I can’t begin to understand what it was like for them. They are prideful people, and they were betrayed. My father wasn’t perfect. I witnessed that my whole life. But he was capable of love, and that’s all that mattered to me. It took a long time, a lot of tears, and years of counseling to get where Sable, Shyla, and I are now. A really good place. The acknowledgment of family. Of sisters, regardless of how we got here or who our mother is.
At least my father lived long enough to see that. To see us become family.
The lawyer's office is a small structure that looks more like a condo than an office building. I take the elevator up to the second floor and walk through the double glass doors that read Harold J. Dune, Esquire.
I’ve known Harold for as long as I can remember. He’s a club member. At work, he’s clean-cut and mild-mannered. When he’s riding a Harley, he’s anything but. He’s tough and rugged just like the rest of them. Just like my dad was, a bad boy with a heart of gold.
“You must be Liv,” an older woman in a red suit and matching lipstick greets me from behind a weathered, wooden desk.
“Ah, yes, that’s me.” I continuously smooth out my clothes and hair, highly aware of my less-than-impeccable appearance.
“They’re waiting for you.” She smiles, gesturing with her hand for me to enter Harold’s office.
“Thank you.” I mirror her expression, except my smile is a little more uneasy and insecure. Maybe even a little sad. Despite my appearance and the judgment it’s going to land, the reason I’m here is depressing. The reading of my father’s last will and testament.
When I walk into the room, all eyes land on me. Shyla’s and Sable’s dark irises are curious and questioning, while Harold’s gaze is one of patience and understanding.
“Liv,” he greets me warmly, “please, come in. Sit down.” He nods to the chair in front of his desk, directly between my sisters. I don’t know what it is, but every time we’re together, they stick me in the middle of them. No matter where we are or what we’re doing. Dinner, shopping, drinks. It’s as if they like to guard me.
I take my seat with both of their probing eyes on me. Their stares are suffocating. My sisters are the epitome of California cool. They’re tall, tanned, stunningly beautiful, intimidating, imposing, and utterly ambitious. They’re the type of women you notice first in any given social setting. They’re also the type of women whose mere presence sucks any kind of confidence or self-esteem right out of you like a high-powered vacuum. I wish I could say they don’t mean to do it, but they do. They know exactly who they are and what they want, and nothing will ever stand in their way. They’ve carved out quite the social standing for themselves. Hanging out with celebrities and socialites, going to all the coolest parties and nightclubs, dating all the most eligible bachelors, and starting their very own high-end clothing line that’s thriving on the Internet.
Even now, for this small meeting, they are decked out in eight-inch designer heels and form-fitting dresses.
They are supermodels, and I am someone’s abused Barbie doll.
“You’re late,” Sable hisses.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I fidget in the chair.
“And you have a hickey the size of Kim Kardashian’s ass,” Shyla whispers.
I slap my hand over my neck, in the exact spot it’s tender and sore.Fucker.
“You and Damon had some fun last night,” Shyla continues.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I shut her down straight away. The last thing I want to discuss is last night or Damon La Rue.
“Deets. Later,” Sable gives me no choice.
I look directly at Harold. “Can we start, please?”
“Whenever you ladies are ready.” His amusement is evident.
Yup, that’s us. The next headlining comedy act onAmerica’s Got Talent.
Harold clears his throat before picking up his bifocals and placing them on the bridge of his nose.
Reading off the sheet of paper in front of him, he begins, “We are here this morning to review Jarod A. Ward’s last will and testament. Per his request, he has stated that all assets be liquidated, and the sum of the amount be divided equally between the three of you, to include his savings. He has stipulated I offer his Harley up to you in case you would rather retain it than sell it off.”
Harold looks up at us. Both Sable and Shyla shake their heads, not interested in the bike at all. I bite my lip. I know how much that damn thing meant to him.
“If you guys don’t mind,” I speak up. “I’ll take it.”
“Where are you going to put it? You don’t have a garage,” Sable asks, bursting my bubble.
I shrug. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll rent a storage unit.”
She looks at me like I’m nuts, but she agrees. So does Shyla.
