Joanna sits in her room directing as one of her bridesmaids does her hair. My sister’s hair is more blond than red—but it still falls somewhere in between. Another friend is applying eye makeup. And they’re talking animatedly about the honeymoon. Joanna and Bill are going to Vancouver for four days without Annabelle—a first.
Annabelle is downstairs with my mom, and I hear her chirping. She’s talking so much now, it’s crazy. Whole, complete sentences. There is a lot I’ve missed, being in L.A. Annabelle growing up is definitely one of the crappiest parts of not living in Portland anymore.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” Joanna’s friend Aliyah squeals.
I look at my sister. Her cheeks are rosy, and she’s smiling from ear to ear. She looks radiant—more beautiful than I have ever seen her before, and I feel close to her all of a sudden. It makes me remember a time before. Back when we were not just sisters but best friends. When she used to let me borrow her dolls and dress me up like I was one. She’d let me sleep in her bed, and tell me stories at night. Stories about princesses in faraway lands and evil queens and beautiful, fierce dragons. I think about her barking orders at Cassandra and me when we’d play tea party, just the three of us.
I feel bad about the last conversation I had with Cassandra, and the creeping doubt I feel about that tabloid piece. It’s been enough that I haven’t returned half a dozen of her calls. She’ll be at the wedding. I still have no idea what I’m going to say to her, or even how much I can.
Aliyah stands to admire her work. “You’re so hot,” she tells my sister.
Joanna grabs a hand-mirror and smiles. “Good,” she says. She looks over at her dress. It’s hanging on the back of her bedroom door. An ivory lace affair that just sweeps the floor. “Will you help me get in it?” she asks.
At first I don’t say anything, assuming she’s talking to Aliyah, but then I see her looking at me.
“Me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you.”
“What about Mom?” I ask.
Joanna huffs. “We have pictures in five minutes. Can you just do this one thing for your sister on her wedding day?” But she’s smiling at me, and I smile back.
“I’d be honored,” I say.
Aliyah and the rest of the girls file out of the room. It’s just my sister and me, and I try to remember the last time we were alone together, without Annabelle or our parents or brothers. It has been too long.
I take the dress off the door and carefully unzip it. I hold it open, and Joanna steps in, placing one hand on my shoulder for support. She puts her arms through the sheer sleeves, and then I zip it up and lock the tiny satin buttons that run from the neck down to her lower back. She stands in front of the mirror, and I stand behind her.
“Wow,” I say.
The overall picture is stunning. Her hair is pulled up into a French twist, and small wisps fall around her face. Her makeup is soft—all browns and rose tones. And she’s wearing a string of pearls around her neck.
Joanna turns away from the mirror, and then she does something surprising: She takes my hands in hers.
“This is the most important day of my life,” she says. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m really happy I’m here, too,” I say.
She squeezes my hands and then drops them, turning back to the mirror. She grabs a lip gloss off the tray of makeup and starts dabbing at her lips. “And I’m really glad you let all that stupid press stuff go. Mom said you’re doing much better.”
I’m trying to smooth out the blush on my cheeks in the snippet of mirror I can see. Aliyah did my makeup, too, and she got a little heavy-handed with the Summer Sunset.
“It’s just a part of life now,” I say. “It’s not easy, but I’m trying not to let it dictate every one of my moods. Otherwise, I’d end up in an insane asylum.” I smile at her, relishing this moment of sisterhood, of togetherness.
Joanna purses her lips in the mirror. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I’ve been wanting to come clean. You know the story was already leaked when I told them that stuff about Jake.”
I drop my hand from my cheek. “What?”
Joanna doesn’t turn around, but I can see her eyes shift in the mirror.
“Joanna,” I say. “What exactly are you telling me?”
Joanna huffs, and pivots, bustling up her dress. “Don’t get snooty with me,” she says. “Sorry we don’t all have millions at our disposal. Ten thousand dollars paid for your niece and me to move out of the house, you know.”
“You took money from them? From the tabloids?” My voice feels small in my ears. All I can hear is the blood pounding. “It was you. You sold me out.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Joanna snaps, turning back to the mirror. She pops off the lipstick top. I have the intense desire to grab it out of her hand and smear it all over her white dress. “They already had those photos. I didn’t see what the big deal was.”
