Page 51 of The Unraveling

“Of course I did.” I glance around. “What’s going on in here?”

I ask without judgment, but seriously, what the hell is going on? I realize then that maybe she has someone over.

“Nothing is going on,” she says. “I’m just feeling myself. I did a little bit of Molly. And now I’m sort of rolling around. Looking at pictures of beautiful people.”

Oh, so exactly what it looks like.

“That’s fun,” I say.

“You’re a beautiful person,” she says. “Where were you?” Her long hair hangs over her breasts, barely concealing her nipples.

“I was at dinner. Remember? The Cavendish dinner?”

Her face darkens. “Right. I remember. I forgot.”

“Clementine didn’t show up,” I say, trying to sound normal, going to the fridge and pouring a glass of water. “So it was just Alistair and me.”

There is a heavy silence behind me. I turn and see her looking at me.

When I look at her, she smiles and says, “And how was that?”

“It was okay,” I say. “He’s very intense.”

“Intense.”

“Yeah. I think it was okay, though.”

“He’s not going to sponsor you, though. I heard he has so many things going on that he probably has no space for another.”

I narrow my eyes at her momentarily, but then take a sip and say, “He might. I think he might.”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head in confusion. “That can’t be right.”

This is so weird. I know she’s on drugs, but still.

She then seems to change her mind about unpuzzling it all, and bursts into a big, incongruent smile. “Come over here!”

She stretches her arms out and puts a leg down on the ground to make space for me.

I put my phone and purse down and go to her.

“You are so beautiful,” she says, putting her arms around me. Her thick dark hair tangles against her face as she presses her lips to my neck. Then she whispers, “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

My breath quickens at the sudden contact. Her legs are over my lap; my legs are basically bare beneath the airy slip dress.

Her hand runs slowly from where she tucks my hair behind my ear down my neck, down my collarbone, and to my silk-clad breast.

“Dios mío, that is so soft. You wouldn’t believe,” she says with a deep-throated laugh, her lips and teeth now on my clavicle.

“Will you touch me?” she asks, desperate and lethargic. “Please.”

She looks at me, her glassy eyes like those of a doe, her puffy lips swollen and the color of maraschino cherries.

I have so much more to think about, but suddenly my mind is empty of anything but desire. I’ve been wanting all night. I wanted Max. Or Alistair. Whatever his name is.

Now Arabella is here, and I want her, too.

I let my lips land on hers and she lets out a relieved moan of satisfaction.

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