Felix says something on the other end, and India takes a deep breath. “Uh…” she says. Then, with one last wince and a quick look at us, she speaks. “At the police station.”
And calling Felix is the right move. When he shows up fifteen minutes later, he has bleary eyes but a wide smile. The late-night spring air gusts in with him, and he winks at India before strolling right on past until he reaches the open door of Bert’s office.
“Chief,” he says, popping his head inside. “Felix Caine. I’m here to pick up the Marigold hooligans.”
India and I roll our eyes as Juliet laughs. I can’t hear Bert’s reply since we’re still at the entrance, but Felix nods a moment later and then turns on his heel to come back to us.
“All set,” he says, looking frankly more amused than necessary. He turns his gaze to India, his eyes softening on her the way they always do. “And I have to say, Sunshine, that this was quite the midnight call.”
“Casual Barf needed to be dealt with?—”
“Bart,” I cut her off, stressing the name.
“Stop defending him, Aurora,” Juliet says. “His name is officially Barf, and it’s no use trying to convince us otherwise.” Then she looks at Felix. “Thanks for coming to get us.”
“I know you and Cy and Poppy are friends,” India says severely, “but your loyalty is to me now. You are forbidden from telling any of them.Definitelynot Cyrus?—”
“My lips are sealed,” he says, holding up his hands and grinning. Then he jerks his head at the door. “Shall we, ladies?”
The house is dark,of course, when Felix drops us off. Indy and Jules go up to their room immediately, but I linger, drifting aimlessly toward the kitchen.
It’s unlike me. I’ve never been particularly sentimental, and especially not as an adult. But these rooms hold so much of my life now, so much of my time with my sisters, and truthfully…I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here.
Felix and India will get married eventually. So will Luca and Jules. That writing is on the wall for both of them. Then they’ll move out, and it will just be me.
I don’t know what I’ll do after that. I want to buy this house, and I’ve been saving for a long time. I’ve been gearing up to ask for a raise after the upcoming event at work, too—a pay increase I’ve earned twenty times over—but I don’t know how much help a little bump in my salary will be.
I sigh and trudge back out of the kitchen, dragging myself tiredly upstairs. There’s only silence from my sisters’ room; they’re probably already dreaming about the men in their lives, smiling and glowing with that joy that’s always seemed just out of my reach.
I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like. I keep that question in my heart of hearts, deep down where no one will ever find it. Because the truth is, I don’t think I need love like my sisters have found. Sure, I’m a little jealous sometimes. But ultimately, romance is a risk. My family depends on me to be strong;Idepend on me to be strong. There’s no place for a broken heart in my life.
I have my sisters. I have my parents. I even have Cyrus, as much as we butt heads. That’s enough.
Although I’d rather just dive into bed when I get to my room, I take the time to lay out my clothes for tomorrow—the smart, responsible thing to do. It’s only when my skirt and blouse are draped neatly over my desk chair that I set my alarm clock, plug in my phone, and let myself burrow under the covers.
I dream about nothing at all.
AURORA
I did not goto college to become a party planner.
Granted, I studied business, and I work as an events coordination manager for Soul2Soul, a matchmaking and dating service. But while there are a lot of components under my umbrella…
Sometimes I still just feel like a party planner, planning in-person meetups and parties and mixers, keeping track of moving pieces and coordinating communication and recruiting sponsors.
Being single throughout this process feels about as good as you’d expect, given the heavy focus on love and companionship that comes inherently with my job. I try to remind myself it doesn’t actually matter.
So when I show up at work every morning, I smile at everyone I see—except Barf, obviously, because smiling at my coworker ex while working at a love-focused company is more than I can handle. I ask people how their lives are, their families. It’s not my normal inclination, because I tend to keep to myself when possible, but I try to be a good employee and a good coworker.
This morning is no different.
The shoes I chose are four inches high, sleek and black. They would hurt my feet if I didn’t already have faint callouses on the backs of my heels. Beauty is pain, but for me, beauty is armor, too. It’s confidence. A weapon in my hands if I need it, and sometimes a wall to keep people out. So I relish theclick, click, clickthat accompanies me as I walk.
I do not relish the remains of the dark circles under my eyes from my late night excursion, but my makeup does a decent job of covering them up.
When I pass Shelly in the hall, she stops me with a grateful look.
“Oh, good,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “You’re here.” She glances back and forth to make sure we’re alone and then scurries closer. “I have a few new photos of Denice’s baby.”
