Page 144 of A Perfect Fit

“I broke off the engagement with Ben last night,” she adds.

“You did?”

She nods, and that’s when I realize she’s not wearing her engagement ring anymore.

“You were right.” Pain threads through Ivy’s voice. “He cheated on me. Again. When you texted me, saying that you saw him with another woman, that wasn’t the first time. The first time I found out, he begged me for forgiveness, and I gave him a second chance. When he proposed, I thought it meant he’d really changed for good, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

My blood boils. I guessed that the time I caught Ben might’ve been the first and only time he cheated, but he’s even worse than I thought.

“What an asshole,” I say.

Ivy sniffs. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you. I lied about my engagement party coincidentally being on the same date as your fashion show. You’re a good person, Isabelle, and you didn’t deserve that.”

I want to tell her that all those years, I lived with the knowledge that my sister hated me. That I’d see others who were so close with their siblings and questioned why it couldn’t be the same for Ivy and me. That she hurt me with her behavior.

Instead, with my head spinning, I ask the one question that has pressed me the most. “Why did you act like that toward me?”

She glances down at her boots. “I always wished I were you.”

My body goes still.

Growing up, she was the one who had perfect grades and was always put together, who Mom would boast about at gatherings with extended family and family friends. If anything, I was the one who was jealous of her when I was a teenager.

“No way.” There’s a dryness in my throat when I speak. “You’re the star child of the family.”

Ivy’s chin dips down. “It started when you got into your first relationship. I was jealous that you were dating and weren’t afraid to go against Mom’s wishes. And then you went to fashion school and started your own business and were chasing your dreams while I felt I was … merely surviving, but not really living. You’re always so confident and not afraid to take risks, and I’ve always admired that about you.”

I blink. I always thought of her as the confident one, not me. “But … you always dreamed of being a lawyer.”

“At first, yeah. Then, as I grew older, I wasn’t sure if it was my dream or the dream that Mom had instilled in me. But I never questioned it. I didn’t have the courage to choose something else, because I was afraid of disappointing Mom.”

I glance at my sister, realizing that not everything is as it seems. Ivy has said and done things that were hurtful, but I also never communicated to her about how I felt. Of course, at the end of the day, she needs to realize herself the impact of her behavior. Nonetheless, if things were a little different, we could’ve been there to support each other.

“I was always afraid of disappointing Mom, too,” I say. “Even after starting my business. But I’ve learned that there’s never only one pathway. We should be able to choose whatever makes us happy and lead a life without pressure from our parents.”

“Yeah.” Ivy glances into the distance, a wistful look on her face. “I guess.”

This conversation obviously doesn’t mean that our relationship is repaired, and her apology doesn’t erase her past behavior, but it’s a start. She’s showing vulnerability and taking accountability, which I appreciate, and we’ve managed to have a mature conversation. Trust takes time to build, and any kind of healthy relationship is a two-way street.

I hesitate. “If you’d like to, you’re still welcome to attend my fashion show next month.”

Ivy’s eyes shine for the first time today, and for a moment, I see a version of my sister before we drifted apart. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

JACKSON

Ilie in my bed, my heart heavy as I stare blankly at the ceiling, wearing the sweatshirt Isabelle made for me.

It’s been seventeen days, nine hours, and eleven minutes since I last saw her.

I miss her.

So fucking much.

The first week, I did nothing. Didn’t leave my apartment at all. I felt Isabelle everywhere, saw her even if she wasn’t there. The memories of her laughing in my kitchen. The scent of her jasmine and fruity perfume in my sheets. Her half-used skin-care products on my bathroom counter—I’d bought exact copies of all the products she used to make it easier whenever she stayed over.

During week two, I forced myself to start job-hunting through the pain. Researching firms and consulting roles in the architecture industry. Updating my résumé. Drafting cover letters. And among that, starting my applications for architecture school.