Vicki Pettersson - City of Souls

“I do so admire your confidence, Suzanne,” Lena finally said, eyes arrowing cruelly on the toes of those sparkling shit-kickers. “I’d be afraid a younger, perkier model would come by and snag him right back.”

“Of course you would,” Suzanne clucked sympathetically. Lena didn’t seem to know how to take that.

“How long does the prenup last?” Madeleine asked, in an overly high voice. “Mine was good for ten years.”

“But those first nine were good ones, weren’t they?” Suzanne shot back, unperturbed. “And you guys did throw the best parties.”

“I still do,” Madeleine huffed.

“Well I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been invited since Harry left.” She tilted her head so that her bindi winked. “That’s very interesting, now that I think about it.”

Realizing the pickle she’d gotten herself into, Madeleine stiffened. I knew that her former husband, like all the former husbands in this social circle, had courted Suzanne for a bit after his divorce, but I didn’t know what Madeleine found more insulting, that or the way Suzanne had quickly, gently, shot him down.

“Well, there’s my fabulous Christmas fete next month. I’ll make sure my assistant has your current address.”

“Great. Tell her it hasn’t changed.”

I put my hand on Suz’s arm, like I’d just realized something. “And next year her assistant can just forward it to the palace.”

Suzanne tilted her face up to mine. “Oh, that does simplify things, doesn’t it?”

I nodded sweetly.

Madeleine swallowed tightly. “Come, Lena. The Martino girls just got back from Europe. I want to hear all about the Milan shows.”

They left in a cloud of burnt sugar-their pique-and marinated violets-their perfume-and Suzanne said nothing for a moment, studying her nails like they were of great interest. I knew she was mentally rebuilding the wall of morale Madeleine’s and Lena’s words had chipped at. I’d done the same enough times as Olivia that I recognized the need, so I fumbled in my bag and began lacquering my lips in the mirror.

“Suz, can I ask you a question?” I finally said, pulling the gloss wand away.

“Sure, honey.”

I rubbed my lips together. “Well, Madeleine and Lena have a point. Women around the world have been trying to attract Arun for years. So why-”

“Why me?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Why not you?” I said hurriedly, patting her arm. “But…why do you think he chose you?”

She thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, I’m attractive enough I suppose. And my pedigree is acceptable to his family, even though I’m widowed, and I’m a westerner.”

“There are other attractive, available, acceptable women out there,” I pointed out.

She inclined her head. “But most of them are afflicted. They’re ill. Like Lena and Maddy. Pretty enough, but…”

She let her words trail off and shrugged like I should know what she meant. I didn’t. “Afflicted with what?”

Suzanne took me by the shoulders. “Here. Look in the mirror.”

I did so reluctantly. I confess, my exterior sometimes overwhelmed me, and it wasn’t just because I looked like the sister I’d lost and loved. She was just so…much. Blond locks, sky blue eyes, breasts that were perkier than a game show host, and a waist that had been so perfectly nipped and tucked I looked like a bendable straw.

I was so much.

“There’s this mental illness, right? It’s called ‘anhedo-nia.’ It means ‘without pleasure.’ You can look it up, though all you really have to do is look around.” She motioned to the door the other women had disappeared through, and to the world at large. “A good deal of people, mostly women, spend their entire lives in this state. It’s a sort of half-death. But if you recognize this, you can fix it.”

“How?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t. I ducked my head, unable to meet either her reflection in the mirror, or mine.

Suzanne smiled, not noticing my discomfort, or pretending not to. “You focus on bliss. Small pleasures. Fill your day with as many as you can fit into twenty-four hours. You devote every possible moment not to fulfilling another person-a man-but yourself.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds hedonistic.”

“But once you can do this, you start attracting everyone to you. You don’t need to compare yourself to some other girl, no matter how young or firm or perky she is.” She smiled at me through the mirror, a better match for Olivia’s sister than I had ever been. The thought didn’t bother me as much as it once had. I was beginning to realize that friends were actually the family you chose.

“Trust me. A woman like this, one at her best? We’re the color of the world. We’re the light and the beauty. So.” Suzanne straightened. “Focus on your pleasure, and the man you want can’t help but realize…”

I waited, but she only sighed, suddenly teary-eyed.

“That he’s incidental?” I finished for her.

“That he may be a prince…but you’re a goddess.”

I smiled at that. “Yes,” I said softly. “You certainly are.”

She grinned, then frowned. “This just isn’t right.”

“What? Oh, those women? Don’t worry about them. They’re just jealous.”

“No, I mean that I’m so happy.” She spread her hands out in front of her, and I noted that her henna designs hadn’t faded. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and you’re going through such a rough time.”

I wracked my brain to figure out what she was referring to, finally settling on the only subject she’d know about. The one the entire city was talking about: Xavier Archer’s health.

Suzanne looked at me with concern. I lowered my eyes to keep from rolling them. Though I’d once believed Xavier was my father too, we’d never gotten along. I think he’d known from the beginning that he hadn’t fathered me, but he’d fallen so hard for my mother he didn’t let that stop him from raising me as his own. Still, he’d never liked me. Kids can tell that kind of thing from the start. So the image of the last time I’d seen him, frail and huddled under a pile of blankets, didn’t exactly make me want to shed a tear. However, Olivia would. “The doctors are still hopeful,” I said vaguely.

Suzanne put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick hug. After nearly a year of hanging out with her-via Olivia’s best friend, Cher-I knew her scent well. Spiced gardenias and warm vanilla, a sensory telling of her spirit and good health. It was somewhat addictive, and no wonder Arun had fallen so hard. Pheromones tied into a goddess complex? What man had a chance?

“Come on,” she said, pulling my hair to the side and taking me by both shoulders. “Let’s try to take your mind off it for a bit. Ready for a lingerie trunk show? You can help me pick out my wedding trousseau.”

She couldn’t help herself, she was already beaming. It made me feel like the older woman in this relationship, but I smiled, and linked my arm in hers. “That sounds great, my goddess.”

Half turning to me, she pushed open the door. “You’re a goddess too, you know.”

I shrugged and returned her smile, but said nothing as I followed her back into the chaos of her prewedding festivities. I’d go ahead and leave the pleasure and bliss and indulgences to Suzanne. After all, I thought, smiling to myself. I didn’t need to be a goddess…I was a superhero.

A male attendant wearing nothing but a white loincloth and a beautiful smile met us just outside the dressing room. “Champagne?”

“Absolutely,” Suzanne murmured, scooping a flute off the silver tray before cutting her way to the center of the ballroom. I lifted my own glass, smiling as I watched her go. The ballroom Arun had rented for the night was decked out like an elaborate Roman temple, with white pillars, busts of forgotten emperors and gods, and mosaics of Apollo and Alexander the Great. Landscape portraits hung along walls draped in silks, and white candles of all sizes pooled off waist-high pedestals, threatening to set the guests afire.