Cursed to the Bone

35. Journalistic Instinct

More than anything, Mom adored a reason to dress up. The following evening rolled around in a frenzy with Dad in the kitchen all day preparing dinner and Mom nagging about everything. She insisted I wear something lovely. Like I knew what that meant. I wasn't born with a sense of fashion and I wasn't taught one, either. Lovely, to me, was a pair of sweats and a sweater. Lovely to her, I was sure, meant nothing in my closet. I never understood why people made dinners stressful by trying to be fancy. Dinner was supposed to be about eating!

Unmotivated and too depressed to wait downstairs, I sat at my desk reading the paper Rhett had shoved into my letterbox. The marriage was front-page news and nothing was off-limits. They wrote about my curse and referenced an article from when I was nine. The only good thing about the article was that they hadn't dismissed me as a lowly college student. In fact, they had big expectations because I was a lowly student and somehow caught his eye. If they only knew.

Because of this, I had stacks and stacks of letters piled on the floor—and those were only the ones that got through before I submit a request to reject unapproved senders. I didn't read any of the letters. I didn't want to. I only read the mail I received from Naomi, Rhett, and Nix. Blake hadn't reached out. I considered writing her, but the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I didn't have it in me to play nice.

A knock sounded at my door. It came as a surprise that anyone in that house would knock. I waved them in as if they could see me. "Come in."

The knob twisted and the door opened. There stood Lucien Lacroix.

"Oh," I said blandly. "I didn't hear you arrive."

"Your mother caught me at the door and suggested I collect you so that you do not hide up here all evening." Lucien strode in with an amused smirk, his arms folded behind his back and his gaze unobtrusively cast to the side. "Are you ready?"

"I guess." I stood, flattening my hands against the long skirts of my old, school uniform. They were a soft, wool material and gray. I figured it would pass muster with a black turtleneck.

Lucien offered an arm. "I suggest you not open that mail."

"I won't." Too tired to make a fuss, I took his arm and we made our way down in an uncomfortable silence that had me wanting to turn tail and crawl into bed.

Mom appeared from the arch of the dining area, a grand smile lighting her face. "Ah, good. Jordan and her partner are here too, but I saved your seats. Elise couldn't make it."

"Gee. Wonder what she's doing here."

"Oh, stop," Mom said, chuckling as she vanished into the dining room.

My hand tightened on Lucien's arm. "Watch out for Jordan. She's a journalist."

"Worry not. I am adept at navigating these situations."

Despite my faith in his ability, I was anxious about having dinner with my sister. She'd done worse than throw family on the wayside for a story, and she had a knack for needling information out of people.

Inside the dining room, Jordan rose from her seat and threw her hands out, fanning the sleeves of a shiny, indigo dress that fit snug around her plump frame. She always did like the spotlight. She flashed her perfect teeth at me in a predatory smile and dusted black bangs from her eyes. "My baby sister. It's been so long."

Not long enough. We never were able to get along as children, not like Elise and me, and something told me she didn't come for a bonding experience. "This is my sister, Jordan, and her partner."

Her partner raised a hand in an awkward wave, offered a bare smile, and dropped their hands in their lap. "Spencer. They/Them, please."

I didn't know Spencer very well, but I didn't mind them. Not yet. They were on the quiet side, which was likable. We met once before, the last time I saw Jordan, and the only thing I knew about Spencer was that they had stunning, amber eyes and elegant hands. Oh, and that they worked for The Origin Review.