Chapter 47
47
We pass around the food. Bread, freshly baked, soft and slathered with butter. Salad. More salad. Butternut squash soup. Roasted asparagus. Sun-ripe heirloom tomatoes. Potatoes with sage. The main is roasted chicken with a ginger sauce, served on top of couscous. Everything I eat is delectable. Even the alcohol is delicious. It’s the type of wine I like, not too dry or acidic but jammy and sweet, sliding easily down my throat. By the time I finish my potatoes, I’ve had four refills and my insides are warm, buzzing.
“We missed you today,” Bella Marie says. She saved me the seat next to hers, like at her launch party. She’s at the head of the table, and I’m across from Emmeline. Angelique is beside me. They smell of lemons and freesia.
“Yes, we missed you,” Emmeline echoes.
“Very much,” says Ana.
“You missed our hair-braiding session,” Lily says.
“We picked flowers for you and everything,” Angelique adds. “Now they’re all wilted.” She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout.
They missed me. Had picked flowers for me. “I’m sorry. I was walking around, getting some fresh air.”
“See anything fun?” Sophia asks.
My mind floods with images of Bella Marie’s mother. Her warning. I shake my head, clear my thoughts.
“Nothing much. Found a nice rock to meditate on.”
Sophia nods, glowing. “I love that. I hope you did some positive affirmations. You are worthy.”
“You are worthy,” they all echo.
I sit taller at their words.
“I heard you spent some time with Viktor earlier today”—Ana bites her lip with a sly grin—“ chopping wood .”
The whole table breaks out in high-pitched giggles, their bodies swaying.
Oh my god. Is chopping wood a euphemism here? Do they all know about Chloe and Viktor’s relationship? I glance at Bella Marie nervously. She has a pleasant, mild smile. No indication of anything awry as she sips red wine.
“I hope Viktor was a gentleman,” Maya says. “Oh! Unless you like it rough. Manly like a bull.”
More giggles. More laughs.
I put down my fork, unease slithering into me.
“I do love it when Viktor chops my wood,” Ana says. “Especially near the beach.”
“The beach?” Emmeline asks. “Where on the beach?”
“By the banyan tree, where the swing is. Or, I should say, on the swing.” Ana winks.
“The swing!” Emmeline exclaims.
“The swing is a good place,” Sophia purrs.
“A great place,” Lily says. “I love swings.”
The campfire beside us pops, logs collapsing. Holy shit. Viktor is their shared sex-toy-man-thing. What in the actual ya-ya-sisterhood living fuck is this?
I glance around the table. Has everyone—did everyone? Even Bella Marie? I’m sick. The wine in my stomach is a pool of acid, sloshing back and forth as the Belladonnas’ giggles grow louder and louder.
Bella Marie catches my gaze, tips her head softly. “Something wrong, darling?” Her hand finds my thigh under the table. A finger slides beneath the slit of my emerald dress. Her skin is soft and warm on mine, tingling, enticing. I remember how she said I look splendid in emerald during her launch and I gulp, shrinking away from her, desperate to change the conversation.
“Where’s Iz?”
The laughter stops. So does the music, just briefly, to switch to another song. The ocean tide pulls back. Everyone looks at me. Sharp razor blades to my bones.
“If you’re talking about Isla,” Bella Marie says, “she’s elected to take dinner alone by the telephone to talk to her daughters. It seems she misses them dearly. Though I do wish she was disconnecting like the rest of us.”
“Oh. I see.”
Kelly’s knife grates hard against her plate. “You’re nothing like Isla,” she says to me, poking her fork hard into her chicken. Metal against porcelain. “So much more well behaved.”
“Not teeming with jealousy just because the algorithm doesn’t favor her,” says Emmeline. “Not lecturing us like we’re a group of idiots.”
“Women like Isla aren’t truly feminists,” Ana adds, “always pitting women against each other when we should uplift.”
“Exactly,” Maya says. “Men dominate social media in every industry and niche. Even in beauty, an empire built on exploiting womanly vulnerabilities, the top creators are men. Women like Isla only bring down our efforts by making us seem antagonistic.”
“You are so much better than Isla,” Kelly says. “And you don’t speak with food in your mouth.”
“And you don’t smoke,” says Sophia, “inhaling those toxic carcinogens, poisoning your lovely body. She’s not even trying to quit!”
