Chapter One #2
My plan was all about killing them with kindness—look fierce, wordlessly show them they didn’t win, and that I’m still standing.
But calling him out in front of his mother?
And at her sister’s engagement party, no less?
Even I’m not that ruthless. Hailey’s the little sister I never had.
I’ve always been there for her, selling Summit Sisters cookies for that dumb doll Mrs. Winston wouldn’t buy, driving her to school when Hillary had majorette practice.
I love her like family. She doesn’t need me stirring up messy post-divorce drama at her celebration.
“Honey, you already know Hil is a wild card.” Whit dips her hand into her hair, zhuzhing up her curls and laughing.
“Mm-hmm.” Priscilla shakes her head, her expression twisting. “Are you at all curious what she was saying? Because from where I was standing, she looked like she was putting that man to shame.”
I scratch my temple, grinning.
A million and one scenarios run through my mind as I try to decipher how Hillary put Julian in his place.
“Hands down, she rubbed it in his face about the news station firing him.” Whit laughs. “God don’t like ugly, and KTLE sure doesn’t like unprofessional conduct or a PR crisis that damages their reputation.”
“And that’s on period.” Priscilla snaps her fingers and crosses the huge, ritzy restroom’s black marble floor to us.
We all collapse into a fit of laughter.
The tension in my limbs loosens. If there’s one thing my girls are going to do, it’s aid and abet #TeamEbony. Their pettiness is giving we ride at dawn , and I’m all the way here for it.
We love to say that when people go low, we can always, always go lower.
“Okay, well, then…” Priscilla’s lips twitch. “Should we go cheers Hailey, and add our two cents to Hil’s?”
I’m still smiling, but I don’t move.
“I know, girl.” Whitney nods, sympathetically, like she senses I’m shifting my guards back into place.
The energy in the room begins to wane. They’re waiting for me to decide what comes next, but honestly?
I have no idea. Right now, I’m just numb.
The hurt always overtakes the anger. This year, Julian and I have shared nothing more than awkward smiles and stilted phone calls—talking about trivial things like where to find stuff around the house, or the Wi-Fi password, or some client he referred because, of course, he still thinks we can be friends.
But we haven’t really interacted. That’s been all on me.
I’m still trying to unravel myself from the Livingstons, trying to remember who I was before him—who I want to be now as Ebony Grace…
I stop pacing and stare at the textured beige wall, suddenly exhausted.
“All the work I’ve done this year?” I pause, still reflecting. “Like, just to survive this mess, I have a therapist and a life coach—”
“A damn good one, too,” Whitney chimes in, nodding like a proud sister. “Savannah Sampson is no joke. I saw that star-studded special she did…”
“The one last year?” Priscilla dips her chin, immediately invested.
“Mm-hmm,” Whit confirms. “Had me all up in my head, feeling some type of way—”
“Can we stay focused?” I cut them off, walking over to the sink and bracing myself against the smooth, cool surface. “I’ve still got to do this,” I say, unsure if I’m speaking to them or to my own reflection at this point.
“You’re right.” Whitney gives a decisive nod. “So, how do you want to do this? Because I’m absolutely still game to march right back in there and throw hands in this vintage ensemble if that’s what it takes.”
Before I can even respond, a heavy knock on the door startles us, and we freeze in place.
“Guys, it’s me,” Hailey’s high-pitched voice squeaks through the door, strained and panicked.
Priscilla and Whitney exchange a glance, both giving me the “your call” look, but I’m still not ready to face the symphony of awkwardness waiting for me on the other side.
“Who is me?” Whitney grins mischievously, buying me some time.
“It’s Hailey! Can you please let me in?”
Sensing I’m still not ready, Priscilla jumps in. “What’s the password?”
The three of us burst out laughing, the tension in the room finally breaking. After a beat, I finally— begrudgingly —unlock the door.
My girls fall into formation at my sides as the door swings open. Instead of entering, Hailey steps aside—and there’s Julian Livingston III.
She hesitates like she’s struggling to find the right words. “Okay, before you come for me, let me say that Hil and I both tried to talk him out of this.”
“And by ‘this,’ you mean what?” Whit glares at Julian, too. “What could you possibly need to say to Ebony—on such a wonderfully festive occasion—to excuse your sorry self?”
Julian nods repeatedly. “You’re right. I deserve that.”
A collective “mm-hmm” echoes over us four women.
I love my friends.
