Mom and Dad had insisted Wren was more than welcome to live at home, sharing a room with Lark once again. She’d nixed that idea in record time because after four years of living with like-minded, tidy roommates at college, she refused to return to the chaos that Lark considered “housekeeping.”
“Before we do another tasting, stand up. We need to work on your posture.”
Wren frowned but rose. “Why?”
“Because you stand like you’re apologizing for existing.”
Wren blinked. “I do not.”
“You do.” Lark placed a firm hand in the middle of Wren’s back. “Shoulders back. Chin up. Confidence.”
“I’m confident,” Wren mumbled, though she certainly didn’t sell that lie with her tone.
And Lark didn’t even pretend to believe her. She burst out in a loud laugh. “Your standard pose is ‘I’d like to disappear into the wallpaper.’”
“While you flail around like a whirling dervish, screaming ‘look at me!’”
Lark nodded. “Exactly. Which is why we’re going over this. Because you need more energy. You need to be bigger.”
“I don’t do bigger.”
“You do this weekend,” Lark countered.
Wren groaned.
“Okay, okay,” Lark relented. Probably because Wren was this close to nixing the whole idea. “You don’t have to be exactly like me, but you’re definitely going to have to be chattier, more outgoing, and a little flirty.”
Wren scowled. “I definitely don’t do flirty.”
Lark looked like she wanted to push the envelope, but she yielded again. “Fine. No flirting. Unless it comes naturally.”
Wren tilted her head, letting her expression tell Lark just how stupid that comment was. She’d meant for her response to land as a joke, but Lark knew her too well, understood too clearly why Wren was closed off and quiet, why flirting never came naturally.
Unfortunately, now her sister just looked sad, which made Wren feel bad. Because, while they talked about every single thing under the sun, there was one small chapter in their past they never discussed.
Which was surprising, considering that single night had reshaped both of their personalities, creating the women they were today.
They’d both awakened the morning after the worst night of their lives, different people. Wren had withdrawn into herself, while Lark had grown, just as she’d said, bigger. Louder, more brash, more in your face. Her sister was always ready to take on the world, while Wren preferred to hide in a quiet corner of it.
“You ready to hear about the third bottle?” Lark asked.
Wren nodded, taking the escape Lark provided.
They spent the next two hours sipping and discussing the wine, as Wren took more notes. She tried to pay close attention to Lark’s style as she described the wines, the vineyard, making mental notes of the phrases, lines, and silly jokes her sister shared, even mimicking them aloud.
Then, they packed her clothes and discussed her hairstyle.
“Don’t forget to pin your hair up in a ponytail,” Lark said. “I never wear my hair down.”
To be honest, that was probably the easiest—and only—way to tell her and her twin apart. Wren always wore her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders, while Lark was queen of the ponytail. Then, Lark loaned Wren some of her makeup, because her sister would never be caught dead leaving the house without mascara, eyeliner, and shiny lip gloss, while Wren’s cosmetics bag contained nothing more than dental floss and Chapstick.
By the end of the evening, Wren’s head was spinning—from the wine and the information. The more she learned, the more impossible this was starting to feel.
Wren leaned against the couch, throwing her head back. “I really don’t think I can pull this off.”
“You’re doing great,” Lark insisted.
Wren wasn’t so sure. But as she looked at her sister—hopeful, determined, trusting—she knew one thing for certain. There was no backing out now.
