15. “Roar” - Katy Perry
“Roar” - Katy Perry
Sometimes I forget I’m an adult and can eat cookie dough if I want to. That’s precisely why I’m standing outside Bea’s door with a tub of it under my arm.
She opens the door in a silk floral robe. “This better be important,” she says around a yawn. “I was napping.”
“In the middle of the day?” I scoot past her and into the suite.
“That’s normally when people take naps, yes,” she says, closing the door behind me. “Why aren’t you in a meeting or shaking the sweaty palms of forty-year-old men who look at you like they’d like to have you for dinner?”
I shudder at the vision. “I quickly approved everything the lord chancellor proposed.” So I’d have time to brainstorm what to do about this particular dilemma.
“And you interrupted my nap for what? Sleep is good for the baby, you know.” She rubs her still very flat belly.
“I need your help.” I set the tub of cookie dough on the coffee table in the sitting room. “And I brought payment.”
“I’m not sure I can eat—”
“Come on, Bea.” I tug her onto the sofa next to me. “Once isn’t going to hurt.” I hand her a spoon.
“This is why, of the two of us, I will make the better mother,” she says, taking it from me hesitantly, as if just looking at it might cause a birth defect.
I can’t disagree with that, and looking at her stomach, I’m hit with the realization that the universe got it all wrong. Henry should have ended up with Beatrice, or even Elizabeth. Then he could have had all the beautiful babies he wants.
I clear my throat and pop the lid off the tub.
Bea leans forward and drags her spoon through it. “What do you need help with? And before you answer, remember that I am eight weeks pregnant and cannot help you move furniture or go on a drinking spree with you.” She pops the soft dough into her mouth.
“I’m doing some investigating.” I scoop my own bite of the sweet treat. “You won’t have to move a muscle, except maybe your thumbs.”
“I’m intrigued already. Who are we investigating?” she says, licking her spoon.
“Elizabeth Gable.”
“Ooh, Henry’s ex?”
“He claims they were never a thing.”
“She had his kid though, didn’t she?”
I stare at the spoon in my hand, cookie dough still perched on the end. “It would seem that way.”
“A revenge plot,” Bea says in her best Hannibal Lector voice.
“Not revenge. Sabotage.” I scrape the dough off with my teeth. “I cannot allow her to destroy everything.”
“Either one sounds like the exact diversion I need. What did you have in mind?”
“I need proof that she’s not who she says she is. That she’s after more than she claims.”
Bea sits up straighter, and the cushion beneath her bounces. “I am totally down for breaking into her house. Do you know when she’ll be away from home?”
I frown at my sister, wondering if I should take back my earlier thought about her being a good mother. “Uh, no.”
“You mean we’re doing a stakeout? Yes!” She pumps her fist into the air.
“I was thinking more along the lines of some social media stalking,” I deadpan.
She blinks at me a few times, then sinks back into the cushions. “So more librarian grandma, less Blair Waldorf.”
“Hey,” I say. “This is pretty big.”
Bea rolls her eyes and tosses her spoon onto the table. “Yeah, for someone who doesn’t even know their way around their own Instagram profile.”
I lean back beside her. “Come on,” I say. “I need this. If I can prove to Henry that she’s after something . . .”
Bea leans her head on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your little sister is going to stalk the heck out of this woman.”
“Why do you think I came here?” I press a kiss to the top of her head.
As though it propels her into motion, she rockets up from her seat, leaves the room, and returns a few seconds later, holding up her pink phone. “I’ve got the gear.” She plops back down beside me. “I’m assuming her Instagram is private?”
“Uhh.” I bite my lip. “Am I supposed to know that?”
She slowly turns her head to look at me. “You haven’t checked?”
“Was I supposed to?”
She closes her eyes, and I get the same feeling I used to when Rosalind would read my essays and ask if I thought that was the way “hypothetically” was used. “Do you live in an actual cave?” She flips her long hair over her shoulder and taps away at her screen.
“I don’t know her username,” I say defensively.
Bea shoots me a side-eye, and a few clicks of her long nails later, holds her phone up for me to see. There are several profiles listed for Elizabeth Gable. “Which one is she?”
“How did you do that?” I point to the one that showcases Elizabeth’s perfect face.
“I’m starting to think you were born in the wrong century.”
“There are roughly a million and one things more important than fiddling with social media.”
Bea mutters something under her breath that I can’t make out, but her tone tells me I don’t want to know anyway.
“So?” I ask. “Is it private?”
