It wasn’t some subtle, Hollywood-implied threat. It was plain, brutal English. Lizanne had sat there in that crisp white shirt with those blue eyes that looked right through you, and waited for Rose to crumble.
Rose pressed the heel of her hand into her chest and breathed.In for four, out for six.
The shaking didn’t stop, but it retreated—moving up her arms until it was just a dull, vibrating hum in her shoulders. She looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Her lipstick was mostly gone, leaving her lips looking pale and bitten, and her eyes looked wild, the pupils blown wide. But she wasn’t crying. She didn’t have the energy for tears.
She pulled back onto the 101. That was where Los Angeles citizens did their real processing—staring at the brake lights of a Prius while trying to figure out how their life had become ascripted drama. The smog hung low over the freeway, a grayish-brown haze that felt as thick as the thoughts in her head.
The facts were ugly: Lizanne and Pat knew everything. They had a file that probably went back to her third-grade report cards. They knew about the debt. They knew about the fake registry. They knew about Meridian and the long list of things Rose would rather forget.
But the other facts were sixty thousand dollars. Daisy’s college fund. A car that didn’t sound like a blender full of rocks every time she turned the key. A monthly allowance that would let her breathe for the first time in years. She could stop looking for discount groceries.
When she finally pulled into her apartment complex, the reality of her world felt small and fragile. Kayla’s car was outside, parked crookedly. Quinn’s truck was parked diagonally across the curb in that “I’m in a hurry to be annoying” way of his. Rose sat in the car for a second, looking up at the warm yellow glow of her apartment. It was a small, drafty place, but it was hers. Or it would be, if she could keep up with the payments.
She went inside.
The air in the apartment was thick with the smell of burnt toast and Kayla’s citrus-heavy perfume. Daisy tackled her legs the second she cleared the door, a whirlwind of tangled hair and sticky fingers. Rose held onto her for a beat too long, burying her face in that messy ponytail that smelled like grape shampoo and playground dirt.
“Are you sad?” Daisy asked, pulling back with that terrifying five-year-old intuition that stripped away every adult defense.
“Just tired, Bug. Big day at the office.”
“You can watch the penguin show with me. It’s not scary. The baby penguin finds his mommy at the end.”
“Maybe in a bit, sweetie. Go finish it.”
Rose turned to the kitchen. Quinn and Kayla were standing there like a jury. Why her brother was at her apartment was a question she’d get an answer to another time.
Kayla was leaning against the fridge, her arms crossed, her face a mask of worry. Quinn was already digging through a box of biscuits, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world, but Rose could see the tension in his jaw.
“So? What’d she want?” Quinn asked, resolving her question about why he was in her apartment. “Mom’s texted three times already from Acapulco, trying to figure out what’s what.”
Rose sighed. It was a blessing that her mother had decided to go on a two-week trip with her bridge club. The last thing she needed was Marigold Delaney involved in all of this.
She sat at the table and laid it out. No editing, no fluff. At the end, she shook her head and summarized what had just occurred.
“She had me investigated,” Rose said. “And she’s using it to force me to marry her.”
Kayla was already pacing the small length of the kitchen. “That’s illegal. You can’t blackmail someone into a marriage contract. Rose, this is coercion. We should call a lawyer, or the cops, or—”
“With what evidence?” Rose asked.
“So what’s the plan?” Kayla asked, stopping her pacing to stare at her.
Quinn leaned forward, his elbows on the table, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “I think she should take the deal.”
The kitchen went dead quiet. Kayla stared at him like he’d just suggested they join a cult. “I’m sorry? You want your sister to sell herself for a year? To a woman who just threatened to ruin her?”
“Think about it,” Quinn said, gesturing with the biscuit. “Practically. The debt goespoof. Daisy’s college is in the bag. She gets a house, a car, and a paycheck to pretend to be a rich actress’s wife. Can you imagine the exposure? Your client list will be a mile long.”
“And she has to pretend to love a woman who just held a knife to her career,” Kayla snapped.
“She also thinks said woman is a total smoke-show, which I’m puttin’ in theprocolumn.” Quinn looked at Rose, dropping the grin for a second. “Look, Rose. I’ve watched you do theMeridian Debt Dancefor years. I’ve watched you stress about every nickel while I’m out here failing auditions for ‘Background Thug Number Four.’ We’re both relying on mom way too much financially. This would at least stop you from having to rely on her. This stops the music. All of it. In one move.” He shrugged. “And maybe you can get me an acting gig on Gilden.”
“She threatened me, Quinn. She was cold. She was... ruthless.”
“She is probably panicked. You know how these contracts are. If she can’t come up with a way to get this reality show going, she probably will owe them big bucks. Yeah, she was a jerk aboutit.” He shrugged. “You’ve panicked and been a jerk. Isn’t that how Derek came to be? Panic? People do stupid things when they’re backed into a corner. She’s losing her show, her partner. She’s desperate. Desperate people doCEO Villainstuff.”
“If you put it like that…” Kayla said. “It’s still not right.”
