Chapter 66 Isabelle
Isabelle
Isabelle should not have posted an Instagram story from Anastasia’s infinity pool, but she had to share the glamorous sight of a crystal champagne flute in her manicured hand, Anastasia’s Cartier bracelet catching the late-afternoon sun.
Not an hour later, her baby sister, Flora the narc, was standing at the marble entrance of the Boosalis home.
“Seriously?” said Flora as she was led outside by one of the staff, looking ridiculous in her school unform on such a hot afternoon by a pool. “This is where you’ve been?” said Flora.
“Do you blame me?”
“Isabelle, Mom’s home and you haven’t even seen her.”
“Oh, does Mom care about me now? And not just Francois?”
Flora balled her fists, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.
Just as Isabelle had suspected: Their mom had gone back to her romance scammer.
Isabelle snorted and returned to editing selfies she’d taken, scrutinizing her own body.
Her DMs were full of responses from other creators, photographers, and “talent scouts” wanting to work with her.
“Does anyone even wonder where I am?” said Isabelle. “Besides you, obviously?”
Flora bit her lip. Her cheeks were flushed—Isabelle’s sister had probably run all the way here from the metro station. “Mom’s been through a lot,” Flora said weakly.
“We’ve all been through a lot.” Isabelle uploaded a photo to her Instagram story.
The responses started rolling in—fire emojis, heart-eyes, comments in multiple languages from accounts with impressive follower counts.
One message caught her eye: Beautiful work.
Are you interested in a professional opportunity?
Isabelle had watched Aunt Lee command rooms by lifting her chin, had seen how men stumbled over themselves to help her, how women envied and copied her.
Beauty was power—Lee had proven that. And if Lee could parlay her looks into fame and fortune, why couldn’t Isabelle?
“What are you even doing here, Isabelle? Where’s Anastasia?” Flora’s voice had that edge it got when she was trying not to panic.
“I’m living my life, and Anastasia is asleep.” Isabelle stretched out on the pool chaise. “Some of us don’t want to spend our entire existence waiting for Mommy to remember we exist.”
“You can’t just never come home.”
“Watch me.” Isabelle held up her phone, reading another message: We should meet. I teach photography at several international schools. You are stunning. She felt a thrill—finally, people were acknowledging her talent. “Anastasia’s parents are in Dubai for a month. At least.”
“Your photos scare me, Iz,” said Flora. “The ones from last night…you look—”
“Did you want to say amazing?” The photos from the underground party in Psyrri were mysterious and edgy, the kind of content that separated influencers from wannabes. “Photographers want to work with me, Flora.”
“You look like a skeleton. Like a druggie, Isabelle.”
“Maybe I’m trying to disappear.” Isabelle felt something acidic and mean rising in her chest, the same feeling she got when she hadn’t eaten all day and everything seemed too real and bright.
“Come home,” Flora said quietly. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this alone anymore.”
There it was—a desperation Isabelle recognized.
“You want me to pretend we’re a family?” Isabelle laughed, but it came out bitter. “Flora, grow up. Auntie Lee and Grammy Charlotte are leaving any day. We don’t even have a mother.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Isabelle watched Flora’s face crumple slightly, saw the exact moment her sister decided to try harder, to be more perfect. It was pathetic…and exactly what Isabelle had done until she’d gotten smart.
“She needs us.” Flora was close to tears. “And you need—we need each other.”
“No,” said Isabelle, standing up and pacing to the edge of the pool. “I’m eighteen, Flora. I have opportunities. Anastasia believes in me—unlike everybody else.”
“I believe in you!”
“Appreciate, but you’re a kid.”
“What kind of opportunities?” Flora’s voice was small, hungry. She wanted to be chosen too, Isabelle realized.
“The kind that get me the fuck out of here,” said Isabelle.
“But what about me?”
“I’m sorry, Flor,” said Isabelle, feeling a stab of guilt. Her sister was very alone. Someone would take advantage of her. But that wasn’t Isabelle’s responsibility—was it? “I’m going to New York. I can’t let anything stop me.”
“Not even me?” said Flora.
“Not even you,” said Isabelle.