Page 9 of Because I Killed Him
“How?”
“Because Vivian didn’t cut you off overnight. She didn’t disappear without a goodbye or even an explanation.”
“Well, she will once she gets married,” Hillaire says. She pulls her lucky gold coin from her pocket and clutches it as if grounding herself. The features of her left hand are deceptively lifelike, despite being a robotic replacement for the one she lost in an accident two years ago. “Besides, it’s not just about Vivian abandoning me,” she continues. “Harrison isn’t right for her. He’s not a leader, and she shouldn’t follow him. You should find out if he has a mistress at Grandmaster before Vivian marries him.”
I turn sharply, the wine bottle clanging against the railing. The look in Hillaire’s eyes is confident yet mechanical, almost like a Pinkie, and it sends a ripple of discomfort through me. “What the hell, Hilly? Why would you even say that?”
“Because I look at what’s there, not what I want to see. You should warn Vivian about Harrison. She listens to you.”
“I’m not warning Vivian about anything.” I step closer in challenge. “I like Harry. I always have. If you really hate him so much, you should tell her yourself.”
“You’re right.” Hillaire nods and pockets the coin. “I’ll tell her now.”
“Wait.” I grip her arm. “Tonight’s my last dinner at home, and I don’t want to spend it refereeing a shit-flinging match between you and—”
“Too late for that,” Vivian says darkly.
She’s standing between the open terrace doors, holding a cigarette in a pearl-studded holder. In the dim light, it’s hard to tell her apart from Mom. They share the same high cheekbones, bee-stung lips, and curly black hair that’s both wild and soft all at once. The main difference is their breasts. Mom’s are small, while Vivian’s are so large that all her clothes need to be specially tailored.
“Were you lying this whole time, then?” Vivian asks Hillaire, her hurt showing in the soft lines of her face. “When Harry and I started dating last year, you told me you liked him.”
“I barely knew him.”
“Oh, and now you think you know him better than I do?”
Hillaire shakes her head, as if there’s no point in trying to convince her. “Date him for a few more years. Then you’ll see what I see.”
“And what’s that?”
“Harrison is a coward.” Hillaire stands with an air of authority, despite being a head shorter than Vivian. “If you marry him, you’ll regret it. But by then, it won’t be easy to leave. And because you don’t listen to anyone but yourself, it’ll be no one’s fault but your—”
“Oh, shut up already, Hillaire.” Vivian clenches her cigarette holder as if she might snap it in half. “You want to know the real reason I don’t like spending time with you anymore? Because you’re self-righteous and condescending, and even though I always supported you, youneversupported me.” She walks toward us, the hem of her satin evening gown catching on the heel of her T-strap shoes. “I’ve done my best to put up with your shit over the past year, but now I’m done. After I get married, I don’t want to see you anymore. And I don’t want you at my wedding, either.”
Hillaire lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “I’ll just go to the next one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your marriage to Harrison won’t last, so there’s bound to be others.”
Vivian lets out a bitter laugh, then seizes a handful of Hillaire’s hair. “You bitch.”
Hillaire straightens, tight as a bolt, and warns, “Let me go.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make you.”
Vivian clicks her tongue. “Go ahead and tr—”
Hillaire spins, her leg whipping up, and kicks her. Vivian jolts backward, her T-strap heel snapping under the force before slamming straight into me. The air rushes out of my lungs. I reach for something solid, but my hands pass through empty air as the patio lurches toward me. Then I hit the stone, taking the full impact of the fall, while Vivian lands heavily on top of me.
“Loredana!” Hillaire rushes to my side. “Are you hurt?”
“Get off me, Viv,” I groan.
I roll out from under her and sit up, a sharp sting flaring in my right hand. Within seconds, it spreads like fire. When I look, I see the skin has been scraped clean off my palm. Bright green blood wells from the wound, darkening where it mixes with dirt and leaves.
Vivian winces, as if she feels the pain herself. “I’m sorry, Lore. I didn’t mean—”
