"Hey!"
"I'm inviting him," she announces, typing rapidly.
"Amelia, no?—"
"Too late, sent!"
I grab my phone back and stare at the message in horror.
AMELIA (FROM MY PHONE): Hey! Our family would love to have you for Sunday dinner. Mom's making tourtière and cipâte. 5pm at our parents’ place in Queens. No pressure but you should come! -Amelia (who stole Harper's phone)
"I'm going to kill you," I tell my sister.
"You love me."
"That's unrelated to the murder."
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
VICTOR KADE: Tell Amelia I appreciate the invitation but I have that damn fitting until 6.
VICTOR KADE: Also, tell her to stop stealing your phone.
Amelia reads over my shoulder and pouts. "He said no."
I ignore the disappointment that floods through me. "Good. This is family dinner. For fam-i-ly. He doesn't need to be here."
"He's your husband," Amelia points out.
"Fake husband."
"Your face when you read his text didn't look fake."
"My face is neutral."
"Your face is acting its ass off.”
“Well, it’s a good thing my face doesn’t have an ass.”
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I march toward the house before my sisters can psychoanalyze me further.
Mom's kitchen smells like home—caramelized onions, warming spices, the yeasty scent of rising dough. She's at the stove, stirring something, and Dad's at the kitchen table reading the newspaper like it's still 1995 and the internet doesn't exist.
"Harper!" Mom turns and pulls me into a hug that smells like flour and love. "Ma chérie! Tu es trop maigre!"
"I'm not too skinny, Maman."
"Tu es! I send Philippe for butter. Real butter. You need to eat."
Margot and Amelia trail in behind me, and Mom immediately starts fussing over all of us like we're still children and not grown women in our thirties and forties.
Dad looks up from his paper, and his face lights up. "There's my girl."
"Hi, Papa." I kiss his cheek and try not to notice how his hands shake slightly when he sets down the newspaper. The Parkinson's is subtle still—most people wouldn't notice—but I do.
"How's the big TV star?" he asks in French-accented English.
"Not a star. Just a host."
