Page 30 of The Princess and the Fraud

I waited for Caroline to say no, that she hadn’t known, but her lips never parted.

Did you… tell her?That was what Annalise had been talking about. Grant.

“What? They’ve been broken up for, like, ever.” Fiona leaned over to see me around Aaron. “Does this bother you, Lovey?”

I stared at her, digging my fingers into my legs underneath the table. Despite not knowing about uswhilewe dated, Fiona had found out shortly about us after we’d broken up. I had no idea how, but I was still surprised she hadn’t spread the rumor like wildfire.

“Grant is Caroline’s brother,” Fiona told Aaron. “And Lovey’s ex. He’s at Stanford for political science—doesn’t want anything to do with the realty business, right, Caroline? Butpolitical science.It’s so impressive!”

I’d never liked Fiona, and in that moment, I liked her even less. The only two people who didn’t know the lore of Grant and me were Michael and Aaron, two people who probably couldn’t have cared less, but she wanted to tell them, anyway. Grant was off at a stellar school for an impressive major, whereas Lovey was stuck working doubles at a country club. The not-so-subtle interjection of my place. She needed to prove she was the superior one, simply because she could. She was as transparent as a piece of glass.

“Well, that’s an interesting bit of trivia.” Aaron’s tone was light, as if it wasn’t an interesting topic worth lingering on as he buttered the next piece of bread. “I don’t see why it’s relevant, though, dear.”

Michael cracked a laugh at that, his wife exasperated beside him. I watched Aaron slide his knife across the bread, gaze lingering on his fingers. It was ridiculous, but in that moment, in a sort of distant way, I wondered what those fingers would look like stretched out across piano keys. It was the kind of a thought that surfaced when your brain felt numb. Aaron said he played with emotion; how did he lose himself in a piece? What was his favorite composition to perform?

I shouldn’t be wondering, shouldn’t be thinking about it, but I was.

Before I looked away, Aaron moved. Instead of lifting his piece of bread to his mouth, Aaron, without looking, set it on my side plate. He did it silently before picking up his glass of water. No one seemed to notice except for Caroline, whose mouth was a flat line.

I stared at the bread with the smear of butter. The silent action was ridiculous, meaningless, but my stomach gave a small flip.

“I’m giving you context,” Fiona said innocently, patting Aaron’s arm. “He and Lovey broke up—when was it, Lovey? August? September?”

My voice was dull. “September.”

“That’s right! Just after the semester started. Weird, I thought—Caroline, didn’t Grant post about his new girlfriend in September? I could’ve sworn?—”

“Wow.” Caroline’s stare was icy. “You keep better track of my brother’s love life than I do. Should I be worried? ShouldAaron?”

“Of course not!” Now Fiona’s face went red. “I was—I was only making conversation, that’s all. Besides, it’s not like Grant’s taste is that great anyway?—”

“Fiona, would youshut up?” Annalise’s voice cracked through the restaurant, causing heads to swivel in our direction.

I wondered what people saw—five diners dressed in Malstoni and Giflman and Claire Haute, and one girl in Old Navy jeans and a pink sweater that her mom wore in the nineties. I wondered if they saw perfect blowouts and a girl who’d let her blonde grow to expose too much brown root. They probably saw perfect manicures and a girl’s nails that were stubs from working.

“I forgot how eventful brunches are,” Michael said to no one in particular. “Nothing like a mimosa with a side of gossip. Who’d like to go next?”

Under the table, I traced my fingers almost desperately, pressing down on my skin to try to find the calluses on my left fingertips. Growing up playing the cello, the calluses from pressing the strings had become a comfort. A sign of my dedication, that I was worthy to approach any concert, any recital, any stage, any cello. If I ever was nervous, I’d trace the bumps of skin, grounding myself, proving I belonged.

I had none now. They’d faded long ago, just like that dream had.

Out of place. It was starkly apparent. I didn’t belong at this table. The odd one out wasn’t Fiona; it was me.

I turned in time to see Monica murmuring something in one of the other girl’s ear, and both of them were staring straight at me. They giggled. Whether they whispered about what they’d overheard or my presence in general, I had no idea, but it didn’t matter.

What am I doing?Something similar to panic surfaced within me.What am I doing?

I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. Everyone at my table turned to me, startled. “I didn’t want to say anything,” I said, focusing solely on Annalise. Out of everyone, in that moment, I felt the guiltiest toward her. “But Mr. Roberts asked me not to mingle with members too much on the estate’s grounds. I should—I should head out.”

“When?” Caroline asked. “When did he say that?”

Our gazes locked, and a beat of something uncomfortable flashed between us. “The other day.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Annalise suggested, eyes wide. “We can?—”

“It’s okay,” I insisted, rising to my feet and picking up my purse, digging through it for my wallet. “You can put this toward my mimosa?—”

“We can buy your drink,” Caroline said. “You knew we were going to anyway, right?”

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