Chapter 2 - The Girl They Called Independent
The first thing I remember after my sister slapped me was the sound.
Not the pain.
Not Bridget gasping behind her.
Not the tiny velvet box sitting open beneath the jewelry-store lights.
The sound.
Amber’s palm hit my cheek with a sharp crack that seemed impossibly loud inside Bellamy’s elegant showroom. Classical piano music continued playing softly through hidden speakers, making the moment even stranger, like someone had dropped a plate in the middle of a funeral.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
My left cheek burned.
Tara, the silver-haired sales associate who had spent nearly forty minutes patiently teaching me the difference between diamond cuts and clarity grades, stared at Amber with an expression that had gone from professional courtesy to cold disbelief.
Amber’s two friends stood a few feet behind her.
Bridget covered her mouth.
Kayla looked away.
And Amber?
Amber smiled.
Not a nervous smile.
Not an apologetic one.
The same victorious little smile I had seen since childhood whenever she reminded me which one of us mattered more.
“Don’t stand there acting shocked,” she said.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the glass display counter.
“What is wrong with you?”
“You.”
Amber stepped closer.
Her expensive perfume filled the space between us.
“You’re what’s wrong.”
I stared at her.
She lowered her voice, although not enough to prevent everyone nearby from hearing.
“You’ve been doing this your whole life.”
“Doing what?”
“Playing innocent.”
She pointed toward the diamond earrings Tara had placed on black velvet.
“Walking into places where you don’t belong. Acting like you’re suddenly better than everybody.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the accusation was so ridiculous I couldn’t immediately process it.
“I’m buying earrings.”
“With what?”
“My money.”
Amber rolled her eyes.
“You mean that little promotion?”
There it was.
I hadn’t even told her how much my raise was.
Apparently Mom had.
Of course she had.
Amber folded her arms.
“Congratulations, Jessica. You finally got a slightly better paycheck and decided to cosplay as somebody important.”
Tara stepped forward.
“Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to lower your voice.”
Amber turned toward her.
“I’m speaking to my sister.”
“You struck a customer.”
“She’s family.”
Tara’s expression didn’t change.
“That does not make it acceptable.”
Something about hearing a stranger say those words hit me harder than the slap.
That does not make it acceptable.
How many times had my family used the opposite logic?
Amber took your sweater without asking.
She’s your sister.
Amber ruined your birthday because she wanted everyone’s attention.
She’s your sister.
Amber told your boyfriend in high school that you were boring until he stopped calling.
You know how sisters are.
Amber screamed at you during Christmas dinner.
Don’t ruin the holiday.
Amber always received permission.
I always received responsibility.
Amber’s eyes narrowed at Tara.
“Do you know who I am?”
Tara gave the smallest smile.
“No.”
Bridget coughed into her hand.
For one glorious second, even I almost smiled.
Amber’s face turned red.
“My fiancé manages commercial properties all over Phoenix.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
Tara gestured toward the entrance.
“You still cannot assault customers.”
“Assault?”
Amber laughed.
“Oh, please. I slapped my sister.”
Then she looked directly at me.
“And frankly, she needed it.”
Something inside me changed.
Maybe it had started at Sunday dinner when Mom brushed past my promotion to hear the story of Amber’s proposal.
Maybe it had started years earlier.
But standing there with my cheek burning, I realized I was tired.
Not angry.
Tired.
Tired of lowering my voice so Amber could speak louder.
Tired of pretending favoritism was harmless.
Tired of being called independent as an excuse for giving me less.
Tired of making myself smaller so everybody else could stay comfortable.
I straightened.
“Apologize.”
Amber blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She laughed.
“Oh my God.”
“Apologize.”
Her friends looked at each other.
Amber tilted her head.
“Or what?”
“I’m done pretending this is normal.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You think buying one pair of earrings makes you special?”
“No.”
My voice surprised even me because it was completely steady.
“But respecting myself does.”
Amber’s eyes hardened.
“There she is.”
“What?”
“The jealous little shadow.”
That word.
Shadow.
She had used it before.
At sixteen when one of her friends complimented one of my drawings.
At twenty-one when Dad mentioned that I had made the dean’s list while working full-time.
At twenty-four when Boyd Creative promoted me ahead of somebody older.
Whenever something good happened to me, Amber found a way to make it about her.
“You’ve always followed me around trying to prove you’re something,” she said. “But everybody knows what you are.”
I swallowed.
“What am I?”
“My shadow.”
Bridget whispered, “Amber, maybe stop.”
Amber ignored her.
“Mom knows it. Dad knows it. Everybody knows it.”
That hurt.
Because once, I would have believed her.
Then the front doors opened.
The small brass chime above them sounded.
Amber barely glanced around.
I did.
And my heart stopped.
A man in a charcoal suit entered Bellamy’s.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Calm expression.
He wasn’t wearing anything flashy. No oversized watch. No obvious display of wealth.
He never needed one.
People responded to him before they even realized why.
The security guard near the entrance immediately straightened.
Tara’s manager emerged from a side office.
Another associate whispered something.
Amber’s eyes flicked toward the newcomer.
Then narrowed in recognition.
Almost everyone in Phoenix business circles knew Alexander Mercer.
Founder of Mercer Urban Development.
Investor.
Philanthropist.
