The Heiresses

“It’s just the sauce,” Poppy added helpfully, taking a bite. “See? Yum.”

 

 

Edith considered it for a moment, probably only because Poppy was her favorite granddaughter and she hated to disappoint her. Finally she pushed the plate away. “Well, this is too undercooked for my liking.” She looked accusingly at Penelope, just as she always did when she found fault in something in her daughter-in-law’s house. Penelope snapped for the chef, who rushed to take Edith’s plate away. “I’ll have a soft-boiled egg in an egg cup, please,” Edith brayed loudly.

 

After the offending chicken was gone, Corinne cleared her throat. “So I checked the registry, and a lot of people have donated to City Harvest.”

 

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Edith said approvingly.

 

Aster took a fresh roll and bit into it. It was warm and flaky from the oven, and tasted like butter. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t register for gifts,” she said between mouthfuls.

 

Corinne moved her chin to the right, her gaze on her mother. “We’ve raised almost ten thousand dollars,” she went on, as though Aster hadn’t spoken. “And I’m sure we’ll get much more.”

 

“You could’ve gotten some amazing stuff from Bendel’s, Barneys, ABC Carpet . . . ,” Aster continued.

 

Edith wiped her mouth. “It’s very respectable to ask for charitable donations, Aster.”

 

Aster wrinkled her nose, wondering if she’d been switched at birth. When she was little, she used to have fantasies that her real parents were actual rock stars. Like Keith Richards—Aster had seen an amazing photo shoot of his family in St. Barts in last month’s Vanity Fair. They knew how to party.

 

She peered questioningly at Dixon across the table. Corinne’s fiancé was wearing a boring gray business suit, but Aster had always liked Dixon—he had a cute Texas accent, he and his friends were usually game for late nights, and he could turn anything into a drinking game. Surely he’d want presents. But he just shrugged. “I don’t care what we do, as long as we still go on the honeymoon.”

 

“Where are you going again?” Aster asked.

 

Dixon brightened. “Safari. But also Cape Town. I’ve already got tickets to a football match.”

 

“That sounds amazing,” Poppy said warmly.

 

Corinne’s fork scraped noisily across her plate. “I’m going to meet with my contacts in Cape Town and visit a few of the mines,” she added, still to her parents. She must have caught Aster rolling her eyes, because she sighed loudly. “What?”

 

Aster blinked, surprised at Corinne’s break in demeanor. “Are you seriously going to work on your honeymoon?”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” Dixon said, raising a glass.

 

Corinne shot him a look. “Don’t agree with her!”

 

“Girls!” Mason blustered. He looked at Poppy helplessly. “I apologize on my family’s behalf.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Poppy said, swatting him playfully. Aster felt the teensiest stab of jealousy. Poppy had always been close with Aster’s family, but ever since her parents’ death, she had become Mason’s favorite—a spot Aster used to hold, once upon a time.

 

Then Aster’s cell, which sat on the table next to her, chirped to indicate a new text from Clarissa: We’re heading to PH-D after this. Aster gritted her teeth. They were all at dinner at Catch without her, probably drinking her favorite lavender-and-yuzu martini. Be there in an hour, Aster furiously typed back.

 

It’s a theme night, Clarissa replied. Trashy housewives. I’m wearing my leather minidress.

 

Aster caught her breath in excitement. She lived for theme nights. She was so excited that she didn’t even call Clarissa out on the fact that the dress in question was actually hers; Clarissa had just never returned it. Awesome, she wrote back. Too cray-cray if i stuff my bikini top?

 

“Aster,” her mother said sharply. “Don’t text at dinner.”

 

“One sec.” The cell chimed again. No, go for it! Clarissa wrote back.

 

I’m thinking Missoni bikini, white cutoff jeans, and wedges. And maybe hair extensions? Aster typed quickly.

 

“Aster.” Mason slammed his hand down on the table. When Aster looked up, her father’s eyes were steely and cold. “Put. The phone. Away.”

 

Aster slipped the phone back into her bag. Get over yourselves, she wanted to say. All of you.

 

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