Page 17 of Stay Toxic

Three years, five months. That’s when I turn twenty-five. That’s when I inherit my trust, according to the terms of my great-grandfather’s will.

And then, I’m free.

There’s only one hiccup: I have to avoid being married off before then, because if I do marry? That money will belong to my dear husband, not me.

My mother’s fully aware of the deadline, and we’re both fighting for the finish line, in different ways. She’s done her best to “change,” to show me that the life she planned for me isn’t so bad, the last few years. And I played the part of the content, happy daughter for all it’s worth. But we both know things are going to get really ugly closer to the time.

She’s a Cole by marriage. Dad willed her some properties, a few businesses, whatever he could cut from my inheritance. I’m the one getting seven fat billions, currently accruing sinful amounts of interest.

And I’ll make sure she doesn’t get a single cent if it’s the last thing I do.

Which it might be.

8

“What am I supposed to wear for this thing? Something fancy?” Ari asks me when I get back into the room at five.

Half the content of her wardrobe is on her bed, and she pouts at the many colorful, flirty tops and skirts, visibly frustrated.

“I asked Bass, he told me he has no clue, but you’d likely know.Men,” she scoffs. “All they have time do is to put a suit on for all situations. So unfair.”

I nod in agreement. “Right? And well, it depends on the theater. I’ve gone to the ballet in jeans a time or two, for morning shows at casual places, but from what I know of Thorns Falls, the dress code is about the same as the opera.”

“So, super-fancy, huh?” She sighs. “I’m not sure I’ll have the right stuff in the dorm. Might have to pop by the house.”

“I could have something you can wear,” I offer.

It’s getting a little late, if we want to eat first. I don’t want to add a trip if we can avoid it.

“No offense, but nothing that fitsthoseboobs will look good on my flat chest.” She eyes my chest pointedly.

I didn’t realize she noticed the boobs; I don’t tend to flaunt them. I wear blouses buttoned up to the throat most of the time. I cross my arms, noticing in the full-length mirror across the room that only serves to make them look bigger.Never mind that.

“I was thinking I could lend you a full skirt,” I say, walking to my own wardrobe. Her skirts are lovely, but all tend to be on the short side, and wouldn’t be event appropriate. “You can pair it with a nice top.”

Ari and I have very different body types, boobs aside. She’s short, I’m tall, she’s athletic, I’ve always been on the curvier side, but for all that, a skirt with an elastic waistband should work on her. Maybe it’d reach her shins rather than her knees, but it’s a good look.

I pull one of the new pieces I haven’t had the chance to wear yet.

“Holy fuck, ma’am, is that aChanel?”

“Not sure?” One glance at the label, and I nod. “Apparently so. My mother shops for me,” I add, as some sort of an explanation, because honestly, it’s ridiculous to have a Chanel in your college wardrobe at twenty-two years old. I’d much rather own Levi’s and Forever Twenty-One. I think. I’ve never actually been to Forever Twenty-One, but it sounds like the sort of brand I should wear.

But then I realize it’s not much of an explanation. What girl my age lets their parents pick their clothes?

“Not fond of shopping, huh?” Ari asks, not making it weird.

I fucking love it,I don’t say, because then I’d have to explain why I don’t do it myself. I’d have to tell her my mother is combing through all my bank transactions, and would call to demand to see my purchases. That if there’s so much as fifty bucks being withdrawn in cash, or spent somewhere that’s not pre-approved or justified, I’d likely have my card cancelled for days, until I’ve groveled to her satisfaction.

“Wait, those pumps areadorable,” Ari says when she spots salmon shoes that would look pretty great with the green skirt I handed her. “Can I borrow them, too? What size are you?”

“Of course. And I’m an eight.”

“That sucks,” she pouts. Ari, it turns out, is a five, which is the most adorable thing ever.I stare at her tiny feet in wonder. “Why do you have to be a giant? No Jimmy Choos for me.”

“But you’re so small andcute!” I gush.

No wonder she’s so popular. It’s impossible to meet her without loving the shit out of her.