AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ophelia.
But no, it’s not her.
It’s her little sister, strolling arm in arm with none other than Aleksander fuckface Arrendell.
If I hadn’t known her since she was knee-high to a frog, I almost wouldn’t recognize Ros right now.
She’s always been a sweet, prim girl. A bit of a modern green flower child—cottagecore like the kids call it these days—with a certain innocence about her.
A little too sheltered, maybe. After surviving her first run with cancer, Angela Sanderson turned into a loving, good-natured helicopter mom and it showed with Ros as much as it helped her.
But right now, Rosalind’s wearing a clinging white satin dress, skintight in all the wrong ways that make me uncomfortable.
I don’t want to see Ophelia’s baby sister’s tits hanging out like that. Especially when she’s hanging all over that phony fuck.
Aleksander keeps an arm around her shoulders while he leans in close, nuzzling her neck right there in public like he’s some kind of vampire.
Christ, it’s not even Halloween yet.
There’s lipstick stains on the collar of his stylish grey suit, his mouth as red as hers. Her makeup is dark and sultry, her nails still a bright, glossy red.
I don’t want to judge.
I don’t.
Sometimes, small-town girls just find themselves and change overnight, realizing there was a big-city vixen inside them all along.
Yet it’s barely ten in the goddamned morning and I think they’re both drunk off their asses, swaying from side to side as they stumble into each other. Not a single care given for the more conservative folks steering around them with looks of baffled distaste, thensecondlooks when it hits them who that is sloppy-drunk and probably high on Aleksander’s arm.
Damn.
If Ros really wants me to keep her relationship with Aleksander a secret from Ophelia, she needs to be more discreet.
Sooner or later, this will blow right through the gossip mill and have everybody and their dog whispering about it.
I give it a day or two before it gets back to Ophelia, and there’s a knock-down drag-out fight between the Sanderson sisters that could level the whole town.
Nagging unease eats at me.
I should say something.
Tell Ophelia the truth, warn her, give her time to process this shit before Rosalind sails in and drops an atom bomb on her. I hate that Ophelia’s got to deal with this shit sooner or later on top of her ma’s medical situation.
I care about them both, even if Ros is more like a younger kid I never knew half as well as Philia.
And I’m torn between loyalties, wanting to honor Ros’ privacy but also wanting to do what’s right for everyone’s own good.
For Ros’ own good, too, I think.
I may need to keep an eye on her before her boyfriend—no, fuck,fiancé—drags her into something real ugly she’s not ready for.
My brain hurts.
I need more time to think about what to say to Ophelia—if I say anything at all.
Maybe I just need to clear the air. It’s funny how she reads my silences like a favorite book, plucking out crap I don’t want her to see, but when we start talking we just lock horns and start doing damage.
Istart doing it, mostly.
