Love the One You Hate

“He called earlier in the week, asking about your dress color,” Cornelia reveals with an admiring tone. “He did a good job matching it.”

I smile. “You didn’t mention anything.”

“I know how to keep a secret, thank you.”

“Yes, well, I wish you had said something. I sort of forgot about the gala.”

“How?”

Oh…just…been busy dreaming about your grandson.

“Must have just slipped my mind,” I say instead.

I wonder if I had remembered, if I would have called to cancel my plans with Barrett. I’m not sure. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and there’s no harm in attending the gala with him, really. He’s just giving me a ride. And flowers, my conscience reminds me.

“Let’s have Chef keep this cold so the petals don’t wilt,” Cornelia says, picking up the small box that holds the corsage nestled in tissue paper.

I turn to follow after her just as the doorbell rings behind us. Normally, someone else would reach it first—usually Collins—but we’re already in the foyer. Cornelia nods toward the door and I walk over to open it, blinking slowly as my old friend comes into view for the first time in years.

“Ariana.”

My voice isn’t excited so much as shocked.

“Maren?”

Her confusion—accompanied with a slow once-over of my outfit—instantly churns my stomach. There’s no doubt I look very different than the last time she saw me, but it’s a good different. At least it is to me.

“You’re all grown up,” she says, and I can tell she’s settling on those words instead of something else. I wish she’d just say what she really means.

“So are you,” I say, stretching a tight smile across my face.

It’s true. The Ariana I remember in my head isn’t standing on Rosethorn’s doorstep. Her bottle-blonde hair is brighter than she used to keep it, trimmed short so it barely reaches the base of her chin. Her brown eyes look heavy and tired, but maybe it’s just the dark makeup she’s wearing. Her low-cut jeans and lacy tank top leave a few inches of her midriff exposed, and I’m disappointed to see that she’s thinner than she used to be.

I have an overwhelming urge to reach out and hug her, to ask her how she’s been and where she’s been, but I don’t get the sense that she’d welcome my touch. Her brows are furrowed as she glances behind me, into Rosethorn’s foyer. I’m sure she’s shocked by the splendor of the house, the same way I was the first time I saw it.

“Maren?” Cornelia says gently. “Invite your guest inside. It’s rude to keep her on the doorstep like that.”

I blanche and step back, opening the door wider so Ariana can walk past me.

She hesitates for a moment, then comes in. She stops a few feet in and looks up at the ceiling that extends up to the second story. It’s meant to be an impressive room, but I find I’m slightly embarrassed by it when Ariana laughs quietly under her breath.

“Should I take my shoes off?”

I look to Cornelia, who smiles and shakes her head. “No need. Now, tell me, what’s your name, dear?”

“Ariana Barnes.”

“I’m Cornelia Cromwell.” She comes forward and extends her hand, which Ariana takes awkwardly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you a friend of Maren’s? I recognize you from the other day, when you came by asking for her.”

“Yeah, well…in another life, I guess, we were friends.” She gives me another shy once-over.

I frown. “We still are. We just haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Why don’t we all go into the drawing room?” Cornelia suggests, smoothing over the awkwardness with her genteel hospitality. “I’d love to get to know you better, Ariana, unless…” She pauses and looks between us. “Do you have something private to discuss with Maren?”

Ariana glances over at me like I’m a perfect stranger and then shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. We can all talk.”

I feel wary falling in step beside Ariana behind Cornelia.

“I’ll meet you two in there. I need to drop this off with Chef,” Cornelia says, holding up the corsage. “And I’ll ask for refreshments. Ariana, we just had a late breakfast not too long ago, but are you hungry, dear? I can have Chef make you something.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” she says, somewhat gruffly.

Cornelia doesn’t notice Ariana’s tone, and when she turns toward the kitchen, I’m left to lead Ariana toward the blue drawing room.

The moment we’re alone, she turns toward me. “What the hell is this place? A castle? A museum?”

“It’s a private residence.”

She snorts. “Listen to yourself. Private residence—who talks like that?”

I bristle at her tone. “You don’t need to be rude. Cornelia is extremely kind. You’ll like her if you give her a chance.”

She nods, strolling around the room, touching things that don’t belong to her.

“Sounds like you have a nice setup for yourself here. I always forgot what a suck-up you were, always had your nose so far up Nancy and Bob’s ass I’m surprised you didn’t walk around smelling like shit.”