Mom claps her hands together. “It truly is! What wonderful news, Doreen!”
Her eyes never leaving Dad’s face, my sister goes on and on about how much she’ll be making, how big her new office will be, and how the news was already changing the office dynamic, prompting the heads of other departments to take notice and ask for her opinion.
Envy rears its ugly head in my soul, reawakening the worst kinds of thoughts.
My sister got promoted. Again. She’s two years my junior, but she’s already making more than twice what I’m making. Salaries aside, I’ve been auditioning like crazy, trying to land a part with more than ten lines for years. Years! The fact that Sandra hired me to play Caroline, is probably only because during the audition I’d swallowed my pride and name-dropped Anna Chancellor.
When that mention got Sandra and Liam’s attention, I stooped lower still. I informed them that I, too, was related to the woman who gave the world Mr. Darcy. In an unprecedented bout of self-aggrandizement on my ancestors’ back, I even bragged about the invaluable gift my grandfather made to the British Library. Shortly before his death, he donated Jane Austen’s nifty portable desk to that venerable institution—the one at which she’d penned several books including the first draft ofPride and Prejudice.
Pathetic, I know.
But I was that desperate. And I got the part.
A shadow flits across the edge of my field of vision and pulls me back into the present time. I look up at the imposing redbrick house. A well-built male figure, backlit by a desk lamp, has appeared in a window on the third floor. It’s Jonas. I squint, straining to make out his face at this distance, and my heart jumps as I realize he’s staring down at the orangery. At us.
“Wait, is that Mr. Darcy?” Doreen asks, following my gaze.
Mom cranes her neck. “You mean the sponsor and male lead of the show? Such a handsome young man!”
Jonas steps away from the window, probably spooked by my relations’ insistent looks.
Doreen slides her gaze down to me. “What did you say his name was?”
“Jonas d’Alenq.”
“D’Alenq… Continental nobility?”
Mom’s eyes light up. “French?”
“Monegasque,” I say.
“Much better!” Doreen gives a satisfied nod, oblivious to Mom’s disappointment. “Is he single?”
“Divorced with a kid.”
“He’ll do.” Doreen smiles brightly.
In your wildest dreams, Sis!“Ask yourself, why would a woman leave her rich and handsome husband and the father of her child?”
“I can’t imagine any good reason.”
“He must’ve cheated on her,” I say triumphantly, as if delivering a punch line. “Would you be willing to put up with that?”
“Ah, why not? He can have a bit of fun on the side as long as he takes good care of me!”
My parents burst out laughing as if she said something hilarious.
Wake up, people!It wasn’t a joke. She meant it.
It’s good to know I’m nothing like her. I will never let a man “take care” of me. I will be my own woman—the opposite of what my mother is and what Doreen dreams of becoming despite her career prospects and ambition. No man will ever get Margot Nolan to offer servility and obedience in exchange for financial security and social status.
“Will you introduce us?” Doreen presses her palms together. “Pretty please? Or take me as your plus-one to your after-party!”
“Or not,” I say.
Pouting, she turns to Dad. “Why does she envy me so, Daddy? What’s wrong with her?”
“Girls, girls!” He takes Doreen’s and my hand, like he used to do when we were children. “Both of you made your parents proud today. Please, be nice to each other. Support each other. Let the world envy both of you!”
