“There’s something important I need to handle,” she says, fast. “I can’t explain right now, but I promise, I’ll tell you everything one day.”
The tightness in her voice snags something in my chest. She’s avoiding my eyes and gripping her weekender bag like it’s a lifeline.
“Abby,” I say, stopping in the middle of the hall.
“Hmm?” She keeps walking.
“Hey. Stop a second.” I catch her hand and gently pull her to a standstill. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What do you mean?” she says after a beat, but the pause gives her away. She’s being careful. Too careful. Her gaze slips just past mine.
She’s definitely hiding something. I don’t know what, but I know my sister.
“Well,” I start slowly, “you’ve been acting suspicious and twitchy for the past few weeks. Taking calls in the other room, hanging up the second I walk in, sneaking out for ‘errands’ that I truly don’t think exist. You even flinched when I asked who you were talking to yesterday.”
She’s been better about spending time with me these past three weeks, which has helped with the wedding dress. I’m nowhere near finished, but I’ve made real progress, and we’ve planned most of the wedding. There are still details to sort out, of course. Despite Abigail insisting it’s supposed to besmall,there’s always someone new she needs to invite, something else she needs to add. But it’s her wedding, and honestly, I’m happy to do whatever keeps her smiling.
Abigail laughs, but it’s off. Tight. “You’re being dramatic, Blair. Maybe I just have a life outside of you.”
“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head, watching her for a beat before finally saying, “Well, let me get dressed. You can drop me at Mom and Dad’s.”
It sounds casual, like I’m just making conversation. But I know why I said it.
In the past three weeks, Calvin’s barely been around, alwaysworking,but the few times he has, there’s this tension that hums under the surface, threading through every quiet pause, every glance that lingers too long. It’s not safe.
And I’m not stupid enough to tempt it.
“Why?” she asks, brows furrowing. “Why would you do that?”
“So I can stay there?” I say, like it’s obvious. Which it is.
“No, there’s no need for that,” she says. “Stay here, please. You know how old-school they are. If they find out I’m not in Boston, they’ll start calling twice a day, worrying themselves into the ER. Dad’s blood pressure can’t handle all of that.”
Her voice is shaky now, desperate in a way that unsettles me more than anything else.
“Can’t I just say I miss them and want to spend time with them?” I ask. “They don’t have to know where you are. And, Abby, you’re thirty-five. It’s not like you’re a teenager sneaking out.”
“Just… please. For me?” Her eyes latch onto mine, pleading. “I’m asking you to do this one thing. Just stay here. Keep things normal.”
“So you’re going to leave me alone for weeks, maybe a month, with someone I’ve known, what, three weeks?”
She exhales softly and cups my cheek the way she always does when she’s trying to calm me down. “You’ve known him long enough to see he’s a good man,” she says gently. “Itrust him, Blair. He’s the man I’m going to marry, and I would never leave you in a situation where I didn’t know,in my heart,that you’d be safe.”
I believe her. Of course I do. For all her faults, Abigail has always prioritized my well-being above all else. And maybe I don’t know Calvin, not really, but I’m not afraid of him.
Afraid of what might happenif I’m left alone with him,maybe. But not of him.
“Besides,” she adds with a small, hopeful smile, “maybe this will give you both a chance to… I don’t know, get to know each other. Bond a little. I don’t want to marry someone you don’t get along with. So please, do this for me? Try. He won’t be home most of the time, but when he is, don’t just avoid him, okay?”
I sigh, already caving. “Fine. Okay. I’ll… try.” I roll my eyes for effect.
“Thank you.” She beams, the tension easing for a heartbeat before her eyes light up. “Oh! Before I forget, Calvin and I were invited to this super-exclusive masquerade ball next month. Very high-end, old-money type thing. You should come with us! Calvin already said you could be our plus-one.”
I frown. Normally, this would sound like a dream: as a broke fashion designer, clawing her way up? A ballroom full of wealthy wives could mean game-changing exposure. One compliment. One conversation. That’s all it would take to shift everything.
That’s the fantasy, anyway.
The reality? I don’t have a gala-worthy dress. I’ve got dozens of sketches on my iPad, but they’re concepts, ideas, nothing tangible I can step into and zip up. And withAbigail’s wedding dress still mid-construction and the clock ticking louder every day, I barely have time to sleep, let alone sew something for myself.
