buckled.” Piper’s voice reminds me of a serpent’s hiss. “In the comedown, you couldn’t stop talking about her.”
“You asked about my exes.” I fight the instinct to retreat. “It was weird-ass timing, but it was yours.” Heat licks its way across my cheeks. She’s desperately close now, leaning over, fingers unfurling to brush the hair off my ear.
“Mystic Maven.” Her fingers graze earlobe skin. The nearness isn’t tantalizing; it’s a taunt from a bully. “She’s got quite the following, the little manic pixie dream cunt.”
How has she already had time to look her up? They just met as far as I know.
“Can’t wait to see her in action tonight.” Her breath down my neck makes my skin crawl.
I step back, untuck my hair from behind my ear, and grit myteeth. She’s going to make this miserable for me every step of the way. Piper Cunningham’s actions are difficult to anticipate. She’ll strategize, playing this like a chess game, because she wants to get me to join her on the board. But I can’t give her a chance to get ahead of me.
The only option is to take Millie up on her offer to join in the fun.
Chapter Nine
Kit
No matter how many times I tried to get away this afternoon, once the bridesmaids arrived I was held hostage as the circus performer in their ringside seats to spiritual enlightenment. We’re threehydratingchampagne bottles into the afternoon and less than half an hour away from the party bus’s arrival to take us to the Glamp-Out location for tonight’s festivities, but I already know more than I should about these women to give them truly intuitive, unobstructed readings.
“We’re doing shots tonight—not of cacao, Millie, Jesus Christ—don’t even!” Coco Mulligan, my prime target for an on-camera reading, said within three minutes of her arrival.
“We most definitely will be drinking a heart-opening cacao mixture at the sound bath,” Millie replied, as she poured herself more champagne. “Tonight is about more than partying.” This was received with a dramatic performance of Coco pretend-vomiting in disgust.
Coco was named after the designer, so it was fate that she became one herself. “Lingerie isn’t Chanel,” she said between sips ofchampagne, a heavy side-eye directed to the Chanel-clad Piper. “And that suits me just fine.”
She and Millie met through their manager—just like how all truly iconic Hollywood relationships begin. They bonded over being rich bitches trying to make it on their own, which I assume means they don’t live off trust funds or employ nepotism to get ahead.
She reminds me of a raccoon foraging trash cans and I adore her. In another world, I would be picking her brain for stories. Without even touching my cards I can tell she has oodles of secrets hidden in the strands of her blond pixie cut.
Natalie Geffin is the maid of honor and Millie’s oldest friend in the world. She’s vixen-level gorgeous andexpensive—even her phone cover drips money.
“It’s Dolce,” she said, thumbs tapping away at the screen, eyes firmly on my face. “Dolce and Gabbana, you know?”
She’s a lawyer and foodie, but her real passion is “the intersection of design and cuisine,” which she plans to showcase in her new restaurant opening in Malibu this coming spring.
“There’s a restaurant in the Arts District that serves grasshoppers, but you simply must request hot sauce to enjoy them with or you might as well be eating ants.” She gripped my wrist. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” I don’t know how to talk to her in a normal way, but also can’t stop ogling her.
Fuck.The champagne is talking. My ears feel hot at the thought.
Piper Cunningham, the redhead from before, is the one I know the least about, and that seems intentional. She’s a bit standoffish, only engaging in polite, tempered ways.
Everything about her screams that she isn’t here to make more friends.
In fact, I get the distinct impression that not only is she a last-minute replacement for a much closer friend, but she may even be an unwelcome addition. There are vibes for days coursing back and forth between Coco and Natalie. Sideways glances at Piper. Incognito whispers as they refill their champagne flutes. They either hate her fundamentally, or just hate her presence in the bridal party, but either way, it’s borderline tense.
I learned from Google—while I was using the bathroom earlier—that she’s a journalist with bylines in all the major newspapers in the US. Her social media footprint is impeccably professional, but reporters always have second or third accounts they use to shitpost, or like, post pictures of their kids. Still, even with her air of mystery and the potential bridesmaids drama brewing, to me the most interesting curiosity about her is the nature of her history with Julia.
I can tell they know each other; I just can’t discern how.
“I must get my cards, ladies.”And a quick shot of espresso.“Or the tarot portion of this evening will not happen.” I stand to leave.
Millie checks her watch. “Meet us at the entrance in twenty minutes—the rest of the bachelorette crew will be here by then, too.” She looks at the others. “I invited Heather, Maddie, and the twins.”
