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I spotted her across the terrace, sitting alone at the table. A waiter had just come by to pick up her dirty plate. Her little fingers wrapped around her glass of red wine, and she took a small drink. She seemed to be in a haze, not looking at anything in particular, her mind taking her somewhere else. So distracted, she didn’t notice my approach until I was directly on top of her.
When her eyes found mine, they went still. She held the glass of wine to her lips with a steady hand.
I took a seat, keeping a chair between us.
She slowly lowered the glass back to the table.
The tension between us was so heavy, it was like we held each other at gunpoint. Her feelings toward me were as clear as a billboard in Times Square. She’d heard all the rumors about me, had formed an opinion based on whatever bullshit my father said whenever someone asked about me. There was such an age gap between us that she was too young to really know me. Now she was twenty-one but still looked like a teenager, too young to be married, just the way I’d been before my father pushed Victor on me.
I suspected he’d done the same to her—even though he was the world’s worst matchmaker. “How are you, Catherine?”
After a long stare, she gave a shrug. “Fine, I guess.”
“I didn’t know you got married.” I knew my invitation didn’t get lost in the mail. It was never sent. She never called me. Didn’t even text. I stopped trying years ago because she ignored every olive branch I extended.
What kind of father turned his daughters against each other?
She never addressed what I said.
“Father arranged it?”
She finally gave a nod.
My eyes focused on her face, hardly noticing the color of her left eye. “No amount of makeup is going to hide that.”
Her reaction was instant, terror crossing her beautiful features.
“Does Father know?”
Her eyes dropped, and now I wouldn’t get a peep out of her.
“Leave him, Catherine.”
Her eyes stayed down.
“Come with me to Paris. You don’t have to stay here.”
She looked up again. “Marriage is forever, Laura.”
“Not when your husband is an asshole, honey. You don’t owe him shit.”
She looked away, probably looking at Father across the courtyard. “It’s complicated—”
“It’s not complicated. I remember how I was when I was your age. I remember feeling the pressure to do whatever Father wanted. But I can tell you it doesn’t need to be that way. He doesn’t own you.”
“Lucas is one of Father’s most trusted men. He handpicked him for me—”
“It’s just a power move, Catherine. To keep you under his thumb.”
“He bought us a beautiful apartment as a wedding gift—”
“To control you. Nothing he does is out of love. It’s manipulation.”
Her eyes glanced past me, right over my shoulder, like she made eye contact with someone. “I shouldn’t talk to you…”
“Your own sister?” I asked incredulously.
Her eyes came back to me. “You humiliated Father—”
