The Agent
Isabelle is lucky I love her.
If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have dragged myself out of bed for this bridesmaids brunch nor would have I stayed this long.
When Isabelle asked me to be her maid of honor, she made it clear my attendance to these things was mandatory. She knew I was going to hate every second of them, but she also knew I’d endure them for her sake.
Today, the torture included the scraping sounds of her friend’s high-pitched voices against my ear drums and mind-numbingly boring conversation. Even the bottomless mimosas we were sipping on couldn’t save me from the discomfort of sitting in a crowd of women I couldn’t relate less to.
All they wanted to do was gush over the newest fashion trends, whine over their unhealthy relationships, and gossip about other people’s struggles.
Listening to them speak was like hearing a table read for a television show about socialites.
Almost all of them sounded like they were living in their own little bubble, detached from the issues of the real world.
Every now and then, I saw Isabelle’s brows pinch together and her bright smile dim.
She’d glance around the women’s faces as if wondering herself what she was doing among them.
Isabelle may have grown up in the same world as them, but she didn’t share all the same experiences.
They could pretend all they wanted, but their shiny blonde hair cleared roads that our dark curls couldn’t.
Add on the perpetual missing piece in Isabelle’s heart, and she might as well be speaking a different language when she takes the mask off.
Isabelle caught my eyes during one of her moments of contemplation. The ends of her lips lifted again, and she tried to hide the thoughts running across her face.
I lifted up my pinky finger on my glass, scrunched up my nose, and moved my mouth in sync with the shake of my head.
For the first time since we’ve been here, a genuine laugh came out of her mouth.
Chelsea Prescott, the lone red-head of the group, noticed the sound.
Her emerald green eyes bounced between my sister and me for a few seconds.
Then, a sly smile slithered onto her face.
“So, Simone,” she said, summoning all of the women’s attention.
“I heard you and Justin tried rekindling your flame.”
“Justin Hartford?”
“Oh, he is so handsome!”
“He’s so rich!”
“I’d kill for a chance with him!”
The chorus of the other women’s shrill voices were like nails on a chalkboard. It took every bit of self restraint I had to keep from cringing.
“We did,” I replied, eyeing the curve of her lips.
“How was that? Did you get back together?”
“Obviously not since his face is all over your Instagram stories.”
Her smile tightened, sharpening the knife she was trying to twist into my chest. “Hm, that’s too bad. Justin’s still heartbroken over the whole ordeal.”
“Yeah, well he sure didn’t act like it.”
“Did he?” She tilted her head. “Because he told me he was really looking forward to having that conversation with you - for closure. It’s too bad he never got it.”
I uncrossed my legs and leaned my elbows on the table. “Is there something you really wanna say, Chelsea? The whole rhetorical question bit isn’t funny nor entertaining, so you might as well spit it out.”
Her brow twitched, threatening to raise at my bluntness. Unlike Isabelle, I wasn’t hesitant to call them out on their bullshit games. I didn’t have the time nor the tolerance for them. Chelsea hid the bruise on her ego with a wider smile. “Well, according to Justin…the dinner never happened.”
That motherfucker. I should’ve known he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about the disaster the other night. But, I expected him to give an earful to my step-father - not one of the groupies fighting for a spot on his arm.
“Justin says he passed out while he was waiting at the restaurant and woke up in bed with bruises on his arms. Said it was the strangest thing that’s ever happened to him. Would you care to fill in some of the blanks?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“No, of course not!” She feigned offense, her fingers flying to her chest. “I just didn’t know if you saw something happen to him. With your line of work, I thought you’d be able to offer some insight on what might’ve happened.”
“Knowing Justin, he probably had too much to drink. He’s a big fan of scotch; you’ll find out soon enough.” My chair scraped against the floor as I stood. “Excuse me.”
Grabbing my purse off the back of my chair, I stormed off, leaving the ladies whispering about my sudden departure.
Another chair scraped against the floor, and I heard Isabelle call my name. “Wait!” She yelled, her heels clicking as she raced after me. “Simone!”
I slowed my stride so she could catch up, but I didn’t stop. “Your friends are bitches,” I told her.
“I know. I’m sorry.” She grabbed my arm. “But don’t leave.”
“If I don’t, one of them is getting slapped. It’s for the best.”
Isabelle stood in front of me, blocking my way. “Please,” she pleaded. “I’ll talk to Chelsea - tell her to take that stick out of her ass.”
I scoffed. “As if she’ll listen.” I tried to move past her, but she wouldn’t allow it. “Izzie, can you please -”
“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice softer than before. Her brows were stitched together, and her lips were pulled in a frown.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You didn’t say anything happened…with Justin.”
“Because there was nothing to say. Our date didn’t happen.”
“But something else clearly did. The question is: what?”
I averted my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to tell Isabelle. That a hitman almost killed me that night. That he’s been haunting my dreams. That I can’t even relax in the comfort of my own home without feeling the chill of his eye on me.
She wouldn’t know what to do with all of that.
Besides, I didn’t want her worrying about me. She was living in a bridal fairytale right now. I wasn’t going to be the evil step-sister that tore it apart.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said. “But, I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
Isabelle let me pass this time, her shoulders deflating. “Simone,” she called after I took a few steps away.
I looked over my shoulder at her. My heart nearly broke at the frown on her face.
“I’m here if you ever wanna talk.”
Tears pricked behind my eyes from the sincerity dripping from her words. “I know,” I murmured. “Thanks.”
I turned away before she could see the moisture glazing over my irises.
At times like this, I couldn’t help but wish Isabelle had a better sister. She deserved more than what I was able to give.