Chapter Nineteen Julia
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“A Gardenwood party is the most exclusive, least sensical event you will ever attend. A potpourri of glamour, luxury, and absolute idiocy.”
—Remington
Julia
“Your car is here,” Bernard said as he walked into the room.
“Finally,” my mom said, looking nervous as she stood and ran a hand over the front of her black dress. “Thank you, Bernard.”
“Relax, Ma,” Liam said, climbing to his feet in that effortless way of his, like he was as comfortable in the tuxedo he was wearing as he was in his pajamas. “These people don’t care about tardiness; they’re all about fashionable lateness. We’re better off running a little behind.”
“Really?” she asked, desperate to believe him. “Do you think so?”
“Oh yeah,” I agreed, trying to ease her obvious stress even though I had no idea what anyone cared about and was probably more nervous than she was.
Because we were going to a cocktail party.
As a family.
Quel nightmare.
The “launch soiree” was apparently the first of five parties—the season—that led up to the Age of Innocence ball. My mother explained when she got the invitation that this was an intimate gathering for all the people planning the balls—and their families—so we had to go.
Thank God it was the only one I’d be forced to attend.
Also: “Soiree” attire? We didn’t have any.
Knowledge of what a cocktail party even looked like? None.
Awareness of how to behave at a “soiree”? Not a clue.
The thought of a party like this gave me hives, but my mother had said, “We cannot refuse this invitation, Jules.”
I’d started to argue, but when Bernard calmly interjected that it was a great opportunity for my family to be officially introduced into Gardenwood society, I knew I’d lost any shot of winning.
Also—society?
Seriously, was this Bridgerton?
I was starting to think that yes—this was.
And also that Bernard was always right.
I shoved my feet into the very uncomfortable pumps that’d been delivered for me, pumps that matched the uncomfortable black cocktail dress that had also been delivered for me, and I wished our car would break down.
The dress looked fine—it was silky and had cute shoulder straps—but it felt like I was wearing somebody else’s outfit that I had no business wearing.
I was grateful Bernard had had someone to call to get us suited up for the event, but I somehow just knew I didn’t look… right.
There was a questionable ruffle on the dress’s bodice that I wasn’t sure about.
“You look nice, Mom.” I tried to sound relaxed and optimistic, calling upon my inner Liam to just be cool about this and not overthink everything. “And we’re only staying for like an hour, right?”
“Right,” she said, nodding as she started leading us toward the door. My dad hadn’t been thrilled by this party either, but my mom told him we just had to make an appearance. “We show up, say hello to a few people while eating hors d’oeuvres, and then we’re out of there.”
“And you said it’s going to be small…?” I asked, following her out onto the stoop.
“Hopefully not too small,” Liam said as he pushed past me.
A chilly breeze left goose bumps up and down my exposed arms, or maybe it was the sight of that fancy black car in the darkness—with the waiting chauffeur—that filled me with prickly unease.
“Very small,” my mom said, nodding, her heels clicking as she and my dad went straight for the car, somehow looking like lifelong New Yorkers as they slid into the back seat. “I got the impression it’s just going to be a handful of the ladies from the committee and a few of their family members.”
Thank God.
No one from school would be there.
At least there was that.
As it turned out, “small” meant something different in the big city.
There were people everywhere.
Not only was the stunning brownstone filled with people, but the elegance was astounding. Too much for the eye to take in.
There was a man at the grand piano playing classical music in a tuxedo, while three matching tuxedoed men played their string instruments.
Servers in black suits milled about with silver trays on their palms—some covered in wineglasses, while others were covered in canapés—and the guests all spoke at a respectably low volume.
Yes. This was Bridgerton.
I was living Bridgerton right now, minus the attractive suitor chasing me. How is this my life?
“Shawna!”
A blonde—probably in her forties—walked toward my mom, her filler-enhanced lips turning up into a photo-ready smile. She was all dewy skin and diamonds, and it was a little jarring to realize that my mother knew her.
Mrs. Lowell, Springfield English teacher and former two-time barrel-racing champion, was exchanging air-kisses with a woman who looked like that.
Bizarre.
“This is lovely, Claire,” my mom said, gesturing to the everything around us.
“Oh, thank you,” Claire said, her gaze wandering over to the rest of us. She gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m assuming these gorgeous twins are Julia and Liam?”
“They are,” my mom said, and as she looked at me, I wondered if she was embarrassed.
It was the first time in my life I’d ever wondered if she wished I were more like Liam, prettier and more comfortable in my skin. I knew she loved me, but as she tried fitting in with these people, did I reflect badly on her?
Would my inability to fit in make her an outcast?
The idea of that hurt my stomach, though I wasn’t sure if it was because I didn’t want to hold her back or I didn’t want her to regret my… Julia-ness.
“I’m Liam,” my brother said, giving Claire a confident smile. “In case you couldn’t tell us apart.”
“I assumed,” she said, tilting her head a little, obviously charmed by Liam’s effortless charisma. “Most of the kids are upstairs, by the way, if you want to escape the boring adults.”
Wait. What?
“Yeah?” my brother said, glancing at my parents like he was looking for permission.
Noooooooo! The “kids” were what I needed an escape from, for God’s sake. My heart started racing as I wondered who was here, and then my stomach clenched as I realized it didn’t matter.
No one from school liked me, aside from Donovan and Jasmine.
“Get away. Go hang out with your friends,” my dad insisted joyfully.
My friends? Ha.
Jasmine and Donovan were on a college visit to Yale, so this “upstairs” she was referring to was likely a hostile environment for me.
“But—”
“Come on, Jules,” Liam said, gesturing with his head toward the grand staircase just inside the entry. “Let’s go while we can. So nice to meet you, Claire.”
“You too,” she said, her smile finally reaching her eyes as she beamed at my brother.
“Oh my God,” I said through my teeth as we made our way through the crowded room. “What is your problem? I don’t want to go hang out with a bunch of kids from school who hate me.”
“No one hates you,” he lied, reaching out a hand to grab something off a passing tray and pop it into his mouth. “Besides, this is a formal cocktail party where everyone’s parents are right downstairs. Everyone’s going to be on their best behavior.”
“Their best behavior is still ass,” I grumbled, my stomach queasy as we started walking up the stairs.
“Quit being so afraid,” he said, giving me a reassuring smile. It was one of those looks that told me he could read my mind and feel every one of my emotions, and for some reason, those looks always made me feel slightly better.
“This is a good chance for you to meet some people outside school and show them who you actually are. Tonight could really help your situation.”
“My ‘situation’? Would that situation be the fact that I’m a walking joke at Gardenwood Academy?” I asked.
“That’s the one,” he agreed, making me smile in spite of myself as he teased. “Just get outside your own head and talk to people, okay? You’ll be fine.”
“Well, don’t you dare leave me,” I said, butterflies flapping all over inside my body as we hit the top of the stairs and surveyed the sight in front of us. “Promise?”
“Sure,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking at whatever this “kids” version of the party was.