I knew Fenella was serious about Battle Harbour when she opened a business here. More than even Silas, the pink-hued nightclub is keeping her here on the east coast. Fenella likes to party, likes to shop, and likes to tell the world about it via social media. She’s never really focused on anything, so for her, opening a business is huge.
Life-changing. For both of us.
Fenella made the decision to stay and play house with her barista, joining the Battle Harbour Better Business Bureau in her bid to take it over like she’s trying to take over the entire town.
But Fen is my twin, and while we are no longer cocooned in the womb, we do spend a considerable amount of time together.
I didn’t notice how much until she wasn’t there.
Basher was right—I do have thoughts about Fenella marrying Silas, and none of them are good. And then I feel like I’m a selfish baby.
I may blame Basher for my frequent visits to the land of Laandia, but I’d find a way to come on my own if I didn’t use his somewhat unhealthy fascination for Mabel Crow.
“Was he angry?” Fenella continues.
I don’t know the last time my father was angry with me. Disappointed, yes—as seen by the crash heard around Carrington Toys the day after the accident when the video of my temper and subsequent tantrum hit the internet. Most of the time, his reactions to both me and Fenella’s antics are apathetic at best.
My father doesn’t care. Fen always says he just doesn’t have time to, which is probably right. Eton Carrington is a busy man, what with running his toy empire, tradingwhere are youtexts with my mother, and worshipping the sunshine and rainbows shining out of the arse of my older brother, the heir apparent.
“The police talked to me,” she continues without giving me much time to respond. “I don’t think anything is going to come of it.”
I wave at the ceiling of the bar. It’s dark purpley-blue, the colour of the night sky dotted with glowing stars. Hundreds of them. Maybe even a thousand painted onto the ceiling. Andpainted, not just stuck there with the glow-in-the-dark stickers. “You said Sophie painted all this?”
I’ve been in here countless times but I’ve never really looked at the ceiling. And never thought of the person who was behind the paints.
“She did, but we’re not talking about Sophie right now,” Fenella snaps, her tone impatient. I don’t know what she has to get upset about. Everyone in this town loves her.
They do not love me.
I’m tolerated because Prince Gunnar is my friend, and I know this. I also knew what was said when I showed up after Abigail sent me home from The Suitorette reality show. Comments like:
“It’s about time she got rid of him.”
“I can’t believe she kept him around so long.”
“He’s always in such a foul mood. The billions wouldn’t even be worth marrying him.”
Whoever said the last one was an idiot because billions can make anything worthwhile.
I shouldknow. I deal with my parents.
So my fear of being hauled off to the Battle Harbour Police Station—wherever that is, probably in the bowels of the castle—is a real one. There’s not many in this town who would take my side over Sophie.
Make that, no one.
“Wearetalking about Sophie because we’re discussing your chat with the police, and that’s the only reason they’re talking to you,” I point out, still focused on the mural. The details are quite extraordinary. “Because I’m the reason she’s in the hospital. Where did she learn to paint like this?”
“I’ve no idea. Bob Ross videos?”
“Who?”
“The painting guy with a squirrel. I dated a guy who thought he was going to be the next Peter Doig, and he constantly watched him on YouTube. I think he’s dead now.”
I can only stare at my sister. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care.”
“Why are you asking me about it then?”
“If I cared enough, I’d reiterate our conversation. But I don’t, so—Painting. Sophie. Police.”
