“He good?”
“Yeah.”
The answer came so fast, I knew it was a lie. Whatever had happened wasn’t good. At least he was alive. Damn, my standards had gotten alarmingly low since marrying Targen.
“Pip.”
“I’m fine.”
“You not.”
She sighed. The sound was tired. That bothered me more than anything. My baby sister never sounded tired.
“I don’t wanna talk about it, T.”
I studied her face. Whatever had happened between her and Jagger was serious, serious enough that she wasn’t ready to tell even me.
But she still wore the ring anyway. My heart hurt for her.
“Okay,” I conceded.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What? Just okay?”
“Yeah.”
I stood and moved beside her. “You’ll tell me when you ready.”
A small smile curved her lips. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Chastity and Annette Miller. I’m still nosy, just well-mannered.”
She laughed, quick but real. I slipped my arm through hers.
“You should come to Port Isle this weekend.”
“Port Isle?”
“The island.”
Her eyebrows climbed. “I know Port Isle. The rich people island?”
I laughed. “I guess so. You know, it's majority Black people like us—descended from people enslaved by North Americans. Ms. Joia bought a house down there. Sergei found out and bought her a damn estate. There's apparently an itty-bitty neighborhood called “Russian Row” where some rich Russian families own houses. The Sidorovs are celebrating Targen's birthday there this weekend.”
She shook her head. “I'on know, T.”
“Come anyway,” I pressed.
“Why?”
Because she looked sad and lonely and whatever was happening wasn’t getting better here. But I didn't say all that. Instead, I shrugged.
“Because I want my sister there.”
Pip looked surprised by that. Then she got emotional, but then she got annoyed with herself for being emotional. That was so Epiphany.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a yes,” I complained.
