Page 53 of Her Dark Lies
“June. Naturally. I need a favor.”
“Oh, no. No way.”
“You’re the world’s most famous Instagram photographer. Your work has appeared on the cover of every travel magazine known to mankind. You are practically a household name, a revered online icon.”
“Claire. Reciting my CV won’t change my mind. I am hardly the world’s most famous anything. I only have a million followers.”
“You’re the best photographer I know.”
“Flattery... Is the dad going to be there?”
A pause.
“Brice? Of course. His son is getting married.”
“I wonder...”
“I’m not asking for you to document the whole thing, Jack’s family will hire a photographer and videographer. But a few shots of us, done with your eye, in your style? I would really appreciate it. I’ll pay you.”
“Get me a gig with Brice Compton, and I’ll do it. And you’re not paying me. I’m your sister.”
“I don’t know, Harper. Brice is notoriously private. He may not want to be photographed, even by you.”
“Not a session. An interview. You know I’m branching out, writing freelance for some of the magazines. And you’re about to be his daughter-in-law. At the very least, ask. It would be good for both of us.”
Claire, shockingly,hadasked. Brice, shockingly, had agreed. So not only was Harper going to take a few pictures of the wedding of the decade, she had landed an interview with one of the richest men in the world. She’d pitched the story toFlair,and they said yes. Goodbye Instagram, hello real journalism.
The hydrofoil ferry leaps through the waves, bringing Isle Isola closer and closer. Rain drums on the roof and decks, splashing water onto her arms. Harper has her phone up, doing an Instagram Live of the channel crossing to the island.
“It’s raining pretty hard now, so I’m going to sign off. And just so you know, I’ll have to be offline for a few days, friends, because there’s a—” she turns the camera back on herself “—media blackout. I’ll try to sneak a few photos into the feed for you, though. Have a lovely weekend, and remember, always shoot for the stars. This is Harper Hunter, signing off.”
She waves and grins at the camera, then stops the video.
Her mother sits in one of the hard plastic seats nearby, clutching her purse to her chest. She’s looking green, and Harper thinks the rocking ferry has nothing to do with it. Trisha seemed very loose this morning, and smelled minty fresh, so minty and so loose Harper wonders if perhaps Trisha got into the minibar last night. She has no idea when her mom started drinking again. Harper has adopted a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. They’ve been in Italy for a week, sightseeing, wandering ruins, shopping, and of course, eating tons, and so far it’s just been a glass of wine or two at dinner, but who knows what’s happening when Trisha and Brian are behind closed doors. This isn’t good, Trisha has a long history of problems with alcohol, but if they can just get through the weekend, Harper will have a talk with her as they head home. Get her back into rehab, or at least going to meetings again. That’s where she met Brian in the first place. Harper hasn’t seen him drinking at all, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes when Trisha ordered that first bottle at dinner.
Trisha looks up as if she can hear Harper thinking about her. “Question?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Do you ever find yourself feeling exposed, doing all that communicating with strangers?”
Here we go.
“They aren’t strangers, they’re my fans. I know many of them personally, and others through years of chatting. I don’t feel exposed at all. It’s fun. I like it.”
She likes it so much all she wants to do is close the account, but she can’t do that because when you’ve spent ten years building a following that’s now in the seven figures, and people pay seriously good money for you to wear their clothes and use their bags and send you on trips with other “influencers,” you’d be crazy to want out.
Plus, things have kicked into high gear since Claire and Jack got engaged. Once her fandom realized Claire Hunter was Harper’s sister? Her numbers have gone off the charts.
She supposes she should really thank Claire instead of being upset with her. But Harper is perpetually upset with her big sister. Claire, the whirling dervish of chaos that had permeated their teen years. Claire, with her drugs and alcohol and tattoos and suspensions, sneaking out at night, making Harper cover for her. Claire, whose self-destruction killed their father. Claire, Claire, Claire.
Embarrassing, infuriating, a murderer. It was not fun being Claire Hunter’s little sister in the small enclave of Harpeth Hall. No, Harper wasn’t Claire’s biggest fan.
Harper’s therapist raised a point a few years earlier—Claire had broken her back in the accident and needed rods inserted, and maybe her pain was punishment enough. Harper stewed on that for exactly one minute and had shaken her head. No. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and there was no way to balance the scales. Claire had taken their father away. The accident that hurt her, took their father’s life.
Losing their dad created a gulf between them so wide and deep that they were out of touch for years.
Lately, though, Claire has been trying to make things better between them. Getting engaged to Jack Compton only increased these overtures. The new Claire buys small presents, sends flowers, little notes. She is generous and understanding, complimentary and contemplative. She likes every post and shares them widely. She pretends things are fine between them, that she didn’t cause the worst years of her sister’s life.
