Chapter 2 - The Mask and the Mirror
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis was an ocean of white silk and white roses. Five hundred of Chicago and New York’s elite sat in rows of gold chiavari chairs, the diamonds on the women’s necks catching the light of the low-hanging crystal chandeliers. A string quartet from the symphony was playing a Bach suite, the sound expensive and perfectly polished.
In the bridal suite on the fourth floor, the tension was thick enough to choke on.
Chloe stood in the center of the room, surrounded by three stylists who were adjusting the fourteen-foot train of her Vera Wang gown. She looked beautiful in a fragile, painted sort of way, her blonde hair arranged in a flawless, intricate chignon that had taken four hours to build. But her eyes were small and sharp as she watched me through the mirror.
I stood by the window, wearing the dusty rose bridesmaid dress that my mother had selected. It was two sizes too big, designed to make me look frumpy and shapeless, but I had pinned the back myself in the bathroom with three safety pins until it clung to my waist like skin.
Over my head, I wore a wide-brimmed, black velvet hat. It was a dramatic, architectural piece I had purchased from a local designer on Michigan Avenue two hours before the shops closed. The brim slanted sharply across my left eye, completely concealing the butchered side of my scalp while highlighting the sharp, clean line of my jaw and the brilliant, remaining red locks that fell over my right shoulder.
Instead of making me look like a shamed brat, the hat made me look like an editorial model who had wandered off a Parisian runway.
"Take that off," Chloe hissed, turning around so quickly her silk tulle train hissed against the carpet. "You look like you’re going to a funeral, Harper. This is my wedding. You’re supposed to look... normal."
"This is as normal as it gets, Chloe," I said, not moving from the window. "If I take the hat off, the five hundred people downstairs will spend the entire ceremony asking why the sister of the bride looks like she survived a lawnmower accident. I don't think Julian's mother would appreciate that kind of conversation during the vows."
My mother stepped between us, holding a glass of champagne with a white-knuckled grip. "Harper, don't provoke her. Chloe, sweetie, look at your makeup. Your eyeliner is beginning to smudge. Harper is staying in the back row of the bridal party anyway. The photographers have been instructed to focus on the groomsmen."
"She did it on purpose," Chloe cried, her voice rising into that high, petulant pitch that had managed to get me grounded every time she broke a vase or failed a class when we were kids. "She always does this! She makes herself look like a tragedy so people will look at her!"
The door to the suite opened, and my father walked in, looking striking in his custom tuxedo. He carried a small, silver velvet box in his hand. "The groom’s family has just arrived downstairs. Julian’s father brought the Sterling heirloom sapphire. He wants Chloe to wear it during the recessional."
He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing as he saw the black velvet hat. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could launch into another sermon about my selfishness, my phone vibrated in my satin clutch.
A single text from Marcus Vance: The asset forfeiture team has just entered the lobby. Ten seconds.
May you like
I looked at my father, then at my mother, and finally at Chloe, who was preening as her stylist clipped the enormous blue sapphire around her throat.
"You're right," I said softly, stepping away from the window and smoothing down the skirt of my rose dress. "Chloe deserves to be the undisputed center of attention today. Let's go downstairs."
