I asked Alisa about the will. I half expected her to look at me like I'd lost my
marbles, but the second I said the word red, her expression shifted. She informed
me that a viewing of the Red Will could be arranged, but first I had to do
something for her.
That something ended up involving a brother-sister stylist team carting what appeared to be the entire inventory of Saks Fifth Avenue into my bedroom. The female stylist was tiny and said next to nothing.
The man was six foot six and kept up a steady stream of observations. "You
can't wear yellow, and I would encourage you to banish the words orange and cream
from your vocabulary, but most every other colour is an option."
The three of us were in my room now, along with Libby, thirteen racks of clothing, dozens
of trays of jewellery, and what appeared to be an entire salon set up in the bathroom.
"Brights, pastels, earth tones in moderation. You gravitate toward
solids?"
I looked down at my current outfit: a grey T-shirt and my second-most-
comfortable pair of jeans. "I like simple."
"Simple is a lie," the woman murmured. "But a beautiful one sometimes."
Beside me, Libby snorted and bit back a grin. I glared at her. "You're
enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked darkly. Then I took in the outfit she was
wearing. The dress was black, which was Libby enough, but the style would
have fit right in at a country club.
I'd told Alisa not to pressure her. "You don't have to change how you—" I started to say, but Libby cut me off.
"They bribed me. With boots." She gestured toward the back wall, which was
lined with boots, all of them leather, in shades of purple, black, and blue. Ankle-
length, calf-length, even one pair of thigh-highs.
"Also," Libby added serenely, "creepy lockets." If a piece of jewellery looked
like it might be haunted, Libby was there.
"You let them make you over in exchange for fifteen pairs of boots and some
creepy lockets?" I said, feeling mildly betrayed.
"And some incredibly soft leather pants," Libby added. "Totally worth it. I'm
still me, just... fancy." Her hair was still blue. Her nail polish was still black.
And she wasn't the one the style team was focused on now.
"We should start with the hair," the male stylist declared beside me, eyeing
my offending tresses. "Don't you think?" he asked his sister.
There was no reply as the woman disappeared behind one of the racks. I
could hear her thumbing through another, rearranging the order of the clothing.
"Thick. Not quite wavy, not quite straight. You could go either way."
This giant man looked and sounded like he should be playing tight end, not advising
me on hairstyles. "No shorter than two inches below your chin, no longer than
mid-back. Gentle layers wouldn't hurt." He glanced over at Libby. "I suggest
you disown her if she opts for bangs."
"I'll take that under consideration," Libby said solemnly. "You'd be
miserable if it wasn't long enough for a ponytail," she told me.
"Ponytail." That got me a censuring look from the linebacker. "Do you hate
your hair and want it to suffer?"
"I don't hate it." I shrugged. "I just don't care."
"That is also a lie." The woman reappeared from behind the clothing rack.
She had a half dozen hangers' worth of clothes in her hands, and as I watched,
she hung them up, face out, on the closest rack. The result was three different
outfits.
"Classic." She nodded to an ice-blue skirt, paired with a long-sleeved T-shirt.
"Natural." The stylist moved on to the second option—a loose and flowing floral
dress combining at least a dozen shades of red and pink. "Preppy with an edge."
The final option included a brown leather skirt, shorter than any of the others—
and probably tighter, too. She'd matched it with a white collared shirt and a
heather-gray cardigan.
"Which calls to you?" the male stylist asked. That got another snort out of
Libby. She was definitely enjoying this way too much.
"They're all fine." I eyed the floral dress. "That one looks like it might be
itchy."
The stylists seemed to be developing a migraine. "Casual options?" he asked
his sister, pained. She disappeared and reappeared with three more outfits, which
she added to the first three. Black leggings, a red blouse, and a knee-length white
cardigan were paired with the classic combo. A lacy sea-green shirt and darker
green pants joined the floral monstrosity, and an oversized cashmere sweater and
torn jeans were hung beside the leather skirt.
"Classic. Natural. Preppy with an edge." The woman reiterated my options.
"I have philosophical objections to coloured pants," I said. "So that one's out."
"Don't just look at the clothes," the man instructed. "Take in the look."
Rolling my eyes at someone twice my size probably wasn't the wisest course
of action.
