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No response, of course.
But I’d like to think she hears me in there, somewhere.
I turn to let myself out with a nod for the receptionist at the front desk. She offers me a smile full of the pity I hate—and when I smile back, it feels like defiance, as if I’m sayingno, not yet. She isn’t done.
It’s not time to give in.
Angela Sanderson raised two stubborn daughters because she’s a freaking rock.
She had to be, to get by on her own.
No husband, no man, not even a boyfriend.
I’ve never met the father I share with Ros. No one knows who my mom dated, saw, slept with after her first husband—Ethan’s father—died.
I shouldn’t know that, honestly.
But, well, I guess some mysteries were never meant to be solved.
A little ironic when this is a town where everyone knows everyone else’s business—and what theydon’tknow, they talk about.
Sometimes in earshot of little ones who don’t need to hear those rumors at all.
Mom would never tell us the truth, even when we begged for answers.
All Ros and I know is that we have the same father. Two sisters sharing the same unknown DNA.
Even if we don’t feel so close anymore.
My nose wrinkles and that bitterness works its way up my throat.
I hate that Aleksander Arrendell is taking her away from me.
A few months ago, the very idea would’ve been unthinkable.
As I walk out to my car, I turn that over.
Am I overreacting?
Do I just hate this thing with Ros and Aleksander because I’m one of those family members who feels like my sister belongs tome?Does Aleksander disgust me because of who he is or because I’d feel the same about any interloper taking my sister away?
Part of me could see it.
It’s hard not to loathe any man inserting himself in her life when it’s just been us and Mom for so long, relying on each other, close-knit and inseparable.
Only, Aleksander Arrendell isn’t ’any man.’
He’s velvet trouble and hidden heartbreak and high-strung demands. And if Ros doesn’t watch her butt, she’s going to wind up—
Oh.
A long, swift-moving shadow stops my thoughts.
There’s someone near my car.
I stop halfway across the lot, keys clutched in my hand as my heart stalls.
There’s a big old Ford SUV parked next to my rental Corolla, blocking my view, but I can just make out a tall, lean shadow through the Ford’s tinted windows, someone milling around in the space between the cars.