The youngest executive ever to chair the Arizona Regional Development Council.
Depending on which financial publication you believed, worth somewhere between two and three billion dollars.
Amber turned fully toward him.
Her expression changed instantly.
It was almost fascinating.
The cruelty disappeared.
Her shoulders shifted.
Her smile softened.
She touched her hair.
I would have laughed if my cheek didn’t still hurt.
Amber knew Alexander by reputation.
What she didn’t know was that I knew him considerably better.
He walked toward us.
His eyes found mine.
Then dropped to my cheek.
Everything in his face changed.
Not dramatically.
That wasn’t Alexander.
His jaw tightened.
His steps slowed.
“Jessica?”
Amber looked between us.
“You know my sister?”
Alexander didn’t answer her.
He came directly to me.
His hand rose but stopped before touching my face.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
Amber laughed uncertainly.
“It’s nothing. Sisters fighting.”
Alexander turned.
For the first time, he really looked at her.
“Did you hit her?”
Amber’s confidence returned slightly.
“Jessica gets dramatic. I barely—”
“Did you hit her?”
Silence.
Bridget stared at the floor.
Kayla folded her arms around herself.
Amber scoffed.
“Yes, but she’s my sister.”
Alexander’s expression became colder.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Who exactly are you to question me?”
I closed my eyes.
Amber had always possessed a remarkable ability to make situations worse.
Alexander reached for my hand.
Our wedding bands weren’t traditional matching sets.
Mine was a narrow platinum ring with a tiny engraved line on the inside.
His was plain platinum.
Amber noticed his.
Then mine.
Her eyes moved between them.
Confusion appeared first.
Then disbelief.
“No.”
I felt Alexander’s fingers close around mine.
He stepped beside me.
Not in front.
Beside.
That mattered.
He didn’t rescue me.
He stood with me.
Amber’s face drained of color.
“You’re…”
Alexander looked directly at her.
“Her husband.”
The entire store seemed to become silent again.
Amber laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
“That’s impossible.”
Alexander’s voice dropped.
“Touch my wife again and see what happens.”
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t threaten violence.
He didn’t need to.
The meaning was clear.
There would be consequences.
Real ones.
Amber’s lips parted.
“My—your wife?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I almost smiled.
Such an Amber question.
Not congratulations.
Not when?
How could someone like him choose you?
I knew exactly what she meant.
Alexander did too.
His expression hardened.
“Jessica doesn’t owe you an explanation.”
Amber turned toward me.
“You married Alexander Mercer?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“You didn’t tell us?”
“No.”
“You didn’t tell Mom?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
Her voice climbed.
“You secretly married a billionaire and didn’t tell your own family?”
I looked at her.
“My own family barely listened when I told them I got promoted.”
That landed.
For once, Amber had no immediate comeback.
Tara quietly slid a box of tissues toward me.
I thanked her.
Alexander looked at the earrings.
“Are those the ones?”
I nodded.
“The ones I told you about.”
His eyes softened.
“They’re beautiful.”
Amber stared at us.
“You knew she was buying them?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you buy them for her?”
Alexander smiled faintly.
“Because she wanted to.”
That answer confused Amber even more than our marriage.
She couldn’t understand wanting to earn something yourself when somebody else could provide it.
Alexander understood because that was one of the reasons I loved him.
He knew those earrings had nothing to do with diamonds.
They represented every sixteen-hour day.
Every night class.
Every lunch eaten at my desk.
Every client who once dismissed me because I looked too young.
Every dollar I saved when nobody was coming to rescue me.
Amber suddenly reached for her phone.
“I’m calling Mom.”
“Go ahead.”
She froze.
I had never said those words to her before.
Go ahead.
No fear.
No scrambling to control the family narrative.
No begging her not to twist what happened.
She stared at me.
“You really think you’re better than us now.”
I shook my head.
“No, Amber.”
My voice trembled then, but I kept going.
“I finally realized I don’t have to be less than you.”
Her expression changed.
For just a fraction of a second, beneath the anger, I saw something else.
Fear.
Then she turned and stormed toward the door.
Bridget followed.
Kayla hesitated.
She looked back at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Amber shouted her name.
Kayla hurried after her.
The doors slammed shut.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Alexander turned to Tara.
“Would you give us a minute?”
“Of course.”
When everyone stepped away, he touched my cheek carefully.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I didn’t know she was coming.”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
I knew.
Why hadn’t I called after the slap?
Why did I still automatically believe I had to handle everything myself?
“I’m learning,” I whispered.
His expression softened.
“So am I.”
I looked down at the earrings.
“Do they seem stupid now?”
“No.”
“They’re tiny.”
“They’re yours.”
That was the answer.
I smiled despite myself.
“I’m buying them.”
“With your card.”
“With my card.”
He grinned.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked out of Bellamy’s wearing the first real diamonds I had ever purchased.
Alexander held my hand.
My cheek still hurt.
My sister was probably already calling our parents and rewriting the entire story.
I knew Sunday dinner was going to be war.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of what Amber would say about me.
Because when my phone buzzed before we even reached Alexander’s car, I looked down and saw eleven missed calls.
Eight from Mom.
Three from Dad.
And one text from Amber.
You have no idea what you just started.
I stared at it.
Then deleted it.
Because Amber was wrong.
May you like
For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I had started.
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