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Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

Eleanor has high expectations for her children. I’m female, so my appearance is non-negotiable. Her primary target is my body, which she’s been policing since I could walk. “Boys will be boys, Cassandra, even good boys. You’re a pretty girl. Why borrow trouble?” As far as she’s concerned, it’s my responsibility to ensure that I’m never viewed sexually by men—any man, including my brothers. Eleanor was raised in a subculture that enforces firm codes of conduct for both genders, but particularly girls. So, she raised me the way she was raised, the way her mother was raised, the way her mother’s mother was raised, and so on, all the way back to that naked slut Eve, whose downfall could’ve been prevented had she made better choices.

“We have an early start,” Eleanor reminds me. “I should lie down. But I heard what you said about Mr. DeFiore and will keep an open mind. And I appreciate you dropping everything to come home. It means a lot to me, and I know it means the world to your brother. Both brothers.”

“I’d do anything for Billy, and for all of you. I miss you guys every day.”

“I know, Cassandra, but you’re where you’re supposed to be. Now get some sleep.” She brushes my cheek with her fingers. Her touch lingers long after she leaves.

Though Eleanor is a pain in the ass, her dedication to my welfare is more than I deserve. With Lawrence, she raised me like a real daughter—that is, no differently from their sons. Together, they began the adoption process, only it was never finalized because of reasons too complicated to understand, unless you’re well-versed in revocable living trusts. I’m sure the decision had to do with money, but whose and how much I have no idea. Nor do I care. Eleanor is the closest I’ll ever come to having a living, breathing mother. She took me in when no one else wanted me. She fed, clothed, and protected me. You could say that she and Lawrence saved my life, and you wouldn’t be wrong. To this end, I spend an unholy amount of time conforming to her views of how I should look, how I should act, and who I should be. Both of us, I believe, consider me a work in progress.

10

THE NEXT MORNING, THE SKY IS PURE CERULEAN BLUE, AND the sun is bright yellow. It’s picture-perfect outside, as if the universe is casting a hopeful glow on today’s court visit. Choosing my outfit, I shoot for demure elegance with a come-hither edge, a mix of high and low fashion: chocolate-brown skirt (the Row), silk blouse (Burberry), thrift shop camisole, Louboutin heels, and beige tights (Gap). I wrangle my hair into a messy chignon, clip on my Mikimoto pearl necklace, and set off.