The female stylist crossed to me. She walked lightly on her feet, like she
could tiptoe across a bed of flowers without breaking a single one. "The way you
dress, the way you do your hair—it's not silly. It's not shallow. This..." She
gestured to the rack behind her. "It's not just clothing. It's a message. You're not
deciding what to wear. You're deciding what story you want your image to tell.
Are you the ingenue, young and sweet? Do you dress to this world of wealth and
wonders like you were born to it, or do you want to walk the line: the same but
different, young but full of steel?"
"Why do I have to tell a story?" I asked.
"Because if you don't tell the story, someone else will tell it for you."
I turned to see Xander and Trinity Hawthorne standing in the doorway, holding plates of
scones.
"Makeovers," Xander told me, "like the recreational building of Rube
Goldberg machines are hungry for work."
I wanted to narrow my eyes, but Xander and his scones were glare-proof.
"What do you know about makeovers?" I grumbled. "If I were a guy, there'd
be two racks of clothing in this room, max."
"And if I were White," Xander returned loftily, "people wouldn't look at me
like I'm half a Hawthorne. Scone?"
"If I were a guy, people wouldn't look at me like I'm half a Hawthorne."
That took the wind out of my sails. It was ridiculous of me to think that
The Hawthorne Siblings didn't know what it was like to be judged, or to have to play life by
different rules. I wondered, suddenly, what it was like for them, growing up in
this house. Growing up Hawthorne.
"Oh god," gasped Trinity, catching sight of the outfits, "Do me a favour and never wear green pants. Ever."
"Can I have one of the blueberry scones?" I asked—my version of a peace
offering.
Xander handed me a lemon scone. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
While the stylists buzzed around me, I conducted a quick Google search for "Trinity Hawthorne"
Trinity Kallistrate Hawthorne
American brand ambassador and media personality
Trinity Kallistrate Hawthorne is an American brand ambassador, media personality, entrepreneur, and Martial arts champion. The fourth grandchild of the late Tobias Hawthorne and Alice O'Day Hawthorne, Trinity rose to fame at the tender age of six for collaborating with world renowned harpist Catrin Finch. She went on to be internationally recognized and win many awards. In addition she has won multiple world championships in fencing and various martial arts. Currently, she is a brand ambassador for Verseace, as well as a budding entrepreneur, and rising star in the stock trading world. Her net worth is currently around 1.5 billion USD...
I almost spit out my scone. No wonder Libby had come back with embellished boots that looked to cost more than my old school, house and life combined and multiplied.
"Avery!" Trinity exclaimed, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Whazamater?"
"Have you decided on a look yet? Natural is out of the question, obviously."
"Which leaves classic and preppy with an edge." I stated matter-of-factly.
With only a moderate amount of teeth-gnashing, I ended up picking option three. I hated the word preppy almost as much as I disliked any claims to having an edge, but at the end of the day, I couldn't pretend to be wide-eyed and innocent, and I deeply suspected that any attempts to act like this world was a natural fit would itch—not physically, but under my skin.
The team kept my hair long but worked in layers and cajoled it into a bed-head wave. I'd expected them to suggest highlights, but they'd gone the opposite
route: subtle streaks a shade darker and richer than my normal ashy brown. They cleaned my eyebrows up but left them thick. I was instructed on the finer points
of an elaborate facial regimen and found myself on the receiving end of a spray tan via airbrush, but they kept my makeup minimal: eyes and lips, nothing more.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I could almost believe that the girl staring back
belonged in this house.
"What do you think?" I asked, turning to Libby.
She was standing near the window, backlit. Her hand was clutching her
phone, her eyes glued to the screen.
"Lib?"
She looked up and gave me a deer-in-headlights look that I recognized all too well.
Drake.
He was texting her. Was she texting back?
"You look great!" Libby sounded sincere, because she was sincere. Always.
Sincere and earnest and way, way too optimistic.
He hit her, I told myself.
He sold us out. She won't take him back.
"You definitely look... more sophisticated." Trinity worded cautiously. I can see she's trying to not offend me.
"You look fantastic," Xander declared grandly. "You also don't look like someone who might have seduced an old man out of billions, so that's good."
"Really, Alexander?" Zara announced her presence with next to no fanfare. "No one believes that Avery seduced your grandfather."
Her story—her image—was somewhere between oozing class and no-nonsense.
