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Grace fiddled with her outfit in the mirror. It was brand new, she’d just bought it at the mall with Charlotte a few days before. A crochet two piece outfit that included a skirt that fell just above her knees and clung to her legs, matching the cropped cardigan it came with. Though hers was more oversized than it was meant to be. All of it made in sky blue yarn.
The same blue of Lucie’s eyes. They matched. She hoped Lucie noticed. She wanted her to notice more than she wanted anything.
It’d been a long time since the two of them had been able to hang out. Months, to be exact. What with Grace and Christopher always running around in the lab with Henry as his unofficial protégés-Henry had never liked nepotism-and Lucie having taken an internship with some contemporary writer in Hackney Wick.
Though if you asked Grace, the writer (she’d never bothered to remember their name) treated Lucie more like a secretary than an intern.
And it’d been even longer since they’d been able to see each other as a group, much less alone, like they would be today.
Grace couldn’t contain her excitement.
They were going to go get coffee and pastries at some little cafe that was new, and then they were going to walk around and just talk.
It was silly, Grace knew, to get so excited to just walk and talk with someone. And at one point, she would’ve never gotten so excited. Her old middle school ice princess persona would have hated her for this. She’d have been iced out for days by her mind, nothing but coldly polite smiles and dead eyes.
It was a new era of Grace. No more ice princess. This new Grace was softer, kinder. She wasn’t a fourteen year old girl anymore jealous that her best friend had made a new best friend in Paris.
Oh right, Cordelia Carstairs. The other reason they hadn’t been spending as much time together.
She’d returned recently after years away from London, traveling the world with her family. She and Grace had met once before, at a Christmas party held by Lucie’s parents. They were eight or nine at the time, but Grace had understood immediately why Lucie had been so enamored with her. She understood it now, still. It was impossible to hate Cordelia at times. Her most annoying quality had to be how beautiful she was or how easily she made others laugh. Grace had never met a person who didn’t smile around Cordelia. Or who didn’t fall in love with her instantly.
Lucie was no different. And neither was Grace, to be completely honest.
But at the same, Grace couldn’t help the feelings of jealousy and the insecurities she brought out in her.
How she felt too skinny and too short when compared to Cordelia’s height and her curves.
How her hair felt so boring, too blonde, too children-of-the-corn next to Cordelia’s flaming locks.
How her clothes never seemed to fit right around her, her makeup was never as clean. Nothing about her seemed right when Cordelia was around.
Sometimes she wondered if Cordelia felt the same way about her. But that was impossible, she knew.
Cordelia Carstairs was jealous of nobody. Not when she had everything.
Her and Lucie had been hanging out, nearly attached at the hip since Cordelia and her brother had come back to London. Grace liked Alastair, and from what she knew, so did Thomas Lightwood.
Though he liked him a lot differently than Grace did.
Grace tried not to get offended at first, how could she? Grace couldn’t blame her, if Lucie had been gone for long as Cordelia had, they would have to pry her away. So Grace had given them their time and threw herself into working in the lab. Her chemistry set had never gotten so much use in its life.
But Cordelia didn’t matter, not today. Not when she wasn’t apart of the equation.
She hadn’t ever been in equation that was Lucie Grace. She was just an exponent of Lucie. Insignificant and easily solvable today of all days. After all, it was an anniversary…of sorts.
It had been the year before, sitting on the beach on the Piccadilly Line. It was two days before Christmas and freezing cold, the sands of the beach nearly frozen over with frost. They had escaped from a boring party held by her own parents. Grace had gotten tired of hearing Charles go on and on about some political issue she didn’t care for. Another reason to hate nepotism. Lucie had noticed her boredom and suggested that they make a run for it.
And that’s how Grace ended up sitting on a freezing beach in her sparkly silver dress and pulling pins out of her hair in an attempt to gain some warmth.
Lucie, the absolute bastard she was, had been smart enough to grab a sweater before they left. Oversized, green and blue, rugby style. It had been Thomas’s, once upon a time, before he outgrew it and Lucie had pilfered it for herself. It was warm and soft and as Lucie had pulled Grace inside it to share the warmth, Grace hadn’t felt anything softer.
She didn’t feel so cold anymore, either, even as snowflakes fell onto her face.
She wouldn’t forget that day. She had kind of thought Lucie had. But she hadn’t. And it gave Grace hope.
It gave her so much hope, that her hands were shaking as she tried to tie her ribbon into her hair to pull the front pieces out of her face.
Her hands were shaking too much and she startled when she heard her mother’s voice call for her from the bottom of the stairs.
“Gracie! Lucie’s here!” Charlotte sounded almost as excited as Grace was. She was always worried about her.
She nearly dropped the ribbon, smiling so wide it almost hurt. Maybe Lucie would help her tie the ribbon before they left. Grace ran down the stairs, not once thinking about tripping in her Mary Jane’s. She rounded the corner, seeing Lucie talking with her mum in the foyer. They were smiling. They were laughing. Lucie looked as beautiful as ever.
But she wasn’t alone. Grace stopped in her tracks. Frozen.
“Isn’t it bit cold to be wearing something so short, Grace? I wouldn’t want you to get a chill while we walk.”
Grace knew that voice. She hated that voice. That voice that made her instantly aware of how short her skirt was, how messy her hair was, how big her shoes were, how her cardigan was falling off of her shoulders. That voice that made her instantly aware of everything that was wrong with her.
Cordelia Carstairs. The Beautiful Cordelia. The true object of Lucie’s desires, her dreams, her muse in everything she wrote. Lucie’s Daisy.
She was standing there, arm around Lucie’s waist.
Wrapped in a familiar sweater. Green and blue, rugby style.
Grace’s heart broke in her chest.
Ribbon forgotten in her hands, dropping to the floor.
It was sky blue.