“It’s me,” she said into the video intercom when she buzzed her sister’s apartment. Margo appeared and made a funny face at her before pressing the buzzer to unlock the building’s doors. Emma walked straight into the elevator and went up to the fourth floor, where her sister’s door was propped open at the end of a short hall.
The apartment was a converted loft space on the top floor of a historic building, which boasted exposed brick and whitewashed walls with sleek, black-lacquered wood floors and huge windows. An oversized kitchen island was the focal point of the main room, and off to one side sat a dining table made of reclaimed wood. On the other was a deep blue velvet sofa and two mismatched lounge chairs.
Emma dropped her purse on the table and sank her entire body into the soft sofa with an exhausted sigh.
“Do you think you’re in therapy or something?” Margo asked, emerging from the kitchen with two glasses of water.
“I walked, you know.”
“From where?”
“Just the corner, but these are four-inch heels.”
“Spare me.” She put one glass of water down in front of Emma and took a sip of the other. “So, why do you look so miserable?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You have no idea what Knightley did yesterday.”
Margo pursed her full lips.
“What?” Emma asked.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring that up. Let’s see, a solid thirty seconds.”
“He already told you.”
“He told Ben.”
Emma grabbed a pillow and covered her face to muffle a scream. When she was done, she let the pillow fall. “He’s the worst.”
“Oh yes, he’s just awful,” Margo said with mock-condemnation as she sat down on the other end of the sofa.
“I’m serious, Mar. He was so out of line. Telling me I was manipulating Nadine—as if I would do that!”
“Hmmm.”
“As if I somehow plotted to make her break up with her boyfriend or something.”
“HowisNadine?”
Emma blinked. Oh, right. This was really about Nadine.
“She’s fine. I mean, she’s a little sad, but we’ll find someone better for her. The city is full of eligible guys, and she’s gorgeous. Should be easy.”
Her sister raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So, you’re playing matchmaker again?”
“First off, you’re welcome,” Emma said, gesturing around her sister’s marital home. “And second, I’m hardly doing anything. Just sharing some gentle guidance after class.”
Margo leaned back. “Right. How’s school going, anyway?”
“Really well. The one course I’m taking is a breeze, so I’m mostly focused on my thesis and polishing up my application for the Met internship.”
“You’re still doing that?” Margo’s nose crinkled with confusion.
She tried to ignore her sister’s tone. No doubt she thought this was just another one of Emma’s short-lived hobbies—just like Knightley did. “What do you mean?”
Margo shrugged. “I don’t know. I assumed grad school would be like when you tried to start your own fashion line in high school. Or the event planning business you and I thought up when you were at FIT that never panned out. You would still be really good at that, by the way.”
Emma worked to keep her annoyance in check. “You know I’ve always loved art.”
