In the heart of Harvard, Alessia Gilmore is ready to embrace her second year and the independence it brings. After a summer spent reconnecting with friends and discovering herself, she's determined to step out of her twin sister Rory's shadow and ca...
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Alessia had expected the Huntzberger estate to be intimidating—just not in the psychological warfare kind of way. The place had the unsettling silence of a museum, the kind that dared you to sneeze. Every piece of furniture looked older than America and probably had an appraisal value larger than her student loans.
"I feel like I'm trespassing," she muttered as Logan guided her through the marble foyer.
"You get used to it," he replied, though his jaw was tight.
They were only here for Honor. That had been the promise. Smile, toast to love, sit through a few icy glares, and escape back to civilization. Alessia wasn't new to tense dinners; she'd survived Lorelai's spectacular tantrums and Emily Gilmore's verbal landmines. Compared to that? She figured she could take anything the Huntzbergers threw at her.
She was wrong.
They barely made it past the second round of greetings before Shira Huntzberger, cloaked in a sheen of practiced elegance, took Alessia's hand like it was something foreign and possibly contagious.
"You're... Rory's sister, aren't you?"
"Twin," Alessia said, plastering on her best dinner-party smile. "But I didn't come with the built-in Yale enrollment."
Shira's expression barely shifted, though something flickered behind her eyes. Pity? Dismissal? It was hard to tell with that much Botox. "Yes, well. Rory always had that composed quality. It's rare these days."
Logan stepped in. "Alessia's in her second year at Harvard."
Shira's brows lifted a fraction. "Oh? And what are you studying?"
"Photography and film. I'm hoping to go into photojournalism eventually."
A beat. Then a too-pleasant smile. "How... interesting."
Alessia didn't miss the pause.
Elias Huntzberger was worse. He didn't shake her hand, barely looked at her, and addressed Logan like Alessia wasn't even in the room. When Honor and her fiancé Josh arrived, Elias grunted a hello and then gestured to the dining room.
"This isn't a cocktail party," he snapped. "Let's sit."
The dining room looked like it belonged in a period drama. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. The table was set with crystal and china and enough floral centerpiece to bury a small child. Alessia took her seat between Logan and Honor, trying not to shrink into her chair.
Josh tried to start a story about their engagement trip—something involving a picnic, a vineyard, and a ring hidden in a baguette—but Shira interrupted to ask whether the wine had been properly decanted.
"I was just saying," Josh began again, clearly determined, "we're really grateful you invited us tonight. We know this wasn't exactly expected."
"Unexpected is one word for it," Elias muttered into his glass.
Alessia glanced at Logan, who was draining his wine like it was a survival tactic.
"We're just here to support Honor," Alessia offered, trying to inject some warmth. "That's what tonight's about, right?"
Elias grunted. "People marry unsuitable partners all the time. Doesn't mean we have to pretend it's wise."
"Elias," Shira said mildly.
"What? We've seen it before. Remember that waitress Mitchum dated in college? What a disaster."
"Oh please," Shira sighed. "That girl thought waitressing at the yacht club made her a member."
Honor bristled. "Josh is not a disaster."
"He's a civilian," Elias said, like the word personally offended him.
Alessia's skin prickled. She tried to sip her water, but her throat was suddenly dry. The atmosphere had turned from chilly to ice-cold.
And then Elias leaned back in his chair and delivered the final blow.
"And as for you, Logan. You should know better than to bring someone like her here."
Silence.
Alessia blinked, unsure she'd heard correctly. Her smile faltered.
"I'm sorry—what?" she asked, though the words came out sharper than she meant.
Shira gave a tight-lipped smile and folded her napkin with surgical precision. "Don't take it personally, Alessia. It's just... our family holds a certain standard. Rory may have made some unfortunate choices about her aspirations, but at least she always had promise."
Alessia's breath caught. "You don't even know me."
"We know enough," Elias said. "Photography? That's a hobby, not a career. Not in our world. And certainly not something that prepares you to walk into it."
"I didn't realize I was applying for a position," Alessia said, voice gone cold now.
Shira smiled wider. "That's exactly the problem, dear."
Logan stood so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "We're done here."
"No, no," Elias said, waving a hand. "Don't run off. You brought her. Sit in it."
Logan reached for her hand, but Alessia was already on her feet.
Her heart thudded in her chest, heat rising to her cheeks as she looked around the table. "I don't understand," she said, and she hated the way her voice shook. "Why don't they think I'm good enough?"
"They're psychotic," Logan muttered, stepping closer. "What more is there to understand?"
But Alessia didn't stop. She looked at him, disbelief building in her eyes. "No—seriously. I'm a Gilmore. Do they know that? My ancestors came over on the damn Mayflower."
"Alessia—" Logan warned softly.
"I had a coming out party," she went on, laughter bubbling up from somewhere hollow. "I go to Harvard. I'm not some girl off the street. And Josh? He sat there like a mannequin all night. At least I noticed the freaking Velázquez!"
"They're not making sense because they don't care to," Logan said quietly. "Josh isn't marrying the heir to the Huntzberger legacy. You are."
She froze.
"Oh," she said.
That was it. That was the whole reason. Not her career. Not her clothes. Not even the fact that she wasn't Rory. It was that she wasn't born to be one of them, and they didn't think she deserved to try.
Shira tilted her head like she was looking at a sad little project that had failed to launch. Elias didn't even bother to meet her eyes.
Alessia didn't say another word. She turned on her heel and walked out, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
