“I’m serious, Enya,” she hisses. “There will be questions. People will assume things about you—about us. About Daddy and?—"
I cut her off. “I’m not marrying someone because you’re worried about whispers.” I stick my tongue out at her like we’re children. “Weren’t you the one who told me that life isn’t a Hallmark movie?”
Maggie looks as exasperated as I am delighted at riling her up. This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. But she’s still my sister, and….
“Maggie,” I ask levelly, without censure, “is everything in your life only about appearances?”
She sits back, offended. “You don’t understand how this world works.”
“No,” I murmur. “I understand it perfectly. I just don’t want to live in it.”
She glances around the room, suddenly remembering where we are. Then her tone shifts, sharp with calculation. “You realize who he is now, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, and that doesn’t change a damn thing for me. The man lied to me. He used me. Do you want me to marry a man I don’t love just because it’ll look right? Is that what you want for me?”
She looks chagrined. “Connections matter, Enya. They always have.”
I dunk a fry in mayonnaise. “Maggie…is that all you see people as? Connections?”
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “And you should, too, unless you want to be left behind. You have a child coming. You need to think strategically.”
I chew on my fry.
“Iamthinking strategically,” I tell her. “You’re paying for lunch.”
But despite my airy response, I am hurt.
I’ve been trying to win my sister’s affection since I was old enough to notice she didn’t want me around. Now, I don’t know why that was so important. Maggie is controlled by her fears…so many of them, all centered on the idea: what will people say?
It’s a limiting way to live. It’s also tremendously sad.
She can look down upon me for running a flower shop—but I’m happy, unafraid, and truly satisfied with what I do.
“Do you know why I love Lucille’s?” I ask my sister.
She shoots me a flat, unimpressed glare.
“I make people smile, and that’s what fills my heart. What fills your heart, Maggie?”
“Enya, look?—"
“Do you know you always make me feel small?” I speak over her.
She stiffens, affronted. “I’ve never made you feel small.”
“True.” I nod in self-deprecation. “You just acted like I already was.”
Maggie’s mouth tightens. “You’re being dramatic.”
I eat some more of my steak. It doesn’t taste as good as it did a few minutes ago, when I was still riding on my high at giving my sister the proverbial middle finger. Now, I just feel sad.
Freaking hormones. They were making me see-saw between despair and delight.
“Maggie, I don’t want to marry the father of my child; I want to marry the man I want as a husband. Do you understand the distinction?”
She meets my gaze with quiet, simmering resentment. “Do you understand the distinction between being Dominic Delacour’s wife and his baby mama?”
I set my silverware parallelly on the plate, indicating I’m done with my meal. The truth is that I’m done with quite a few other things, like pleasing my sister, working to get my father’s approval…things that I strived so hard for are meaningless now.
