Ramsay(5)

"Ginny," I muttered, taking a long drink of champagne. "You look perfect as always."

My stepmother ran a hand over her sleek, blonde updo, not a single hair  out of place. "Why, thank you. And you look," her eyes ran over me,  assessing my outfit, a nude maxi dress with a floral design, "lovely." I  resisted scowling and instead took another sip of my champagne. No one  had the ability to make the word "lovely" sound critical quite like my  stepmother. Ex-stepmother actually. She had recently remarried. "Is that  from last season?" she couldn't resist adding on.

Of course it was from last season. Ginny was well aware of Stuart's and  my financial situation. Did she think I was still splurging on expensive  designer clothes? Naturally. Because it's what she herself would have  been doing in my situation.

"Oh hello, Jane!" Ginny called, looking behind me. Always looking behind  me to see if someone better, more interesting, more popular, more able  to serve her needs, might be around. But I was happy her focus had moved  away from me, even momentarily. "I'll be right over," she called, a  large smile on her face. "We need to discuss the Bough Center charity  banquet."

Looking back to me, her smile wilted. "I hate that bitch." Her eyes  narrowed in on me again. "You really should try to mingle, Lydia. There  are quite a few eligible men here. You're not getting any younger.  Strike while the iron's hot and all that. When was the last time you  went on a date?" Her eyes homed in on my face, making a disapproving  clicking sound and then bringing her own hand to her eyes as if  smoothing wrinkles away she'd seen on me. As if they might be  contagious. Classic move to make me feel self-conscious without saying a  word. Although I couldn't deny Ginny's skin was perfect, even though  she was ten years older than me. In the past, I would have beelined for a  mirror to find out what fault she had evidently spied in my complexion,  in my outfit, in my overall being. But now, it only made me want to  shake my head in exasperation of her shallow put-downs. Perhaps it came  from having bigger fish to fry than the size of my pores.

"Carter Hanes is right over there by the bar," she went on, pointing out  a tall, thin man with light hair. I already knew Carter Hanes. In fact,  I'd gone out on a date with him the year before, and he'd licked my  face when he kissed me. I shuddered at the memory. My stepmother was  prattling on. "He's not the most handsome man, but you and he would make  a good pair. His father is worth billions and he's unwell. Near death  I've heard." There was a note of glee in her voice, as if she'd just  shared a piece of good news. Had she thought about my father in such  terms once upon a time? Near death? Her face screwed into a frown.  "Well, Mindy Buchanan is swooping in on him, and now you've missed your  chance."

She clicked again, looking around to see who might be listening  in-apparently Daisy didn't count-before she leaned toward me. "When your  father died, and we found out about all his debt, you didn't see me  sitting around waiting to be rescued, did you? No, I went out there and  found Harold, married him, and solved my own problems. You need to stop  being a martyr and take the initiative like I did. I'll be back after  I've chatted with Jane. Don't move." With that she dismissed me,  sashaying off toward Jane, leaving me to ponder how exactly marrying a  man for his money was solving your own problems. I shook my head. There  was no point in trying to analyze Ginny's flawed, selfish logic.

Daisy put her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Wow. She's . . . something, isn't she?"

I rolled my eyes. "I can't even believe I came to this," I muttered,  draining my glass. As a staff member walked by with a tray of champagne,  I switched out my empty flute for a full one, smiling a thank you.

"Of course you did," Daisy said. "It's the social event of the season."  She winked at me. I smiled half-heartedly, barely able to remember a  time when any of this was important to me, when I'd tried to please my  stepmother-a never-ending impossible task. Since I was having financial  issues, she thought she would help me find a rich husband-in her mind  the perfect solution. God. To her credit, she wasn't gossiping about  Stuart and me. These people would all turn their backs on us in a  heartbeat if they found out the extent of our money problems.                       
       
