Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I’d tamed my hair—unlike Daisy, it did not fall delicately around my face in tight ringlets. It was frizzy, wild, chocolate waves that tumbled down my back and caused me great frustration as I tried every product on the market—within my price range—to tame it. Most of the time, I had it pulled back in a French braid. Easier for work anyway. Toddlers liked to tug on any loose strands.
But that night, I’d spent time, used a curling iron to help smooth it, rubbed product into it. I’d put on makeup—just a little mascara to frame my eyes. Unlike Daisy’s, they were not a vibrant blue, a woody hazel. My face was rounder than hers. Though I ran every day, I did not train for hours like she did. Nor did I monitor my diet. So my face was fuller, my cheekbones less defined.
It was still winter, so I’d worn a skin-tight turtleneck dress that went down to mid-calf but clung to my body like a second skin. I paired it with leather, heeled boots that were my one unreasonable, outrageous purchase. Daisy was in her usual soft pastels—a cashmere wrap cardigan, light pink slacks and delicate heels.
She was glowing. Happiness made her shine. I let myself believe that maybe this was the time. More than anything, I wished that for my forever romantic, forever hopeful sister.
Joey had picked us both up in a limo—a little much, in my opinion—had flowers for Daisy, gifts. He’d showered her with physical affection—also a little too much, in my opinion—and had been overly polite and warm to me.
I’d bristled against his peacocking but hadn’t let it show. It was my sister’s birthday; it was about her being spoiled. She hadn’t had a man make her feel special in that way. Treasured. Maybe I was just seeing red flags because I didn’t know what else to look for. That’s what I’d told myself at the time.
All of her friends were at the restaurant. Everyone from the studio, from school. Some of our mutual friends too. And a lot of people I didn’t know. Mostly men. Joey’s ‘friends.’ All of them were in suits, all of them carrying themselves in a certain … way. I couldn’t explain it. There was just something off about them. Even though they smiled, were perfectly polite, and some were quite handsome.
I’d come with the intention of keeping myself open to a man. It had been a while. I hadn’t had sex, a connection. I craved it. But immediately upon seeing these men, my desire dried up. My warning bells sounded, honed from years of witnessing Daisy pick men just like these, years of being a single woman living in New York City. A childhood of living under the thumb of a violent man.
I had initially dismissed my thought that Joey was somehow involved with the Italian mob. I knew it was irrational to make assumptions based on my love of television shows and my general overactive imagination. Throughout life, I’d been known to create intricate scenarios in my head, get lost in daydreams and just generally believe the world to be a more fantastical place than it was. I believed in magic, practiced it in my own way, read Tarot cards for fun, and always carried a crystal with me. The amethyst ring on my finger was a mainstay, one of my only physical reminders I had of my grandmother.
I got swept up in stories, so of course, after watching a highly dramatized TV show, I would deduce that slick-looking men gathered in an Italian restaurant, wearing mid-range suits and looking … off, for lack of a better word, would be members of the Italian mob.
The more likely reality was that they were all criminals of some variety, maybe wannabe mobsters. Not entirely harmless but not members of the mafia. I was pretty sure it didn’t even exist anymore. The general party line was that organized crime’s heyday had come and gone, that the world was too small for criminals to act in the ways they had before the age of smartphones and technology.
Even so, I’d steered clear of the men the entirety of the party, instead mingling with Daisy’s friends from the studio, who unfortunately mentioned they’d seen less of Daisy than usual, and that she was missing practices.
My lips had pursed, my fingers clutching the stem of my glass.
I’d have to talk to her. Not there, though. Not on her birthday. I didn’t like having to chastise her in general, to act like her mother. But I was the closest thing to a mother she’d ever had. I didn’t resent the role, but sometimes I did just want to be the fun sister, one that didn’t follow her life so closely, that didn’t try to correct her mistakes.