“No.” It comes out as a sigh.
“But that’s good, right?” I’m pretty sure private means locked.
“Sure. But I was looking forward to using one of my secret accounts.”
It’s my turn to stare at her. “Excuse me? Secret accounts?”
“What?” She shrugs, and her robe flutters across her back. “I have them for this reason. I can’t stalk people using my own account.”
God, the things I’m better off not knowing.
“Okay.” I drag the word out. “So if she’s not private, we can just start looking for dirt, right?”
“Yep. And my presence is completely pointless.”
“Not true.” I plant a hand on her thigh before she can get up. “I don’t have a clue what to do.”
“You really are a cave woman,” Bea says, but I can tell she’s secretly pleased to be better at something than me. “Pull it up on your phone too, and we’ll both look.”
I find Elizabeth’s profile. A burble of excitement leaks into my chest right before I tap it. I doubt she thought we would check her out on social media, but she picked the wrong marriage to sabotage. I’m not going down without a fight.
Beneath her name, it says:
Mum to Axel
Real estate agent
Health & wellness advocate
How cute. Her profile picture is of her in a classic black pantsuit, arms crossed, head tilted as she smiles at the camera. It’s your typical agent photo, except for the hot-pink background and the red lips she’s sporting. They are vivid enough to draw the eye at first glance.
“Aww,” Bea says beside me.
I peer over her shoulder. She’s looking at a photo of a . . . baby goat? “What is that?” I ask.
“They went to the zoo.” She scrolls sideways. “Look at the goats.”
They’re adorable, but even more adorable is little Axel sticking his hand out so the animals can nibble grain from his outstretched palm.
I search for the photo on my own app. It’s within a group of other zoo photos: Axel on the endangered animals carousel.
Axel eating a bear-shaped popsicle. Axel standing near the flamingo enclosure.
Elizabeth and Axel with their faces pressed close together, giraffes in the background.
I hit the back button to return to the collage of photos on her profile. It’s a riot of color, nothing like the curated beiges and creams everyone else swears by. One of them catches my eye, and I click on it.
Elizabeth and Axel are standing in front of a colorful mural. They’re both sticking out their tongues at whoever is holding the camera, heaped scoops of ice cream already dripping down the sides of their waffle cones.
Another one shows them in a theater with the caption, Took the little guy out for his first Nutcracker performance! I have the best clients EVER!!
There’s a photo of Axel in an art gallery, shaking the hand of the man next to him. I’ve admired Giovani de Luca for SO LONG and tonight Axel and I got to meet him!
They’ve visited every museum in the city from the looks of these photos. They even went to the Historical Society. He may not be able to read yet, but he already understands the importance of history!
Hiking through the woods and up the mountainside, going slower than paperwork in a bureaucracy so that Axel can get his science education at the same time.
Buying a pet goldfish in a bag, a giant grin on Axel’s face.
Cooking dinner together in matching aprons.
Curled up in a blanket fort watching a movie.
Between these images are sprinkled professional ones too. Elizabeth Gable deems every moment worthy of a photo.
The Castor family was so much fun to work with!
Late nights are worth it when you have the best team!
I just listed FOUR new homes this week! You do NOT want to miss them!!
When your co-workers decide to use their half-birthday as an excuse to bring cupcakes to work. This caption accompanies a photo of Elizabeth holding a cupcake close to her face and pouting.
Between the professional-not-professional garbage and the adorably-too-adorable photos of her and Axel, there are also a bunch of health-focused posts. She apparently sells products in one of those network marketing things I’ve never understood nor cared to.
I cannot believe how much better my skin feels since incorporating this smoothie into my day!
20% off sale on all of our products! Message me for details!!
You guys, this is the absolute best superfood blend on the market! If you are not already taking it, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!
“Find anything juicy?” Bea asks, startling me out of my trance as I watch Axel attempt to dance to something on the television, Elizabeth’s giggles audible in the background as she tries to hold the phone steady.
“Huh?” I look up at her.
“Did you find anything we can use? You know, against Elizabeth?”
I glance at my screen once more, then lock it and toss the device onto the coffee table. “She uses more exclamation points than should be legal.”
“Not exactly a crime,” Bea says. “How about something useful?”
I think back over the photos I just spent the past hour looking at. “She’s sickeningly perfect. She’s so perfect my teeth are still aching.”
“That’s the cookie dough.”
“I was hoping for cleavage and trashy clubs. Maybe an attempted bank heist or drug smuggling.”