It started with the mole.
It always f*****g starts with the mole.
But today?
Today it was about the entrance.
I stood in front of the mirror wearing a silk robe, yesterday’s eyeliner, and the kind of determination usually reserved for war generals and unpaid interns. Jynelle perched on the bed, legs crossed like a sexy CIA handler with three backup plans and a burner phone under her bra.
“I need a look,” I said. “One that says ‘I’m the perfect woman to meet your emotionally unavailable twin... and possibly destroy your family legacy.’”
Jynelle sipped her matcha like she was judging a talent show.
“Red. Always red. Makes people assume you have secrets and orgasms.”
She flung a dress at me like she was throwing a weapon.
“Put that on and pretend your p***y’s worth a trust fund.”
I
