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A representative from the publishing house approached my sister. “Are you ready?” she asked.
Tracy swiveled toward me. She was wearing a gorgeous blush-pink cotton shirtdress from Victoria Beckham that she had recently purchased for this event. “How do I look?”
“Like the best-dressed, bestselling author in town,” I told her honestly.
“You look pretty stylish yourself,” she said.
I was wearing the blue Chanel suit that she’d bought me when sales of her novel started going through the roof. “Thanks to you.”
“Told you what happened had all the elements of a goodmystery novel,” Tracy said as the host of the event approached the podium and leaned into the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, looking over the large crowd, “it’s so gratifying to see so many of you here tonight. We feel extremely privileged to have Tracy Dundas here to read from her bestselling novel,The Housekeeper,before she embarks on her sold-out European tour. And great news—she tells me she’s almost finished her next novel.”
There was a spontaneous burst of applause from the audience.
“Of course, Tracy will be signing autographs afterward, and we’ll be handing out pieces of paper on which to write your names, should you want your copy personalized. And now, without further delay, please welcome the author of the number oneNew York Timesbestseller,The Housekeeper…Tracy Dundas.”
“Knock ’em dead,” I said.
She stopped, spun around, and grabbed my hands. “I love you, you know,” she said.
“I know,” I said gratefully. “I love you, too.”
