Chapter 13

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Stepping into the foyer of Sophie’s house was like being transported to a different world, or at least a modernized Palace of Versailles. Transfixed, I stared up at the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling of the entrance hall as Sophie locked the front door behind us. The ornate lamp looked as if it had been made out of thousands of crystallized water droplets, each one reflecting a rainbow onto the stark white walls as sunlight filtered in and glinted off the glass.

 I looked down at the intricately detailed Persian rug that I was standing on and immediately felt self-conscious, checking the soles of my shoes to make sure that I wasn’t tracking in anything too disgusting before following Sophie down the marble-floored corridors. As we walked, I couldn’t help but think that the interior of Sophie’s mansion didn’t really suit her. The walls, carpets, and even the furniture were all various shades of white, with hues of blue and silver chrome punctuating the otherwise monotonous decor. For some reason, I’d pictured her living in a place bursting with color, or at least somewhere that didn’t look like it could double as a hospital psych ward.

“Your house is really nice,” I finally said, breaking the stale silence between us.

“Thanks,” Sophie muttered, her running shoes squeaking against the tile with each step that she took. “My dad had it designed with the money I made from my third movie. If he ever decides to start talking to me again, I’ll be sure to pass on the compliment.”

“You don’t live with your parents?” I asked and Sophie shook her head, her ponytail whipping back and forth.

“I’ve lived alone since I was sixteen,” she replied tersely. “I emancipated myself after my parents got divorced so I could spare myself the drama of a custody battle.”

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically and Sophie shrugged.

“It’s not like they’re dead, Parker,” she said with a forced smile. “I could call them if I wanted to but we never really worked as a family, so what’s the point? My mom and dad had huge... creative differences when it came to what they wanted for me in life. Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded to show that I understood, but I didn’t. Not really, anyway. I may have moved as far away as I could to go to college, but I still called home three times a week to check in with my parents. Even if they had pushed me towards majoring in engineering, they’d only done it because they wanted what’s best for me. I didn’t blame them for that and I certainly couldn’t imagine waking up one day and deciding not to talk to them anymore.

“Can you please not look at me like I’m a pity case? To be honest, life as a pseudo-orphan has had some perks.”

“Such as?”

“Right after the split, I couldn’t live here—too stressful—so I opted for a four-month stay in a penthouse at the Hotel Marmont,” Sophie said with a faint look of nostalgic longing on her face. “Room service around the clock and an on-site masseuse. It’s currently tied with rehab as the best vacation that I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t even want to know how much that cost,” I said under my breath and Sophie chuckled.

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t.”

With that, she stepped through an open doorway that led to the kitchen of my mother’s dreams. Highly polished stainless steel appliances stood in nearly every corner, though none of them looked as if they’d been used recently, if ever. Sophie gestured for me to have a seat at the counter island in the center of the room before heading to a built-in refrigerator.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked, balancing on one foot and drawing the other to her knee as she opened the fridge’s door, letting a gust of cool air escape and settle over the room. “I have water, freshly pressed kale juice, guava kombucha, and diet tonic water--your choice.”

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