Page 70 of A Certain Appeal
“Sure, thank you.” I point to the champagne flute next to Chloe as I shrug out of my jacket. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
I sit, taking in what I can see of the main floor of the hotel. White subway tile, gold accents, and lots of reclaimed wood. If there aren’t knockoff Eames chairs somewhere on this floor, I’ll eat my hat. Chloe props her elbows on the table, hands in clenched fists below her chin, near shaking with her own excitement.
“How’s your room?” I ask.
“Tiny! Gales can barely turn around in it. But it’s great. All we need.”
Chloe casts a glance to Gales, who’s off chatting with the bartender. She practically glows. These two are a living vision board, proof that anyone in my age range is capable of functional adulthood. Chloe already had a side hustle as a makeup artist before she finished her undergraduate degree. After that, she got formal training and expanded her freelancing to the thriving business it is today. Meanwhile, Gales went to culinary school and has been working at a restaurant that rocked the Sunset Strip last year when it received a Michelin star. The hours are hard on them, but when they’re together, it’s something you can get lost in.
As always, my cousin looks amazing. Her makeup is flawless, as well it should be, and her white-blond hair’s been styled in a severe undercut, parted to one side to show the buzz beneath.
People never believe we’re related. She’s her dad’s side of the family, a sun-worshipping Elliot of light hair and tan-ready skin, while my coloring favorsmydad: dark, wavy hair, and a complexion the sun only greets to singe. But if any casual observer can look beyond that, they’ll see our moms’ influence, the sisters’ faces shaping our own.
Most people just can’t get past the hair.
I blink away sudden tears, surprised at the intensity of my reaction to them. Chloe eyes me, her tan face creased with worry. “Lizzy, are you—”
“I’m really glad to see you,” I say. “Things have been... complicated recently.”
“Any of those complications have to do with why Jane has been sooff? Yesterday, he texted me some factoid about pandas. It makes a gal worry.”
Gales returns in time to catch the end of her comment and hands me my glass. We toast, and he looks my way as we drink, brows low over his bright blue eyes.
“Philip asked us to feel things out while we’re here,” he says, mentioning Jane’s older brother, Gales’s college roommate. They’re how Jane and I were introduced. “This isn’t like with Marcus, is it?”
“No. It’s not great.” I’m fighting a smile. “But I think it’s on its way to being remedied.”
“Explain,” my cousin demands.
I frown. “You were so much better with vagueness before him.” Directness is Gales’s only approach to communication. He grins, bringing an arm around the back of Chloe’s bar stool. She leans into him, unruffled by my complaint.
I summarize the past few weeks, including Andrea’s unsavory commentary, which Jane glossed over in his Charles-centric gush-fest with Chloe. When I get to Darcy’s involvement in the breakup, Chloe’s hackles rise.
“Ugh. Dickhead,” Chloe complains.
“He said he was going to make it right,” I say, defensive. “For me.”
Chloe’s hostility tapers to intrigue. “Wait, Darcy’s the handsy dress guy, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, we like this?” she asks.
“It is...”
“Complicated?” Gales offers.
“Understatement. With him, it’s been intense since day one. The pull is relentless.”
Gales elbows Chloe. She rolls her eyes but leans against him.
“Yes,” she says. “I know something about that feeling.” Gales sits a little taller, if that’s even possible.
“The two of you,” I grumble. “Anyway, everything is on hold until Darcy gets things straightened out with Charles and Jane.”
“Oof.” Chloe winces. “The anticipation has to be killing you.”
“It’s excruciating.”
