Page 32 of The Bridesmaid
Petra’s voice is sing-song. She’s clearly mad about the car swinging past her.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You get a little … you know … cheaty.’
‘Cheaty?’
‘You know what I mean. Kissy. Whatever.’
I really hate Petra.
‘Well, there’s no one on Elysium to kiss but my bridesmaids.’ I force a high, awkward laugh. Beside me, Ophelia’s body is rigid.
Petra responds with a predatory smile. ‘That’s kind of what I’m worried about.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
HOLLY
Georgia Kensington steps into the elevator, a small phone clamped to her ear. She looks like a business woman from the fashion industry. Designer flats, skinny jeans and silk top on her narrow frame, with black curls framing her small jawline. I shuffle back, trying not to draw attention to myself.
‘No,’ Georgia speaks into her cell. ‘Adrianna doesn’t do videos. Ever. Just pictures. Sixty thousand dollars minimum per shoot. Plus expenses.’ She frowns, ends the call, then picks up another one right after it.
‘Dri?’ she says. ‘You’re serious? Silky isn’t answering? OK. OK. Just … get here. The floor is all ready for us.’
I can’t stop myself staring. There’s an obvious family re-semblance. Lean with a long nose and pronounced lips. But Georgia’s dark skin and clouds of hair soften the severity of her famous features. There’s a perfection to her skin and body shape that’s hard to quantify in words. Georgia veritably vibrates with understated beauty.
She’s prettier than her sister, I think. But her earnest face is taut and unsmiling, as though she constantly has something to worry about.
Georgia ends her call, and presses the top of her phone briefly to her forehead, as though resting a heavy load of thoughts. Her eyes catch me in the reflection of the elevator.
‘Are you waiting for someone?’ she asks.
‘I’m just figuring out the elevator.’ I’ve never been good at lying. Georgia’s face shifts to something like disbelief. She produces her own plastic key card, and leans forward to press the elevator button, somehow managing to channel that she’s worth a million bucks, doing the most mundane of acts.
There’s a noise like a power-up on a computer game, and a console of numbers flashes into life behind the glass panel.
‘That is so cool!’ I can’t help but be impressed.
Georgia’s brown eyes flash brief shock. ‘What floor do you want?’
I catch sight of something on her slim brown little finger. A golden crest. To my shock, I realize she’s wearing Simone’s signet ring. Horror flushes through me.
How did Georgia get that ring? Simone never took it off.
I’m so distracted by this, I say the first floor that comes to mind.
‘Forty-four.’ I tell her, then curse myself.
‘That’s the dress fitting.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry. Who are you?’ Her eyes linger for just a moment too long on my shoes. College parties rush back to me. I was always the poor relation. The one who didn’t know how to dress or stand right.
I adjust my skirt. ‘I’m Holly.’ It comes out slightly squeaky.
‘Wait. Are you ajournalist?’ Georgia is fumbling with her phone. ‘ItoldAdrianna that Plaza security wasn’t good enough,’ she tells me. ‘When are you people going to leave her alone?’
‘I’m not a journalist!’
She narrows her eyes. ‘You know my sister was prescribed antidepressants for a year because of women like you? Pretending to be her friends, then selling her out?’
