“Nothing could stop me from missing the premiere,” he says. “Unfortunately I had a charity appearance in Seattle yesterday, so I had to take a red-eye, but that’s what caffeine is for, right?”
“And naps,” says Kit, who steps into the doorway and offers his hand. “Never too old for a good one. We haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Kit.”
“Ah, the boyfriend,” says Thaddeus, and he shoots me a conspiratorial wink as he shakes Kit’s hand. “The pleasure’s all mine. We’re going to be friends, you and I.”
“Seems like we already are,” says Kit easily. “Maisie invited you, then?”
“Yes, I invited him,” snaps my sister, and she holds out her arms for the seamstress to make adjustments to her bodice. Her collarbone is poking out more than usual, and I notice that padding has been added to her corseted top—something she normally doesn’t need. “I figured there’s no better time to introduce the world to my boyfriend.”
If I were drinking something, it’d be all over Maisie’s dress now, despite the fact that she’s several yards away. “Yourwhat?”
“Oh, have you made it official, then?” says Kit, as if this is something he’s been looking forward to. “Brilliant. Gia will be thrilled. She’s coming tonight, too, did you hear?”
This last line is directed toward me, which is a good thing, considering Maisie is slowly turning a shade of red I’ve never seen before. “She is?” I say, barely managing to swallow my surprise and play along. “I can’t wait to see her. Tibby mentioned she’s seeing someone now, too?”
“Mm, one of the actresses in the film,” says Kit. “Odd—isn’t it the one who plays you, Mais?”
If ever there was a moment that my sister’s head might actually explode, this is it. “Lovely,” she mutters through a jaw so tight that I can barely understand her. “I’m sure they’re very happy together.”
“No doubt,” agrees Kit, and he loops his arm around my waist. “By the way, we wanted to let you know that Rosie’s pictures are out.”
This sudden shift in topic seems to take some of the fury out of Maisie’s sails, and her eyes narrow in the mirror. “The pictures…?”
“You know the ones,” he says calmly, handling her with deftness I will never manage. “Just thought you ought to know.”
Maisie’s throat constricts. “Seems like the chickens have finally come home to roost, then,” she says at last. “I hope she enjoys reaping what she’s sown.”
This is such an oddly cold thing to say, even for Maisie, thatall I can do is stare at her. Thaddeus also frowns, clearly confused. “Pictures?” he says. “Chickens? I’m lost.”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Kit, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll see you tonight, yeah? I’ll be the version of me not on the big screen.”
Thaddeus grins again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With the same ease with which he dealt with Maisie, Kit guides me back out the way we came, and only once the door is closed do I manage to find the right words.
“She doesn’t care,” I burst. “She just—doesn’tcare.”
“To be fair, they have an entire lifetime of history between them, and Maisie values loyalty above all else,” says Kit. “Something she now thinks Rosie has none of. Give her time. She’ll come around and contact her eventually, but not if we push.”
This is so monumentally unfair that I don’t know what to say, but in reality, what did I expect? I’m not sureIforgive Rosie yet, or that I ever fully will, especially when she was partially responsible for the fire at Windsor that could have—shouldhave—killed my mother, and almost took Maisie’s life instead. I can’t blame Maisie for refusing to look past it, especially when she’ll always bear the physical scars. But the coldness with which she dismissed it all rankles me, and while these two things—all the reasons Rosie doesn’t deserve our sympathy, and all the reasons we should give it to her anyway—can both be true, I don’t know how to reconcile them with each other. Or the fact that Maisie’s dragging Thaddeus into this mess, too.
“Why do you think Ben posted them today?” I say quietlyonce we’re far enough away from Maisie’s apartment to guarantee some modicum of privacy.
Kit frowns. “The pictures? I don’t know. Because of the premiere, I suppose.”
“He doesn’t do anything at random, and he wouldn’t wait this long just to waste the timing,” I say. “Ithasto be because of the premiere. But Rosie isn’t invited. She and Maisie aren’t even speaking.”
“Ben doesn’t know that,” says Kit. “Or at least we don’t think he does. He could be trying to make Maisie look bad, especially if he expects her to be photographed with Rosie.”
“Maybe,” I mumble, but it doesn’t feel strong enough. “Maybe he’s trying to prove he still has power over us. But that’s a really big hand to play for no good reason, especially when he doesn’t have anything else.”
“His carefully laid plans have blown up in his face again and again, and he’s probably getting desperate,” says Kit as he opens our door, which is much closer to Maisie’s and my parents’ apartments than my old suite. “He may be trying to force himself into the narrative and scare us.”
Before I can respond, Tibby looks up from her spot at our dining table, where someone’s laid out three breakfast trays. “There you are,” she says, clearly miffed. “Do you think, today of all days, that you might do me a favor and not run off?”
“Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not. “I had to tell Maisie about the pictures.”
Tibby sighs, but at least she doesn’t admonish me further. Instead, she gestures for Kit and me to sit down in front of our plates, making it clear breakfast is not optional this morning.“Have you decided what you’d like to do about John Phillip Michaels?”
