Chapter Twenty-One
Books and Names
Ebony
“Oh my God, this feels like déjà vu…” Priscilla spins slowly inside the grand ballroom, her brown eyes saucer-wide, shaking her head.
“I mean, I get that you need to confront her—what she did was foul as hell—but are you really sure this is the best move? Couldn’t you wait until the shower’s over and corner her on the way out? ”
Whitney and I exchange a brief glance.
“No,” we say in unison.
We’re absolutely on the same page.
First, I’ve given Hillary ample opportunities to reach out to me.
And second, this is a three-birds-one-stone situation.
Face Hillary, call Cornelia’s bluff, and figure out if Hailey will fire me out of sibling loyalty.
At the end of the day, I need to know where my business stands, and they need to understand that I’m not an easy target.
Period.
Although, to acknowledge Priscilla’s point, my plan— if I can even call it that—isn’t exactly ideal.
Nor professional, per se. Cornering this woman at her sister’s bridal shower, that I planned, isn’t how I envisioned this going.
I can’t very well walk out there, clear my throat, and interrupt the “What’s in my phone? ” game.
What would I even say?
“Sorry, just checking on the shower. More tea? Hey, drama-magnet friend Renee, did Hillary by chance mention she’s a two-faced, conniving homewrecker ?
No? Well, you’ll love Cornelia, but be careful—she ’ll fabricate an entire cheating scandal out of thin air to tear you down.
Anyway, enjoy your brunch. Hope we ’re still good to go, Hailey… ”
Uh, no.
Damn, this is bad.
Then again, should I care about interrupting this event if I might get fired anyway? I’m done sitting back and waiting.
“In the words of the great divatante, Whitney Graves…” I plant my hands on Priscilla’s slender shoulders and project to the echoes of this magical, gloriously spotlit ballroom. “‘I’m not letting these bougie, low-vibrational folks define nor destroy my happiness another day.’”
My girls erupt into howls and cackles.
“But do y’all hear me?” Whitney presses, too serious.
“The way we apparently need to say it a little louder for the duplicitous folks in the back…” She stretches her arms wide, eyes locked on the double doors leading out to the terrace where Hailey’s bridal shower is happening.
Then she switches into full preach mode, delivering a one-size-fits-two sermon, undoubtedly aimed at Hillary just as much as it is at Cornelia.
“Louder for those who think what’s done in the dark won’t come to the light. ”
Priscilla nods, fidgeting with the hem of her chic layered ruffle number—they’re dressed for the occasion. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess.”
The thing is, after I told them about Linc seeing Hillary with Julian years ago, Priscilla and Whitney nearly lost it.
Tatiana and Chanel were ready to book flights home.
They were furious, too. Being with Julian wasn’t only betraying me; it was a betrayal of everything our friendship stood for.
When we first formed the divatantes, we made a pact through thick and thin, sickness and health, come shitty men or matchmaking mamas, we’d always support one another.
Hillary broke that promise.
So, yeah, losing her as a friend only compounded the pain of losing my marriage.
Our bond was a constant in my life, and without her, everything has felt off balance.
We’re missing a piece of us. Luckily, Priscilla, Whitney, Tatiana, Chanel, and I remind each other daily how fortunate we are to have this friendship. This family .
But what Hillary did…
A betrayal of this magnitude can’t go unchecked. Might as well have two showdowns at the once, right?
After all, isn’t that what bridal showers are for? Spending quality time with your closest family and friends before the big day?
With my hand on the door handle, I meet Priscilla and Whitney’s stares, giving them one last chance to talk me out of this. I smooth my hands over my tailored, blush-pink silk chiffon dress paired with nude heels.
I’m protecting my reputation , integrity, and professionalism.
Well, two out of three isn’t bad.
“Okay, so I’m doing this.”
On a deep breath, I exit onto the terrace, forcing a huge, too-perfect smile as I casually make my way over to the buffet table.
I take a quick inventory of the food and libations—the jasmine-infused mimosas, pre-portioned French toast dippers, and the salmon eggs Benedict platters, which are already looking a little picked over.
All the while, I’m listening hard, trying to catch where the guests are on the agenda, and positioning myself just right to get the best view of the table.
We’ve transformed this outdoor space into a chic garden gathering straight out of a magazine.
There’s a sprawling thirty-two-seat table nestled between the gardens, with a perfect blend of rustic charm and black-tie elegance.