Hailey takes a shaky breath, stepping farther into the restroom.
“Ebony, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ambush you like this,” she starts, her voice thick with guilt.
“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be.
But I really didn’t want him begging or whatever he’s hellbent on doing in front of the entire room.
Even Cornelia told him to let the past go, but he when he saw you—”
“I knew this was my shot.” Julian’s deep, bass-filled voice reverberates around us as he inches toward the doorframe.
But Whit and Priscilla step in front of me like bombshell bodyguards.
“It absolutely is not,” Priscilla snaps. “And you’re good right where you are. We’re listening.”
My divas are seconds from choosing violence, and I’m tempted to let them.
But then Hailey gives me a pleading look.
“Ebs, if this were any other time, I wouldn’t even entertain this fool.
But it’s Donovan’s brother, and he wants him here—please, just give him two minutes so we can get back to my engagement party…
” She trails off, guilt-tripping me with zero shame.
“You know, the reason we’re all here tonight to celebrate. ”
Then she steps back slightly, her face full of hope, yet giving me the space I need to make my decision. God, she looks so much like Hillary. Same petite, honey-toned skin, dark hair, and striking features.
There’s a clear difference between the Winston sisters, though. Hillary’s a loose cannon, a goal getter, while Hailey’s empathetic, kindhearted, always thinking of others.
It makes me listen a little more closely.
The divas shoot me “say the word and I’ll still throw hands right now” looks. When I glance back at Hailey, her expression is so raw and vulnerable.
I shake my head and let out a sigh.
“Fine.” I step around my gorgeous shields, folding my arms across my chest, an impatient edge to my voice as I peer up at Julian. “Say whatever you’ve got to say.”
“Thank you.” He smiles, softly, all sparkly eyes and gleaming white teeth as he drags in a sharp breath. “Can we talk alone—”
We all shout in unison, “No!”
He chuckles sheepishly, then shifts nervously on his feet.
“Okay, sorry, I had to try. I just… All I want to say is, please, let me try to win you back. I know I messed up, but I’m asking for a chance to make it right.
I’m not asking for forgiveness yet, just time to show you I can be better, that I can be the person you fell in love with.
Please , just give me this one shot.” He swallows hard. “I swear, it was just the one time—”
A collective gasp falls over us.
Ta-da!
Wow, how lucky am I that he swears it was just the once? My heart is an angry mob of ventricles and nodes, contracting so fast, I feel like I might short-circuit.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Baby, I’m not with Nora anymore,” he says with the full weight of his chest, as if it makes a lick of difference to me. “That’s why she isn’t here. I ended it. To be with you. I love you, Ebony Grace Livingston.”
Fury flares in my gut, burning hotter with every passing second.
How is this man love-bombing me like he valued anything we shared?
The gaslighting is embarrassing. Does he really expect me to believe he’s made this huge change?
The sheer audacity eats at me, twisting my insides with the absurdity of it all.
Even if I was stupid enough to believe him, it’s exhausting and pointless. Once was all it ever needed to be.
“I don’t want you back, Julian.”
It’s all I say.
If I had the good sense the Lord gave me, I’d congratulate Hailey and Donovan, down a glass of champagne, and be halfway to my divorce-decreed Lexus, burning rubber all the way to my waterfront townhouse (also decreed).
I’d crash into bed and sleep like a baby knowing I’d faced at least one of my demons.
But apparently, I’m running on empty when it comes to common sense, because here I am—back in the “private room,” standing against the wall, wineglass nowhere in sight to help me drown out my ex-husband’s weak pleas for a second chance in my ear.
No, because that would require logic, and as we’ve established, logic has left the building.
Beside me, Julian attempts to hold my hand, and I pull it out of reach.
“I won’t give up,” he whispers.
“Mm-hmm.” I smile ahead, doing my best to look casual as I elbow him. Through gritted teeth, I urge him, “Please, give up and go sit down.”
Donovan’s chair screeches as he stands, grabs Hailey’s hand, and turns to the table.
“I never thought I’d be standing here today, celebrating with you all, but here we are,” he says. Hailey beams that infectious grin, going on about how incredibly lucky she is to have found someone who makes her laugh, supports her, and loves her. Then they toast to their engagement.
The room erupts with cheers and whistles.
“I’m about to marry the man of my dreams, and there’s nothing more perfect than a fairytale wedding,” Hailey gushes, her bright brown eyes locked on me. “One that only Ebony Grace can bring to life.”