her, but she sidestepped me and jumped onto my bed. I gave her a withering look but couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up.
“Height advantage.” She held her arms out, and I gave her a hug, fighting chuckles the whole time. Despite being so small, she had a strong grip, and after the first-hug weirdness wore off, it was actually pretty damn comforting.
Like a champ, she didn’t hang around and make it awkward after.
“We’ll have a great Christmas, I promise. Even if it’s just the three of us,” she said as she jumped off my bed and left me alone in my room.
My phone went off, reminding me I’d need to get the screen fixed. It was another text from a person I hadn’t spoken to since leaving New York.
I’m going away during the holidays and won’t have service, so I wanted to get in touch and say merry Christmas early. And a happy New Year. I hope you make the most of it—for all the reasons we discussed. I truly wish you well, Hendrix.
I typed out and deleted my response a dozen times before giving up. She was probably leaving her home over Christmas because she couldn’t stand to be there—because of me. I’d taken so much from this woman, and here she was, wishing me well.
I didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t deserve Aunt Hannah’s kindness either.
I needed to remember why I was here, keep my head down, and stop getting sucked into Fulton Academy bullshit. And that meant avoiding Donna.
Chapter Fourteen
Donna
Clinking glassware and polite laughter punctuated the soft Christmas music playing in the background.
I resisted the urge to tug at the tight waist of my A-line red dress. I wanted to be wearing something dark, short, and plunging, and the only thing I wanted cutting into my waist was a strong arm. I took a sip of my soft drink, wishing it were vodka, or at least champagne.
“Can we bail yet?” Harlow yawned next to me. She was in a gold dress with red details, the two of us matching each other in all but attitudes—at least outwardly.
The cream of Devilbend society, and quite a few prominent San Franciscans, were mingling around our house, drinking mom’s best champagne and eating delicate hors d’oeuvres. Our annual Christmas Eve Eve party was very different from the last party held in this house—the one that celebrated Mena’s birthday, where we made a mess and people got wasted and I started falling for . . .
“Give it another half hour, Harls.” I leaned down, keeping my voice low. “Make an effort to talk to someone. It’ll make Mom and Dad happy. Then you can grab Mena and Amaya and slip out. I’ll cover for you.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, D.”
She wandered off and struck up a conversation with an up-and-coming TV starlet who had recently hired Mom’s company to remodel her entire penthouse apartment.
Mena was standing with her parents and Joseph and Vicky Frydenberg—Will’s dad and his much younger latest wife, who looked bored out of her mind. Thankfully, Will hadn’t been able to make it.
Amaya was nowhere to be seen, but her mom had the attention of several men as she told a story over by the roaring fireplace, her infectious personality and the ample cleavage on display keeping everyone enthralled. Like mother, like daughter.
I smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from my dress and got back to mingling. Several family members and close friends had come out, but there were also Mom’s and Dad’s important clients, business partners, and colleagues. Our family Christmas would be a much more relaxed, fun celebration over dinner tomorrow night, then presents on Christmas morning. This party was more a way for my parents to nurture professional relationships.
Networking made the world go round, and I wasn’t going to waste a single opportunity.
The dean of Fulton Academy was there, and I’d briefly considered raising the issue of my internship with her—along with Mr. Kirke’s less than satisfactory handling of the situation—but I just made small talk instead. You had to pick your battles, and I knew that one was lost.
I chatted with my aunt and uncle for a bit as Harlow pulled Mena away and they slipped out to find Amaya. Then I gave Amaya’s mom air-kisses and complimented her on her dress.
No one noticed my friends leave the party. I wished I could ditch too—ignore everyone, take this fucking dress off, put on my thigh-high boots and go to Davey’s, or even just steal a bottle