But I'd seen her press conference. I knew that while she might care about her father's reputation, she didn't have any particular attachment to mine.
The worse I looked, the better for her.
Unless the game has changed.
"Avery." Zara gave me a smile as cool as the winter colours she wore. "Might I have a word?"
Trinity pov
As soon as Avery left the room I turned to Xan. "What do you think of all this?"
"Ow wha?" Xander muffled through a scone.
"This." I repeat waving my arms around the room, at the abundance of clothing racks, makeup cases and jewellery boxes, "Avery inheriting everything. Jamie and Gray wanting to kill each other. The press." I said the last word like I had eaten something bitter.
"I think that the old man did what he thought was right and what he thought was right must have been right."
I tried to process that tongue twister. He did. All of you will see, he did. "I feel like it's all happening so fast. Like our world is spinning. Up, down all around."
Xander squinted at me, like I'd said something funny. "It will all settle down with time." he says, in a very un-Xander tone.
"If only it were that easy. To put the world back to how it's meant to be."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned, "Do you know something I don't?"
Only everything. I look at him, my eyes boring into him. "Nothing, I only know what everyone knows." I try and remark in a light tone.
"Are you sure?" His eyes, usually playful and light, seemed to be darker and calculating-like Jameson's solomon gaze.
"Yes, of course I'm sure", I blink twice, "Do you not trust me?"
"Well..." his eyes light up again, "Maybe we need to have a karaoke battle so I can ascertain if you are the real Trinity Kallistrate Hawthorne."
Seriously? That's what he had been cross examining me for? "Really? Karaoke? That's how you plan to discern is I actually know anything about anything even though I don't?" That last part was a lie.
"I need to make sure you have not been taken over by extraterrestrial creatures."
I sigh of course he did.
"Tonight, in your room because it has a better sound system. However, in the meantime I will ask you questions that only the true Trinity would know the answers to."
I rolled my eyes. Visibly. "Fire away." I deadpan.
"Is pineapple on pizza a good thing?" he asks.
"Atrocious beyond measure!" I exclaimed in mock horror.
"How specific," He paused to dramatically raise an eyebrow, "am I about my Starbucks order?"
"Veryyyyy," I stretch the word out for emphasis, "And you get a venti Java Chip Frappuccino with double frappuccino chips, almond milk, 25% less ice, and caramel sauce on top of the mocha drizzle. You also get a cake pop because you say their scones should not be classified as actual scones."
"Impressive," he notes, nodding in a dignified manner, "But what flavour is the cake pop?"
"Chocolate." I smile, the innocent grin slowly morphing into a mischievous smirk, "And you never try new flavours!"
"Correct to the first part, and for your information I have trust issues after the Valentine's Day one!"
"It wasn't that bad." I laugh.
"It was bad enough for me to refine myself to trusty chocolate." He pouts. "We are getting off topic." he mumbles, trying to sound sad but I know he's not.
"Really? You started it!" I defend myself.
He plows on, ignoring me, "While we are going on about Starbies orders, I will recite yours and you need to point out one thing that's missing or wrong with it."
"Oh, here we go," I sigh.
"Again. My my! Just how much I missed ya." he sings incredibly off tune.
I laugh. "I give that a four out of ten." reenacting the game we used to play almost all the time when we were little, scoring each other on everything.
"You get a grande macha blended frappuccino with soy, three shots of espresso, double blended, extra whipped cream, a caramel drizzle and with five scoops of matcha in order to offset the sweetness."
"Wrong! Two shots of espresso, and I get the cup lined with caramel."
"I knew that!" he protested, "I was just testing you!"
"Uh huh. Sure."
"Fine, I'm done asking questions."
"Fine."
"Fine.
"Fine."
"Your room, 10 pm. You have to supply snacks, drinks and ice cream, but I'll bring the pizza."
"Fine. I can live with that."
"And there will be no pineapple on it, swear on the last blueberry scone."
"The last one this time, or like the next time we eat scones?" I question, eyeing the plate.
"The next time we eat scones." he says, snatching up the last one on the plate and stuffing it into his mouth.
A.N.: Apologies for the late/ limited updates. It's finals season here and I have also been sick AF. When I got back to school there was a lot of catching up to do, and almost no time for writing 😞. Back to regular updates soon, and probably more in the summer! (But I might take a break on some trips)
<3!