Chapter 40
40
I hope you’ve all settled into your homes.” Bella Marie stands at the head of a long table, the moon shining above her like a crown. The remains of our outdoor dinner are scattered before her, a charcuterie-style dining experience where deli slices were swapped for steak and every grape had been polished to a jade-stone shine. It’s farm-to-table, hands-to-mouth. My fingers are coated with crumbs and meat grease, and my mouth is acidic from wine. The meal’s corpse is spread along the table, a river of desecrated crackers like a twisting spine. “Shall we commence our first activity?”
The Belladonnas clap and giggle with excitement.
Iz nudges me with her elbow. “Activity?”
I nod and smile because I have no idea what’s about to happen. She holds my gaze for a long while. Have I been dodging too many questions? “It’s best when it’s a surprise,” I amend.
We follow Bella Marie to the other side of the island. Our path is lined with glittering candles. Wisps of smoke trail into the air like specters, leading our way into a forested area. Though it’s summer, the night brings a chill. I hug my arms around myself, my skin breaking out in goose bumps. A raging bonfire appears in the center of a cleared field. Viktor is standing near the blaze, his white linens painted orange from the flames. His hands are black from soot; his smiling teeth are white as pearls. When he sees Bella Marie, he almost lifts onto his toes with excitement, bounding to her side. They share a whisper and he nods, disappearing into the darkness. He returns with a wooden box and a bundle of sharp metal sticks. Bella Marie takes the box and opens it, revealing an assortment of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows. “Ta-da! Our first activity: s’mores night!”
The Belladonnas crowd around the box, skewering soft white cylinders through their puffy bodies and sticking them in the fire to roast.
Iz grabs a poker and a marshmallow. “I haven’t had s’mores since I was a kid.”
I haven’t had s’mores ever.
Iz grabs a chocolate square. “Are these Hershey’s?”
“Never,” says Bella Marie disdainfully, as if the brand is below her—which it probably is. “We made these ourselves.”
“With your own cocoa beans?”
“We have very talented chefs from the island.”
“Wow.” Iz’s tongue moves inside her cheeks as she tastes the chocolate. “These are amazing . Can I get the recipe? I’d love to try my hand at it.”
“I’m sorry, darling. I’m afraid the recipe is a family secret.”
“I won’t tell anyone. Swear on this heart.”
Bella Marie presses her lips together. “The ingredients are proprietary. I’m sure you understand.”
Iz quirks a brow. “ Family secret. I get it.” She heads toward the fire.
I take a marshmallow and push its soft white body through the metal poker. We stand around the hot fire, roasting. Iz circles around to the opposite side, chatting with Ana and Lily. They’re smiling, cracking jokes. I feel slightly at odds with myself, isolated.
Messaging the Belladonnas online provides a pleasant separation between my worlds. I can contemplate my answers for minutes or hours before sending a reply. And last night on the plane, I drank plenty, my inhibitions freed. Without the distance of chat rooms and the blur of alcohol, I notice myself distinctly. I can’t help but compare myself to the others. Iz’s easy amiable character, the Belladonnas’ success and overwhelming beauty. I’m markedly aware of my impersonation, of how I don’t really belong. I wish I had more drinks at dinner so I can loosen up, but instead, I’m rigid and uncomfortable, as if my aunt’s arms are corseting around my ribs.
My marshmallow suddenly catches on fire. “Shit.” I wave it around frantically, encouraging the flames. Angelique appears beside me and extinguishes the fire in one breath.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She regards the charcoal-like object at the end of my poker. Without saying anything, she trades out my blackened marshmallow for hers, which is golden brown all around.
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s all right.” She smiles. “Want to see a trick?”
I nod.
She gingerly pulls at the outside of the marshmallow, unsheathing the pillowy white insides from their golden crust. “That’s how you know it’s perfectly roasted. Say, ‘ah.’?”
I say “Ah” and she feeds the golden outside to me. It’s cavity-inducing and makes me feel like a child in a good way.
She skewers and roasts two more marshmallows to perfection, making both of us s’mores.
“You’ll be such a terrific mother,” I say, taking a bite, trying to find a topic of conversation. The treat is not as good as I thought it would be—it’s too sugary, and the chocolate doesn’t melt all the way—but I find myself gobbling it down, since everyone else is already licking their fingers, reaching for another.
“Oh, stop.” She laughs.
