Page 9 of Blurred Lines

I can't help but snort at her comment, covering my mouth too late as a laugh escapes. "And Ken's nowhere in sight to save the day," I add, my gaze landing on a particularly atrocious pink velvet settee that looks more like a throne for a tyrannical queen of tackiness.

As we make our way deeper into the house, Verona reappears. "We've been renovating the place," she coos, her voice dripping with a sweetness that could give you cavities. "But your room is untouched."

"I can see that, you've really outdone yourself with the place," Flora says, her tone dripping with a sarcasm so thick you could slice it with a knife.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing, offering a non-committal, "It's certainly … different."

Verona's eyes narrow for a split second before she recovers, plastering on a smile. "I just wanted to brighten things up a bit."

"Mission accomplished," I say, glancing around. "It's positively radiant."

Undeterred by our lack of enthusiasm, Verona launches into a tirade of barbs thinly veiled as compliments, criticizing our life choices and wardrobe with the precision of a seasoned sniper.

Flora and I exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between us. Without a word, we turn on our heels and head to our room, leaving Verona's words to echo impotently behind us.

Once safely ensconced in the relative normalcy of our childhood room, Flora flops onto the bed. "I swear, if she adds one more pink cushion to this house, I'm staging an intervention."

I chuckle, collapsing beside her. "Might be too late for that. I think we've crossed into a pink event horizon."

Flora grins, propping herself up on an elbow. "So, what's the plan? Grin and bear it, or go full 'poltergeist' on the decor?"

"I'm leaning towards a poltergeist," I admit, "but let's not give her the satisfaction."

We share a laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating like mist. At least this room is as beautiful as it used to be.

Moonbeams spill through the ornate stained glass, casting a serene silver glow across the room. The cool light bathes the intricate tilework beneath my feet, each diamond of marble reflecting a soft, luminous sheen.

The air, crisp and fresh, carries a hint of night-blooming jasmine, mingling with the serene calm of the evening. The walls, adorned with silk brocade wallpaper, gleam subtly under the moon's gentle embrace.

The wide archway to my right, leading to the adjoining parlor, frames a view where gossamer curtains flutter slightly in the night breeze, enhancing the room's airy and inviting ambiance. A crystal chandelier overhead, now unlit, catches the moon's silver rays, its prisms casting soft, diffused reflections.

There's a knock on the door. "Yes?" I call out.

"Dinner is served," a familiar voice calls out.

Albert, the ever-present butler from my childhood, peeks in, a warm smile on his careworn face. He looked a hundred years old when I was ten, and he looks a hundred now. Maybe he's a benign vampire.

"We'll be there shortly," I tell him, returning his smile. "All good, Albert?"

His moustache twitches. "As good as it can be, Miss."

A minute later, with our hearts full of dread, we head to the dining room. Alec is already seated at the head of the table. He's not wasting any time. Verona is beside him.

Flora and I sit across from each other.

The dinner table is a battlefield tonight, and the weapons are words sharper than any knife in this mansion. I sit, trying to navigate through the sumptuous affair that's more visual feast than nourishing meal, when Alec decides to turn his venomous wit my way.

"So, Emily," he starts, his voice dripping with faux concern, "how's the modeling lifestyle treating you? Must be nice, getting to sleep in while the rest of us contribute to society."

I grit my teeth, forcing a smile. "It's going wonderfully, thanks. The freedom is really something else."

Alec smirks, not missing a beat. "And here I thought freedom just meant more time for snacks. How's that working out for your figure?"

That's when Flora, who's been silent up until now, finally snaps. "Why don't you worry about your own figure, Alec? Or better yet, your personality. It's looking a bit thin."

The table goes silent. My eyes dart between Flora and Alec, begging for peace without uttering a single word.

Alec, clearly not used to being challenged, especially not by Flora, leans forward, his face a mask of mock offense. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hit a nerve? I forget how sensitive you girls can be."

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