Chương 1
""The first thing Clarissa Hayes did when Brandon brought me into the Grand View ballroom was look at my dress, and the second was look at her son as if he had committed an error she expected him to correct immediately.
I had known the pale yellow dress was wrong the moment the elevator doors opened onto the reception floor.
It was not ugly, and that somehow made the problem worse.
It was simply ordinary.
I had bought it three months earlier for a client dinner, then worn it twice to birthday parties where nobody had photographed the price tags on anyone else's shoes.
Inside the ballroom, women moved beneath crystal chandeliers in gowns that seemed engineered rather than sewn, and men clustered near a champagne tower talking about commercial real estate with the grave concentration of surgeons.
Brandon squeezed my hand.
For half a second, I mistook the pressure for reassurance.
Then I saw him glance at my shoes.
His mouth tightened.
"Relax," he murmured.
I almost laughed because I had been relaxed until he said it.
His mother stood twenty feet away in a plum-colored gown, diamonds lying cold and precise against her throat.
She had Brandon's narrow eyes, though none of his uncertainty.
When she saw him, she smiled.
When she saw me, the smile remained in place without warmth.
"Brandon, darling."
He kissed her cheek.
"Mom, this is Emma."
There was a small pause after my name.
Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me to understand that he had not prepared her.
I held out my hand.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Hayes."
Clarissa looked at my fingers instead of taking them.
Her gaze moved over my short nails, my pearl studs, the thin leather strap of my handbag, and finally back to the dress.
"Did no one tell you this was formal?"
The couple beside us stopped talking.
I lowered my hand.
"I thought this was formal."
"Oh."
She smiled as though I had offered an amusing answer on a game show.
"How sweet."
Brandon shifted his weight.
"Mom."
"What?"
"You know what."
"I don't know anything."
She touched his sleeve, smoothing fabric that did not need smoothing.
"I'm greeting your guest."
A young woman in silver approached with the bright, interested expression of someone who had sensed blood from across a room.
Brandon had shown me enough family photographs to identify his sister.
Natasha Hayes was twenty-six, worked in public relations for a luxury hospitality group, and had once sent Brandon a six-paragraph text because he had worn brown shoes with a black belt.
According to him, this made her "intense."
According to me, it made her exhausting, though I had kept that opinion private.
Natasha kissed her brother and looked me over.
"This is Emma?"
"Apparently," Clarissa said.
Natasha smiled.
"Oh, you're adorable."
There are compliments that make the skin crawl before the insult even arrives.
"Thank you," I said.
"Like a struggling theater intern."
A woman behind Natasha snorted into her champagne.
She was holding her phone at chest height, angled toward us.
"Jessica," Brandon said sharply.
The woman lifted one eyebrow.
"What?"
"Don't."
"I'm not doing anything."
Her screen was recording.
I could see my own yellow shoulder in the corner of it.
I looked at Brandon.
He noticed the phone too.
He still said nothing more.
That was the first moment something inside me moved away from him.
It did not break yet.
It simply took one step back.
Clarissa asked what I did for work.
"I'm a graphic designer."
"Freelance," Brandon added.
I turned my head toward him.
He had never once added that word when introducing me to anyone else.
Natasha widened her eyes.
"Mom, count the silverware before she leaves."
Three people laughed.
One of them looked embarrassed afterward and pretended to cough.
I had spent the afternoon telling myself I could survive two hours of rich people being boring.
I had even made a private game of it in the car, promising myself a point every time someone said portfolio, liquidity, or Monaco.
I had twelve points already.
Somehow that silly count kept me from doing what I wanted, which was to walk back to the elevator.
"That's funny," I said.
Natasha's smile faltered because she had expected anger.
"I didn't mean anything."
"Of course not."
Brandon leaned closer.
"Can you just ignore them tonight?"
The words were quiet enough that only I heard them.
I stared at him.
He must have recognized something in my face because he added, "Please."
Not defend me.
Not ask them to stop.
Just make yourself easier to insult.
Clarissa took my wrist.
The movement was so sudden that I did not pull away at first.
She raised my hand beneath the chandelier as if inspecting merchandise.
"No bracelet."
Her thumb pressed the inside of my wrist.
"No proper ring."
Her gaze dropped to my nails.
"And apparently manicures are optional now."
I pulled free.
Several conversations around us had gone quiet.
I could feel attention spreading outward in small circles.
"I came here to meet your family," I said.
"I didn't realize there was an entrance exam."
Clarissa's eyes sharpened.
"Then consider this your result."
"Mom," Brandon said, but the word had no force behind it.
She ignored him.
"Girls like you always think being pleasant is a substitute for belonging."
I heard someone whisper my name.
That bothered me more than the insult.
Being mocked by strangers was one thing.
Becoming entertainment was another.
Jessica's phone had risen higher.
"Are you livestreaming this?" I asked.
She smiled.
"Public event."
"No, it's a private hotel ballroom."
Her smile thinned.
"Same difference."
"It really isn't."
Clarissa turned toward Brandon.
"Where did you meet her?"
"At a coffee shop."
I looked at him again.
We had met at a nonprofit design fundraiser where his company had sponsored a table.
May you like
He had spilled coffee on a donor packet while trying to flirt with me.
Why he lied about it now, I could not understand.