           



       

"I feel like I might die of boredom," I said. "But even worse, Ginny  will be back. I have to hide." God, I was a twenty-three-year-old woman  with a job and my own home and I was still hiding from my stepmother at  parties. Ex-stepmother. Even worse. "And get drunk while I'm at it."

Daisy laughed. "I'll come with you." We grabbed a couple more drinks and  started making our way across the lawn to an outdoor balcony  overlooking the party below. As we began to climb the steps there was a  group of women descending. I resisted the urge to groan, instead taking a  large sip of the champagne I was double fisting.

"Why, Lydia De Havilland, I haven't seen you in forever!" Lindsey  Sanders stopped in front of me, looking me up and down in that bitchy,  assessing way she'd always had. "Hello, Daisy," she said, shooting her a  thin-lipped smile before focusing her attention back on me. I sighed  internally. I wasn't in the mood for Ginny, and I was even less in the  mood for these women. My old high school friends. It could be argued  that Daisy was shallow sometimes, but these women took it to a whole new  level. It might have been somewhat acceptable when we were fifteen, but  not now. I'd grown sick and tired of the constant competition, the  utter phoniness, and we'd had a big falling out at the senior prom when  Lindsey had accused me of trying to steal her date. I'd had zero  interest in her date. As a matter of fact, I'd had zero interest in my  date. I'd been struggling with more complex issues than they'd been  capable of understanding, and they had nothing at all to do with  stealing the muscled college guy Lindsey had brought to a stupid dance.  I'd stopped hanging around all of them after that and they still hated  me for it-assumed I thought I was too good for them, I supposed. The  truth was, I simply didn't have the stomach for it anymore. I'd grown  out of all the trivial nonsense, but they never had.

"You look nice," Lindsey went on. "Not every bottom-heavy girl would  have the confidence to wear a floral print. You always did take fashion  risks though. We all admired you so much for it." The phoniness dripped  from her voice. I held back the laugh that wanted to escape my throat. I  knew I wasn't bottom heavy and so did she. Once upon a time, that  comment would have had me on an immediate starvation diet. How sad that I  had cared so much what these petty girls thought of me. "So what have  you been up to?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink and looking around  as if she couldn't care less.

I plastered on my own phony smile. "Oh, you know, not too much-"

"Lydia's too modest to say that she's insanely busy running a  multi-million-dollar company, Lindsey." Lindsey raised one perfectly  sculpted eyebrow before Daisy went on. "What have you been up to? I'm  sure it's thrilling, and we must hear about it sometime. But not now.  Right now we're needed upstairs. Nice to see you!" And with that, Daisy  grabbed my arm, and I was forced to stumble behind her, letting out a  small laugh before stifling it in a cough. I grinned back at Lindsey and  her group of followers who were all glaring after us. I'd been the  leader of that group once upon a time . . .

While I was still looking back, before we were far enough away not to  overhear, Lindsey turned to Daphne Hanover and said, "She still acts  like she's lady of the manor even though, if the rumors are true, she  barely has a pot to piss in." And then the sound of their laughter rang  out, piercing me in the gut. Maybe Ginny wasn't being as discreet as I'd  hoped.

"Ignore them," Daisy said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into her as we  walked. "You were better than them then, and you're better than them  now. They very well know it and it kills them."

Daisy and I climbed to the balcony and sat down at a stone table with an  umbrella over it. Looking over the rail, I watched as Lindsey's group  joined a small crowd gathered around a tall, dark-haired man. A brunette  in a pale pink dress was standing at his side. Something about the man  caught my attention, the way he held himself slightly away from those  around him, even as people tried to lean in to talk to him. There was  something . . . familiar. The only person I'd ever known with those  mannerisms was Brogan Ramsay. I took a quick inhale of air, my heart  lurching at the thought. But . . . no. This man was too tall, too broad,  and the way he held himself was too self-assured to be Brogan. And  there was no way he could be here. It was just . . . just because I'd  been thinking of him earlier. Shut up, Lydia. Yes, that was it.