It’s modern, glamorous. The tablescape itself screams contemporary luxury—string lights suspended above, crisp white linens, taper candles, gold-rimmed glassware, floral-printed plates, and fresh blooms spilling from long-stem vases.
And, of course, no upscale bridal shower is complete without those little towers of bite-sized cucumber sandwiches and flaky scones.
Oh, and the simmering drama from the women in floor-length frocks, just waiting to boil over.
“Own a dog or own a cat…” Hillary and Hailey’s mom, Mrs. Winston, calls out, her voice carrying all the way from the garden.
Ah, they’re playing Would She Rather. So, they’ve already finished What’s in Your Purse and moved on to the second game .
Yes!
That means we’re officially done with mimosas and mingling. Hillary’s already made her maid-of-honor welcome speech, so I turn back to the buffet table. Judging by the empty photo station and the state of the buffet, brunch and photos with the bride are over too.
Even better, the only thing left on the agenda that Hailey and I put together is refilling mimosas before the cake cutting and gift opening.
Perfect.
“Okay, Ebony…you’ve got to do this,” I whisper to myself, trying to hype myself up.
I still have no idea how I’m going to start this conversation, and now here I am, exposed, in the name of…
what? Setting boundaries? Prioritizing joy?
Taking away Cornelia’s power to define my worth?
“Good Lord, Savannah, you’ve got me over here ruminating in motivational phrases. ”
My skin prickles with anticipation, and my breath quickens. Except, as I let my focus drift back to the gardens, here comes Cornelia, stalking straight toward me.
On cue, I refocus my energy, dialing in on the goal—one-third of it, anyway.
I’m here to confront Cornelia. But I’m also going to speak to Hillary and check in with Hailey, so for now, my ex-monster-in-law has my full attention.
My heart races, but I steady myself.
“It’s a lovely affair,” she says, though there’s nothing breezy about it. In fact, her usual smarmy tone is in full force. Not a smile in sight, just those disdainful eyes, currently cutting through me like a thousand blaring judgments.
You don’t belong here anymore, they say. So typical. So clichéd. Crawl back into your hole .
But they don’t work the way they used to.
I steady my gaze, matching her energy. Lifting my chin, stone-faced, I straighten. “Yes, just as the bride envisioned.”
Play your card, Cornelia.
And then she does.
“It’s truly unfortunate that the planner has chosen to drag herself, and this entire event”—she waves an indignant hand in this air—“into such unnecessary drama.”
A small, disbelieving giggle escapes me. “Oh, I dragged myself? That’s rich, coming from you.”
“And here, when I hired you, I expected the professionalism and exquisite taste that you so often boast about.” She snickers, sarcasm dripping from her precision-lined pink lips. “Now you’re embroiled in scandal with such childish theatrics.”
And that does it. “Do you really think I don’t know you hired Benson Marks to track my every move?” I scoff, fury searing far deeper than the surface of my skin.
Cornelia gasps, falsely outraged. “Well, I never—”
“Oh, please .” I hold my palm out to her, urging her to stop.
These are theatrics, if ever I’ve seen them.
“I know you’re trying to ruin me, but guess what?
You clearly think of me as easy target, a pawn in your little game, but I’m not.
Not anymore. So you should be aware that I’m not going to just sit here and take it. I will fight back.”
Her whole expression smooths, her eyes narrowing to slits.
“Is that what you call your sad little confessionals on the Internet? You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she spits out, showing her hand.
“Does that really burn you up, Cornelia? Hmm?” Laughter bubbles at the back of my throat, but I manage to lower my voice, searching her eyes as I ask, “What bothers you more? That I’ve got the audacity to face the world and still pick myself up?
Or that I’m not just making it, I’m thriving without your ‘perfect’ son, who, lo and behold, turned out to be an absolute disappointment and a waste of space? ”
“Don’t you dare say another—”
An utterly sinister smile curves my lips.
“You know it just as well as I do. He’s lost his job, and he’s constantly texting me, begging me to take him back.
And now, to top it off, he’s got a child on the way with a Luxe Lady.
” This time, I can’t hold back my laughter.
I’m outright cackling in this woman’s face, and it feels damn good.
“You’re about to be a Luxe Livingston grandma. You must be so proud—”
“That’s enough!” she interrupts, her tone jagged and sharp.
She means it to be a quiet whisper of a warning, but her hard voice lands with a crash, garnering the attention of the entire garden party.