“I'm not anyone, Cece. I'm your sister.” Her voice cracked slightly. “We tell each other everything. At least, I thought we did.”
The accusation stung, mostly because it was true. We had always been each other's confidantes, even through the roughest patches of our lives. Until I moved to New York and started failing at everything I touched. Then the calls became shorter, the confessions fewer. I'd been pulling away long before Rafe entered the picture.
“That's not fair,” I said, my defensiveness flaring. “You didn't tell anyone about your arrangement with Liam either. I found out after you were already married.”
It was a low blow, and I knew it. Everlee and Liam's marriage had started as a business arrangement too—her becoming his wife to help him secure his inheritance, him giving her financial stability when our father’s medical bills became too much. But they'd fallen in love for real, and now they were disgustingly happy and expecting their first child.
Everlee's hand moved to her belly in a protective gesture. “That was different. We were both in crisis, and—”
“And I'm not?” I interrupted, louder than I intended. I immediately lowered my voice. “Evie, my life isn't exactly going according to plan here.”
Her expression softened. She moved to the small sofa in the corner of her office and patted the spot beside her. “Come sit down. Talk to me, Cece. What's really going on? What are you getting out of this arrangement with Rafe?”
I sank onto the couch beside her, feeling every bit as exhausted as I was certain I looked. What was I getting? Freedom from a debt I couldn't pay. A shield against my stalker, maybe. Financial security, at the cost of my independence.
But I couldn't tell her any of that without explaining Vice and Virtue, without confessing how desperate I'd become.
“It's complicated,” I said lamely.
“Try me.” Evie took my hands in hers. “I love you. Unconditionally. No matter what's going on, I'm on your side. But I can't help if you don't let me in. No more secrets between us, okay?”
My throat tightened painfully. For a moment—one breathless, dangerous moment—I considered telling her everything. About the rejection letters piling up, the mounting bills, the loan from Santiago, the dancing, the roses that kept appearing.
But then I imagined the look on her face. The disappointment. The pity. The worry that would keep her up at night, that might harm her or the baby. I couldn't do that to her. Not now, maybe not ever.
“Rafe and I... we make sense together,” I lied, the words tasting sour. “His parents were pushing him into a marriage he didn't want, and I... I needed a fresh start. It's a good arrangement for both of us.”
The lie hung between us, as tangible as the wedding band on my finger. My sister studied my face for a long moment,searching for the truth I was hiding. Then she suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug.
“I just want you to be happy,” she whispered against my hair. “That's all I've ever wanted for you.”
I clung to her, guilt forming a lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. “I know.”
We stayed like that for a long moment, the embrace saying all the things I couldn't put into words. When we finally pulled apart, I promised to come to dinner later in the week, to bring Rafe, to act like this was all normal and fine and not a ticking time bomb.
By the time I left Nouvelle Femme, the afternoon was fading into evening. I took another taxi back to the penthouse, watching the city blur past through windows smudged with fingerprints from countless other passengers. Each one with their own secrets, their own reasons for moving through this city that ate dreams for breakfast.
Edward opened the door before I could use my key, his expression perfectly neutral as always. “Welcome home, Mrs. de Luca.”
The title sent a shiver down my spine. Not my name. Not who I was.
“Is Rafe here?” I asked, shrugging out of my coat.
“Mr. de Luca called to say he would be late this evening.” Edward took my coat with practiced efficiency. “There was a delivery for you at the front desk. I took the liberty of bringing it up.”
He gestured to a single rose in a slim glass vase on the entry table. Beside it lay a small white envelope with my name written in flowing script.
My blood ran cold. “When did this arrive?”
“About an hour ago, madam. The doorman said it was left with the concierge.” Edward hesitated, perhaps noting my sudden pallor. “Is everything alright?”
I forced my face into a neutral expression. “Fine. Thank you, Edward.”
He nodded once and retreated, leaving me alone with the rose and the note. My fingers trembled as I picked up the envelope and extracted the small card inside.
I miss seeing you. You were the highlight of my day.
No signature. Just like the others. But this one was different—this one had found me here, in Rafe's building, behind security and doormen and all the protections that were supposed to keep me safe.