“Less angry,” says Ana. “Less bitter. More beautiful. Stunning.”
“Very beautiful,” Lily joins in. “Gorgeous, really.”
“Not just gorgeous. Sublime,” Maya says.
Sublime? I resist a smile. I am warm and heady from their compliments, even though part of me wants to defend Iz.
“I want to take a bite of you and savor you under my tongue because you are so sublime.”
“I love you so much, Chloe,” Emmeline coos.
I stop resisting. A smile breaks across my face. “That’s so sweet. Thank you. Thank you. ” I say it twice. I can’t help myself. I am so thankful.
“I love you too, Chloe,” Angelique echoes.
“I love you, Chloe,” says Lily.
“I love you, Chloe,” says Sophia.
“I love you, Chloe,” says Kelly.
“I love you, Chloe,” says Maya.
“I love you, Chloe,” says Ana.
“I love you, Julie.”
My heart stops. I whip my head to Bella Marie, pulse thrumming. “W-what? What did you say?”
She blinks. Smiles. Tips her head. “I said ‘I love you, Chloe.’?”
I take a breath. I must have heard wrong. Had too many drinks. The world is dipping in and out. Her beautiful figure is wobbly from wine, yet she is still godly. I’m reminded of my teenage self, scrolling endlessly on Tumblr, reblogging her every time she came on my screen. My idol.
Bella Marie returns her hand to my thigh, slipping her fingers up the sensitive parts of my upper leg, as if she belongs there. The thin fabric allows me to learn each groove of her finger, study the swirl on her pinkie. I sit straighter and move without thought, cupping her pliable hands, buttery on my skin. She intertwines our fingers. Then she leans over to Emmeline, holds her hand too. In a blink, we’re all linked. The nine of us. My palms are sandwiched by Bella Marie and Angelique, their energy channeling into me like lightning. Hot and dangerous yet loving, shooting through my limbs, melting into my muscles. I am warm and light. Floating, but tethered and supported.
“I love you all,” I say. It comes out naturally. Glides out like air, true. Overwhelmingly. “I love you.”
“We love you too,” they say.
A drunken giggle bubbles up my throat, pure euphoria slipping out, unrestrained. It catches, harmonious. We all laugh until we’re out of breath. Happy. Even as our laughs dull, our hearts are full. Our hands are still interlocked as the staff clears our plates, trades them out for slices of key lime pie and matching green fizzy drinks. Carbonation crawls up the chilled, sweating glass.
“Enjoy dessert, my darlings.” Bella Marie lets me go, and I wish she hadn’t. I’d rather eat like a dog, a beast—face in the plate, licking, slurping—than let go.
But I pick up my fork like a human and dig in. The pie is perfect. Citrusy and sweet with the slightest tang. Cool as it melts on my tongue, the crust crumbly with butter. I swirl the contents in my mouth, salivating as the violin notes swell, pushing the custard-like filling between the gaps of my teeth. When I swallow, I’m left with an empty mouth that begs for hydration. I tip the green drink to my lips. It is effervescent, sweet, tangy, and the slightest bit bitter. Gritty and fresh with herbs, cleansing my palate, a perfect pairing with dessert. I sip and I eat and I sip and I eat and I sip and I eat and I sip and I eat until there is no more.
The world is hugging me, the night air warm as my insides fizz with delight. The musicians switch pieces and I think I recognize the tune. It’s familiar, slightly haunting, but I can’t pick it out, not when I’m surrounded by laughter and beautiful women. I cannot pay attention. I will not pay attention.
An energy within me begs for release. I stop resisting.
“Let’s dance!” I jump out of my seat, my feet somehow landing on the table. I make it my runway, spinning around the candles, the vases, the baskets of bread. The girls laugh and clap and they love me oh so much. Their faces stretch and twist with pure adoration. They join me, some in their chairs, dresses sashaying around their spindly hips, showing off their long, tanned thighs; others dance in the sand, their arms snaking through the air, the flowers in their hair blooming. We come together and pirouette past the campfire, twirling near the edge of the foamy water, carried by the triumphant cello, its strums forcing my legs to buckle. The water is icy, chilling, but I do not care. I kick and I kick and I kick, soaking my dress until I’m all wet. The other girls do too. Beautiful creatures illuminated by the moon.