Page 21 of Always Meant for You
“Am I still the only one who knows you’re Bella Mae?” Lily asks, looking at me with stars in her eyes.
I tap the tip of her nose. “Yes, you, Lily Stromski, are the most fabulous, trustworthy fourteen-year-old in New York City. And you pinky-promised you’d keep my secret.”
She beams.
I like making her smile.
Lily doesn’t have many friends.
Maybe that’s why we click. I was her age when I became a loner, when fashion became my world.
But Lily doesn’t know about my past.
I told her I grew up outside of Chicago.
Is that sort of true . . . maybe.
Okay, no.
But it’s not important.
When I moved in, Reba—her mom and the building manager—handed me a key and a lecture about quiet hours.
But Lily remarked on my Chloé purse, then handed me a well-worn Vogue magazine she’d scavenged from the free bin at the library, and we’ve been close ever since.
She’s the little sister I never had.
Bella Mae might have five hundred thousandand twofollowers.
But Mabel Muldowney doesn’t have a single friend her age.
I don’t have time to devote to a social life.
Lily bounces off the bed and heads for the scarf rack like a magpie drawn to a shiny penny. Her fingers trail across the fabric.
“Is this one new, Mae?”
I close my laptop and join her. She’s found my latest find. A deep blue silk scarf with Chanel’s signature chain motif.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s from the eighties. I got it for a steal in a bin at a thrift store on the Upper East Side.”
“It’s gorgeous.” She loops it around her neck like she’s a bandit robbing the runways of Paris.
I laugh, biting my lip.
“We are not holding up the Bank of Yves Saint Laurent.” I take the scarf and retie it with a few flicks of my fingers. “There. That’s a French knot.”
“I learned that from one of your tutorials. And I love how it looks. So sophisticated.” Lily puckers her lips in the mirror, hamming it up.
I smile, but something shifts inside me.
The French knot.
The scent of casserole.
Gladys Horner, standing before me in the kitchen, as I tie the frayed blue scarf around her neck.
Minutes later, her grandson is in my bedroom.
