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“I’ve been following you,” I tell her. “Your charity work, your philanthropic causes. It’s all so amazing.”
“Ilarion is the one that suggested I try it out. I did it to make him happy, but I never expected to fall in love with it the way I did. Turned out to be the saving grace of my life.”
Her face lights up when she talks about her work. “I’m happy for you, Cee. Really.”
She gives me that polite, curated smile of hers. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
I nod. “So much.”
She sets down her mug with a subtly hauntingclinkof ceramic on porcelain. “Maybe we should start with the fact that, as I’m told, you’re a mother now.”
Something shivers through her eyes when she brings it up. It passes too fast for me to catch what it might be.
My gut churns. I knew this was coming, of course, but it’s so much worse than I expected. Maybe because Celine seems so set on staying distant. Her face is perfectly composed. Her hands are neatly folded on the table. She’s the picture of calm.
I’mthe one who’s falling to pieces.
“Ilarion told you.”
“Yes. But he didn’t say much.”
I feel relief, but it’s fast and fleeting. “I…I was pregnant when I left with Dad that night. I was actually going to tell you at your engagement party. But…”
“Shit hit the fan.”
I manage a soft laugh. Not because anything is funny; I’m just uncomfortable. “Exactly. And afterwards, there was never really an opportunity to tell you.”
“Of course. Makes sense.”
I swallow and it hurts. She’s watching me, waiting for me to tell her the rest of the story. “Um…there’s nothing else, really.” Now that I’m knee-deep in it, it’s surprisingly difficult to lie. “It was a one-night-stand. I didn’t get the guy’s name. Never gave him mine. It happened, we went our separate ways, and a few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.”
“Remarkable,” she breathes. “You didn’t ask for his name? Before you…you know.”
“I guess I was rebelling a little.”
She raps a nail on the edge of her saucer. “I do wish you’d told me.”
“By the time I knew I was pregnant, you announced your engagement. I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Oh, please,” she says with a wave of her hand and a slight roll of her eyes. “Surely we can share the spotlight, no? There’s always room for the two of us. I’ve never understood why you’ve always felt like you need to make space for me.”
“Well, you made space for me when we were growing up,” I remind her. “You were always there for me. You missed parties and stuff just to stay home and hang out with me when I was sick.”
“I wanted to,” she says simply. “It wasn’t a sacrifice. I loved doing it. You’re my baby sister.”
For a moment, that steely mask cracks and I seeCelineagain. My Cee. She may be different now—more cultured, more controlled, more confident—but deep down, she’s still my sister. And that gives me hope.
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. Because you’re my big sister, and for once, I wanted to return the favor.”
She purses her lips, then reaches out to place her hand over mine. For a second, the gesture transports me back a few decades, back to when we were young girls and we used to hoard our secrets like treasures and share the bounty after bedtime.
“To be perfectly honest, I would have preferred to be told,” she says. “I could have shared the experience with you.”
Why does she sounds so damn sad when she says that? Almost as though I’ve denied her something she’s been craving.
But then she shakes her head and the melancholy passes. “So Dad’s a grandfather, huh?”
“He’s good at it,” I say with a happy sigh. “Adam loves him to death.”