“No, I’m serious. You have such a motherly vibe.”
She’s silent, caressing her stomach. I’m not sure what to say, so I change the subject. “How did you and Sommer meet?”
She glances at me. “I thought you knew.”
I reach for a new piece of chocolate and start nibbling on it nervously. “I do, but please tell me again. I can listen to meet-cutes a million times.”
“Bella Marie set us up. Sommer used to be one of her lovers.”
I pop the entire chocolate in my mouth and it melts on my tongue, bitter.
That’s kind of weird. To set up your friend with your ex. “That’s considerate,” I say instead.
Angelique nods. “She’s saved my life a dozen times by now. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be doing my little YouTube videos in my dinky apartment on my iPhone.” I’m reminded of her history, of C-PTSD being listed in her bio. It’s clear she’s been through some shit. I don’t know how she’s remained so pleasant when my history has only made me bitter and miserable. “It was Bella Marie who connected me to my amazing talent manager, which led to my book deal. And then she introduced me to Sommer, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. In two years, my life has completely changed.” She’s staring softly across the fire, at Bella Marie, who looks like she’s caught in the flames. “I’d do anything to keep this life.” She smooths her palm over her stomach.
I think of Iz, who escaped an abusive relationship, and Sophia, who lost her dreams of the Olympics. There’s even Chloe and her sham adoption. I wonder what everyone else’s story is—Kelly, Ana, Maya, Lily. Maybe even Emmeline. Through the screen, they’re all unilaterally perfect. But they must have hurt of their own. It’s almost like Bella Marie purposefully finds people who need her, people who are down on their luck, vulnerable, and uplifts them.
There’s a swirling warmth in my tummy that almost makes me dizzy. Maybe the wine has settled into my blood, pulling me away from my nerves, or maybe I’m comforted by Angelique’s attention, her soft voice as sweet as the marshmallow and chocolate in my mouth. I find myself reaching for Angelique’s hand. It’s not something I’ve done before, this tactile outreach, but it feels necessary.
When she cups her hand over our clasp, I feel like I’ve done the right thing. Our connection is soft and loving, so much so that I have to stop myself from closing my eyes and relishing it.
But then she says something I wish she hadn’t.
“I’m really so sorry about Julie.”
I stiffen again.
“I keep thinking of losing a family member these days,” she whispers, barely audible over the crackling fire. “It must have been so hard. I know you really cared for her.” Her eyes are filled with so much sincerity, I have to avert my gaze so she doesn’t see my pained expression.
If Chloe had cared, I never felt it. Not for a second.
“I wish I was better to her,” I say, staring at my fingers woven between Angelique’s, feeling her warmth travel through my palm, into my arm. “I wish I was better to Julie.” My voice comes out in a wobble. It’s hard to say it out loud; it hurts in a way I didn’t expect. As much as I wish it were really Chloe saying this, that my twin was the one wishing she had been kinder to me, I also wish I had been kinder to myself, softer to myself.
I’ve always believed I was of little worth—perhaps because my aunt would tell me so. But what if I hadn’t? If she had cultivated my strengths, could I have been successful without stealing someone’s life? I’ve been thrust into Chloe’s identity and have adapted to it with ease, like my sister’s life was never out of reach, like I was always capable.
Angelique is silent for a moment. I hear the sound of drums, music. But when I look around, I don’t see anything. Maybe it’s my heartbeat, all in my mind.
“I think you saw how influencers exploit their families,” she says finally, “how ugly it can get. Maybe you didn’t want Julie to endure that. You were good to her in your own way.”
A part of me has trouble believing her, not only because she’s on her way to becoming a family vlogger—making her seem hypocritical—but also because I feel like she’s saying empty words to be nice. If Chloe had cared, why exploit me in the first place? But the other part of me, the part softening near the bonfire’s heat, wants to believe Angelique. This desire feeds on my hunger for a connection to my twin.
Chloe’s dead. Can never make her intentions clear. But this could be my chance to believe that she cared for me in her own way—to believe in a prettier truth. I want to gift myself a better, forgiving future, and sometimes that means writing over the past.
I squeeze Angelique’s hand tightly. “Thank you. I think you’re right.”
The box of chocolate claps shut beside me, and I flinch.
Bella Marie smiles. “Darlings, I hope you’ve all enjoyed your treats tonight. Shall we adjourn this dessert party and embark on part two?”