“Yeah.” She means it, which somehow makes it worse. I think about asking whether she noticed there was no groomsman assigned to her, that Pearl never intended for her to stand upthere at all. But I let it go. I’m already pissed enough for both of us—at Pearl, and at Roger.
The reception space has been completely turned over since this morning. Some tables were cleared to open up the floor, a full string quartet here despite the weather, the entire room drowning in flowers and trailing vines. Candles line the walls, thick ones pooled deep with wax, like they’ve been burning for decades.
It’s a lot. It’s beautiful.
I don’t give a fuck what the table place settings say, I keep Rose at my side, but she seems content to stand near the bar while we wait for my friends. Pearl is too busy playing hostess to bother us.
The food comes out the same as last night, table service, but the energy is looser. People are on their feet, moving between tables, finding each other. Jo and Roger are already on the dance floor, and I keep half an ear out for any announcement of a father-daughter dance. Fortunately, it never comes. I don’t know what I would have done if Roger had walked Pearl out there and left Rose sitting alone in the back of the room again.
Sunshine has taken a liking to Rose. They’ve been talking for the better part of an hour, heads tilted toward each other, and I catch pieces of it—something about ashwagandha, about growing lemon balm in partial light, east-facing if possible. Sunshine talks about a tincture she swears cured her insomnia. Rose lights up. She’s rattling off about adaptogens, and when Sunshine finds out she’s a nutritionist, the questions don’t stop. Rose answers every one of them without hesitation. Confident, specific, completely in her element.
I watch her beam, hands moving as she talks, completely lit up, and something in my chest caves in. The shame is slow at first, then violently pricking away at me the happier she seems, leaving cold shards around my heart.
She doesn’t know what I did. She doesn’t mention her business, the investors, the money she lost. She’s just standing here talking about the things she loves: plants and yoga and holistic medicine.
She doesn’t know what I took away from her.
Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I spot Roger at the far end of the bar and press a kiss to Rose’s temple. “I’ll be right back.”
She glances up at me with a genuinely cheerful smile, and it makes me want to stay planted right where I am. I don’t. I need to talk to Roger.
“Old fashioned,” I tell the bartender, just as he finishes taking Roger’s order.
“My boy,” Roger laughs, clapping me on the back. “So glad you could make it this week. I know it’s been an ordeal. And I never properly thanked you for taking care of Rose. She could have been seriously injured, but I felt better knowing you were with her.”
I nod. “It’s no problem.” Roger hadn’t known about the crash until we got here, but I let that go. The bartender sets down Roger’s white wine, slides my old-fashioned across the bar.
He smirks into his drink. “I’ve noticed you spending some time with my youngest.”
“We’re figuring it out,” I hedge. “But yeah. I care about her.” That’s an understatement, but I don’t owe him anything. He’s playing the doting father, and it irritates me even more.
“I’ll be honest, I thought it was Pearl who had your eye, but—” He tilts his head toward Rose across the room, a fond smile pulling at his mouth. “She’s so much like her mother. Inês could walk into any room, and you just forgot everyone else existed. God, she took my breath away.”
“I have to admit, my first impression of Rose wasn’t great.”
Roger frowns. “Oh?”
I turn my glass on the tabletop. While I’m fully aware at this point how fucked up Pearl has been to Rose, I’m still not sure Roger is as aware. I don’t know how he could miss it, though. “Pearl’s version of her sister isn’t exactly generous.”
Roger’s expression shifts, not defensive, just knowing. “Those two. Pearl never liked sharing me. It was hard on her, the way her mother essentially abandoned her. She needed me more than Rose did. Rosie always had Inês.”
I’m not sure parenting works that way, but I don’t bother pointing it out. “Pearl told me once that Rose stole her car, then sold it for cash.” Of all the stories Pearl fed me over the years, it’s the cleanest one to pull on—doesn’t involve Easton, her mother, The Resilience Project. Just a car. I remember Pearl being incensed about it for weeks. Wouldn’t stop crying about how horrible her sister was.
Roger just laughs. “Oh, Pearl was furious about that.”
My hands still on my glass. “So it actually happened?”
“Not the way she tells it. Pearl had been angling for a new Maserati—had the color picked out, custom order, the whole thing. Her old one was barely four years old, a sixteenth birthday gift. Rose never even drove. She biked everywhere, or Easton drove her when he was home from college. But I figured she ought to have a car, so I gave her Pearl’s old one. Rose didn’t want it. Practically begged me to sell it for cash instead. She never asked for much, so I did. She turned around and gave every dollar to a women’s shelter.”
“So, she didn’t steal it,” I confirm. Same as every story Pearl ever told me about Rose—some small true thing at the center, twisted and reshaped until it no longer resembled reality.
“How would she have stolen it? She was sixteen. I owned the car.” He waves a hand. “The whole thing blew up because Pearl had left some limited-edition lipstick in the glove box. When she found out the car was gone, that was it. She had a meltdown.” Hesays it warmly, like it’s a charming anecdote. “Pearl has always been a little sensitive.”
Roger is completely fucking clueless.
He taps my shoulder. “We’ll catch up more tomorrow at breakfast. Pearl’s got a seat for you—though I suppose you’ll be sitting with my other daughter now.” He chuckles, easy and unbothered, and lifts his glass, off to find his new bride.
Roger’s story landed about where I thought it would. Still, I hadn’t expected him to be that blind. And none of that helps Rose.
