The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives

Not who you think I am

I  wake up later than I should because of the time difference and get in the shower. I'm applying my hair mask when my phone rings. Who in Texas would be calling me at this time? I decide to ignore the call and get out of the shower, reapply my wig, contacts and contour. I pull on the outfit we picked out yesterday and eat a slice of bread I toasted that the groundskeeper bought last night. Note to self - give the groundskeeper a raise.

My fingers reach to the thick envelope in my pocket. I've started carrying the one I got at the will reading around with me everywhere. Part of me knows it's his last game, eager to play one last time. The other part wants to hold on to this forever, to keep him alive. I know it's not his last game, there's bound to be more hidden riddles and puzzles somewhere. But, perhaps even more surely,  I know this is definitely one of my last games as a player. Like with Avery's game, there are many more in which I pull the strings. Too many.

Iqra steps into the kitchen first. She's wearing a long coat, short gloves, as well as tailored trousers and a crisp shirt. Her short burgundy wig looks so real it scares me.

She picks up an orange slice, "Morning."

I tip my coffee mug gently in her direction. "How'd you sleep?"

Iqra examines the shiny ochre slice, before peeling the skin off the juicy flesh. "Not too bad actually."

I bend down slightly, so my newly forest eyes meet her dark, unwavering gaze. "Are you okay?"

She smiles slightly, "Totally. My parest texted me, angry I'm missing Hassan's, what, tenth Ted Talk?"

I thought that Iqra and Adrina had told their parents the truth, that they were helping a friend with her Swiss account. Apparently, Iqras parents weren't as approving as Adrina's ('They said it was honorable I was assisting with financial matters.').

"I'm so bloody tired of it being Hassan this, Hassan that. So what if I miss his tenth Ted Talk? He's probably going to have at least fifty in his life time. And lord knows, I'll have to attend every last one."

Before I can formulate an appropriate response, Adrina bounds into the kitchen, her black wig that transitioned to platimum secured firlmy, contacts in, and an absolutely gorgeous tailored skirt suit with a flowing coat, practically screaming "POWER".
"Oh! You look like you could use a doughnut!" she seemingly pulls a chocolate glazed donut out  of nowhere and holds it out. "Is it... boy trouble?"

"Yes." mumbles Iqra

Adrina swoons.

"But not the kind you're thinking of!" snaps back Iqra.

The excitement leaves Adrina. "Brother bother?"
Iqra nods through her doughnut.

"Oof. My older brothers are absolute pains too, but I love them, and they're always there for me."

"Really don't want to hear this sappy BS right now."

Adrina sighs, "Look, my brother is a major political player, my other brother is a minor royal, my sister is one of the most beautiful people on the planet (as dubbed by six magazines). I know how comparison feels."

"Whatever I do, it's never enough." complains Iqra "Not for my family, not for the media, not for the world. Even if it's helping my friend deal with ten billon dollars."

"Well," prompts Adrina ",you're always more than enough for us! Maybe a little too much!" she laughs as Iqra tries to offer a small smile.

Sensing Iqras discomfort I glance at my phone, "Guys, we should get going, our appointment's at noon, it take 45 min to get there, and its already 11 o'clock so we should allot 15 min early for anything that could go wrong."

"The fact that you predict anything could go wrong shows your lack of trust and faith in my carefully constructed plan to avoid paparazzi!' wails Adrina.

"Sorry," I shrug nochlantaly ",but I need to take every precaution necessary."

Adrina shakes her head in disbelief, then grabs an enormous leather bag.

"Woah, woah, woah, what's in there?" questions Iqra nervously, as if she's scared of the contents.

Adrina shrugs, "Nothing much." her lips curl up mischievously.

Iqra shakes her head but smiles too. "Alright, let's get in the car."

We shiver in the cold as we trudge through the icy wind to the sedan - a whole meter away. Once inside, and on the heated leather seats, Adrina opens up the bag.

More donuts, a bunch of candy, at least three lipsticks, a wireless hair heat tool, and three note books lay nested in the shiny leather exterior.

"Confidence boosters!" she sings out.

My heart melts, and the car ride passes quickly.
The sedan pulls up in front of the Pictet Swiss branch, and I step out with Adrina and Iqra. The grounds keeper/ chauffeur (who's name is Hans) drives away, with the promise of returning in exactly two hours.

Once inside the stark modern lobby, Adrina and Iqra wheel me over to the counter.

"Trinity Hawthorne for 11 o'clock?" Iqra presses.

The teller looks me up and down. I pull my contact out of the way of my eye ball for the shortest amount of time, so she can ascertain I'm in disguise.

Her eyes widen in understanding and she types something in her computer. "Please take a seat" she gestures to the minimalist lobby with spotless white sofas.

I slide into a seat and pull out my phone, checking up on my stocks and other investments. A handsome man with slicked back dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and essentially the basic "hot guy starter pack" is already sitting lazily on the sofa. He looks like the kind of man who knows how he looks, who knows his effect on people, thinks it can get him the whole world, and who over estimaites it far too much.

Long story short, I'm not impressed.

He also smells like overpriced cologne and hair gel.
"Hey." He turns to me, flashes a cliché dazzling grin, and winks.

"Entschuldigung, was? Ich habe dich nicht verstanden." I pull the language card.

"Oh, sorry, I don't speak... that." His face falls, but doesn't drop his charm.

Ah, this is fun.

"So," I layer a thick German accent on,"You were speaking English".

He looks up, amazed "You speak English?"

I nod, making him think he has a chance.

"So," he tries to strike up a conversation, "What are you doing here today?"

"Asset management." I respond truthfully.

The man smiles, "Same here. I'm Russell Jacob by the way."

"Hiedi Krell." I hold out my hand, and he shakes it, a liquid warmth spreading through my hand.

He pulls out his phone "Fück" he mutters under his breath.

"What?" I ask innocently, piling on the accent and charm.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Hawthorne Heiress." I nod and he laughs, "Who hasn't?"

"Hasn't everyone?"I smile again and let him continue.

"Did you see the press conference by the Hawthorne Angel, the granddaughter?"

"Mhmm." if only he knew.

"Well-" He was cut off by the blonde assistant who's heels clicked against the marble floor.

"Russell Jacob for 11:50?"

"Oh I have to go...Hiedi?"

"Yes, it's Hiedi." I laugh a little, but not because of him almost forgetting my name, but because if only he knew.

If only he knew.

A.N.: Sorry I haven't been updating for a while, I haven't been in a great place mentally or physically, and a lot of my friends got into a conflict with me, then left me, so I've had to go through that too. I'm going to try to update more, but honestly, writing is really hard right now, in my mental state. I'll see.
<3!