“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
I’m sitting on a bench on the other side of the walled garden from the main house, staring at the treeline when my Aunt Joan appears, two champagne flutes in hand. Her sunset-orange kaftan sways down to gold sandals, and her golden bracelets clink as she sits down next to me, handing me a flute.
I take it and force myself to sip, instead of downing it in one. “I’m not hiding. I’m tactically retreating.”
“So… hiding.”
I sigh. “Sophie hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“She’s pissed at me.”
“Of course she’s pissed at you, pet.” Joan pats my hand. “She wanted you here, and you weren’t, and she missed you.”
“Sophie doesn’t miss me,” I scoff. “Sophie has Henry, and work, and her friends, and her whole bloody brilliant life. She barely thinks about me.”
Joan holds my gaze evenly with hers. “You don’t really believe that horseshit, do you?”
“Joan!”
“What? Because I’m your aunt, I can’t say horseshit? Your generation didn’t invent swearing, you know.” She sips her champagne. “Yes, Sophie has a lovely life. She’s worked hard to build it, so don’t you go tearing it down for her. But you’re her sister. She has spent the last week worrying about you, and missing you, and wishing you were here—” She holds up a hand when I try to interrupt “And, no, it is not for appearances, or because of your mum – although she has been an absolute bloody nightmare, so thank you for leaving me with that. It’s because she loves you, Rowan. This is a big day for her, and she wants you to celebrate it with her.”
Guilt twists through me. Joan is right. No matter how much I want to paint Sophie as the bad guy, she isn’t. It’s me. It’s all on me. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Yep.” Joan eases herself further into the bench, and sighs. “This champagne… stunning. And the views! They really couldn’t have picked a better spot.”
The landscape unfurls before us like a patchwork quilt. Above, clouds slowly scud across the sky. The air is warm. The sun is beginning to set, and everything is tinged in a hazy golden glow. It looks like we’ll be able to sit outside for dinner, after all. God. Dinner. Hours of small-talk and pretending that everything is fine, and that I’m not the worst sister in the world and that Sophie doesn’t hate my guts.
I want to kick off my heels and flee down the hill. Lose myself in the forest and never come back.
But running away is what got me into this mess.
Hiding is how I’ve ended up here. Hurting the people I care about. Acting like the worst version of myself. Utterly, completely, and totally lost. I think of the way Angus looked at me in the barn: like I was something precious, someone worth caring about. Right now, I don’t feel worthy of that.
How can I trust myself with someone else’s heart, when I’m doing such a bad job with the ones I already have?
“What am I going to do?”
Joan knows I don’t mean today. That my question is bigger than that. “I can’t answer that for you, pet,” she says. “That one, you have to figure out for yourself.”
Gravel crunches and I hear the exclamations of people who haven’t seen each other in years. Guests are arriving. The wedding is starting. I can’t hide out here for ever.
“Shall we go inside?” Joan asks, reading my mind.
I sigh. “Time to face the music, I guess.”
My sister is getting married. And it’s past time I start showing up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rowan
“Are you alright, love? You’re looking a little wan.”
“Thanks for asking, Mum, but I’m fine. Just tired.”
“I’d have told her, but did she ask? Walking that far isn’t good for you! And now she’s so pale, and that’s after we put on two layers of foundation. Look at those chapped lips! And the bags under her eyes.”
