Brianna turns from the window and catches me staring.
Her mouth curves.
Small.
Mean.
Real.
“You always did have that face,” she says.
My throat feels scraped raw. “What face?”
“The wounded one.” She tilts her head. “Like you can’t believe someone would hurt you after you tried so hard to be good.”
The words slide under my ribs and start cutting.
I stare at her, searching for something. A crack. A tremble. A sign that the sister I raised is still in there somewhere, trapped behind whatever this is.
There’s nothing.
Just Brianna.
Clear-eyed.
Dry-eyed.
Cold.
“Why?” I whisper.
It is a stupid question.
It is the only one I have.
Brianna laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “God, Talia. Really?”
“Yes. Really.” My voice shakes, and I hate that. “I thought you were missing. I thought Landon had hurt you. I went to that villa for you.”
“I know.”
Two words.
No guilt.
Nothing.
“You knew I’d come,” I say.
“Of course I knew.” She walks closer, slow, like she has all the time in the world. “That’s what you do. You come running. You fix things. You make that sad little martyr face and act like the world should clap because you gave up something again.”
My chest tightens.
“I loved you.”
Her eyes flash.
There.
