Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 24 – Harper

TWENTY-FOUR

HARPER

It’s two days later when the front door rings. I look at my phone to check if I missed a call or text, thinking it might be Wes home from practice early and having locked himself out. Quickly, I make my way down the stairs, but when I open the door with a wide, expectant smile, it’s not my husband standing there at all.

Instead, Ava and Jules are standing there, Jules looking concerned and Ava looking nearly self-righteous with her hands on her hips, which is never a good sign.

“What are you guys—” I start, but Ava pushes past me, Jules following behind her before I shut the door. “What is going on?” They stand there, Ava with her arms crossed on her chest, glaring at me, Jules a mix of worried and disappointed, already having nailed the mom look.

“What is this, Harper?” Ava asks, scrolling on her phone.

The tone in her voice creates a new panic, though, and I look at her confused. My mind runs through anything I didn’t tell her, any news that paparazzi could have spread that I didn’t warn them about, but I can’t think of anything. I called them to fill them in on the Willa Stone concert, the after-party, and our after-party, and yesterday was a normal run-of-the-mill day where I didn’t even leave the house.

Maybe Leo released something, and Wes forgot to tell me?

“What’s what?” I ask, now a bundle of nerves. She puts her phone in my face, and I squint at it, trying to see as she jostles her phone around.

“This! This dress!” she says, and finally, I grab her phone to stop this back and forth, scrolling to see whatever it is she’s actually trying to show me. Then I freeze, my stomach falling to my feet, blood leaving my face, and I see what she’s so worked up about.

I knew it would hurt.

I knew it would slice deep, seeing my designs with someone else’s name on them, but fuck, it hurts a lot more than I anticipated.

Because there on the screen is a headline reading, “Clarissa Astor, Daughter of Fashion Icon Gerald Astor, Reveals the First Sketches of her Premier Legacy Line.”

And below that is a sketch of my design.

A design from the line Jeremy stole while we were together, the ones he told me he’d show his boss to help get my foot in the door, the ones he gave to his new girlfriend. The ones I signed away all rights to in exchange for him not pressing charges on my best friends.

I scroll past a few more sketches, all of them more modest, slightly outdated, and, in my opinion, much less exciting versions of my original designs, and begin reading the commentary from the well-known fashion news outlet.

New. Different. Fresh. Unique, yet timeless.

All words to describe this line that is mine— was mine. Words I would have given anything to see if my name was attached to these designs as intended. I take in a deep breath and force myself to think about it from a positive perspective, to bask in the knowledge that I am talented and I created something special, even if no one knows it was me all along.

That should be good enough. Right?

“What is this, Harper?” Ava asks again, this time a bit more gently.

I remember when I first started sketching out the line, my first tiptoe out of pageant gowns, how it felt like something big was happening. I remember how, almost as soon as I had the outline for that first sketch, I showed my friends. I then continued to show them photos of different variations, updates, and additions, thoroughly excited by this new venture.

“I think this could be something,” I said about the idea, a couture piece for show and then more toned-down pieces for everyday wear. Ava was in awe and told me I needed to continue pursuing this because there was a market for it. She was the push I needed to create the full line.

I should have known when it was announced, they would see it and have questions. How did I ever think I would get away with this, that I could just put all of it behind me? Ava takes her phone back from me when I hand it to her, not wanting to read about it anymore.

“Those are your designs,” Jules whispers. “Clarissa stole your designs, Harper.” But then she looks at me, really taking me in the way she always has been able to, and her face tightens in confusion. “Why don’t you look surprised by this?”

I sigh. I knew this day would come, though I hoped in some deluded universe that it wouldn’t. “Come on. Let’s sit down. I have something to tell you,” I say, and then I tell my best friends the rest of the story about my breakup with Jeremy.