The Perfect Ruin

Nothing is impenetrable. There’s always a way to break through something, especially a marriage, right? A warm breeze brushed by me as I finished off my mimosa and then picked up a strawberry. “How long have you guys been married, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just short of seventeen years.” She smiled at the reminder.

“Wow, that’s such a long time. Definitely goals.”

“Things moved fast with us at first. We’d only been together two years, but I loved him so much—still love him so much. We woke up one morning and decided we wanted to be together for the rest of our lives. Didn’t want to live without each other for a second.”

Oh, kill me now. I refrained from sucking my teeth and instead said, “That must be so nice—knowing you’ve met your soul mate.” I wanted to swallow those words. He was my soul mate.

“Truly. So, are you dating anyone?” Lola asked, then sipped her drink, her hazel eyes on me.

“No. I try to focus on working and building a future for myself for now. I just came here to start over.”

“You must have had a rough childhood,” she murmured sympathetically. “Same as I did.”

“I did,” I replied, holding back on a clipped tone.

“What exactly are you trying to start over with, if you don’t mind?”

I sat back and crossed my legs. “Well, I told you about my miscarriage at eighteen, and I also mentioned my shitty ex-boyfriend.”

Lola nodded.

“I suppose I just look at Miami as a fresh start. I know it’s not a long way from where I was raised, but it feels good to be somewhere else, around other people.”

“I bet it does.” Lola sighed. “Well, I’m so glad you moved here. I can already tell you and I are going to get along just great.”

Oh yeah. We were going to be the best of friends. Right now, I had to be gentle about how our friendship blossomed, though. I wanted her to know I was an asset, not a burden, or someone who was coming for her pockets . . . or her husband.

I knew I’d gain more of her trust with time, so for now any little favors she needed from me, I’d do.

Model for the charity? No problem, Lola!

I’d do anything to take her down.

* * *

After we talked a little more over brunch, Lola gave me a tour of her home. She showed me four guest bedrooms, all of which were designed beautifully, but none of them could top the master bedroom.

Lola and Corey’s bedroom had an ocean and pool view, and their walk-in closet was the size of my apartment. The bathroom was like something out of a magazine. A freestanding tub facing the ocean, heated marble floors, frameless shower doors, and a wide, silver rain-forest showerhead.

Her office was upstairs, across from her favorite guest room. A MacBook on a glass desk, and two glass doors at the end of the room, revealing turquoise waters and a white deck.

Envy coursed through me as she sauntered into a room she’d called her “thinking room” and pointed up at a crystal chandelier. This room was her motivation room, where she came to pace and think. It was fucking ridiculous, Marriott. She’d mentioned having the chandelier custom-made and that it had cost her several thousand dollars.

“I come in here sometimes to look at this chandelier because I remember it was one of the first things I splurged on for this place,” Lola said, staring up at it. I had to admit, it was a gorgeous chandelier. Wide, with gold throngs and dangling teardrop crystals.

Simple.

Eloquent.

Definitely a Lola Maxwell chandelier.

“I didn’t care for the pool or the kitchen,” Lola went on. “This chandelier represents all my hard work. I look at it and I remember that even when things are tough, or if I’m having a bad day, I must persevere. I work hard for what I want and what I have, and I don’t quit.”

I wanted to break the damn thing with a metal baseball bat. She didn’t deserve the chandelier or any of what she had. She lived her life like she had no secrets and told no lies. It annoyed me that she was one of the most well-paid and respected women of color in Florida. Knowing she got to attend extravagant dinners and be invited to private parties with celebrities ticked me off.

My life was a living hell and had been for years because of her, and yet she had it all—a gorgeous home, a gorgeous husband, a gorgeous car, a gorgeous fucking thinking room with a gorgeous fucking chandelier.

It wasn’t fair, but only children pouted about what was fair and what wasn’t. I was grown, and I would make things right again. Make it fair.

I continued a smile and pretended to be in awe of the chandelier that inspired Lola’s lavish life.