Page 87 of Pin-up Girl

The pleading in her eyes was unmistakable.

I would be there for her as much as I could, but I wasn’t going to pretend there was a wedding happening if there wasn’t. Especially a wedding I didn’t want to happen. “Do you want to add anything, Sylvie? Anything Grandma needs to know before we pull apart my entire formal selection again?”

“No. Grandma had me covered.” Sylvie stared at her shoes while she talked.

This was not my sister. The assertive, successful woman who had climbed the corporate ladder at a young age. I didn’t know this girl. I clenched my jaw and my nostrils flared.

“Please,” Sylvie whispered so softly I barely heard her.

I’m sorry, sis. “No. I’m done.”

“Done with what? What are you talking about?” Grandma’s voice was filled with frustration. “Go get the dresses, or we’ll go to a real store.”

Was she serious? I would do whatever I could for Sylvie if I thought it would help her, but I didn’t sign up for this bullshit. “This is a real store.” I pointed at the displays. “We have a product.” I grabbed a nearby price tag. “I charge money for it.” I jabbed a thumb toward the register. “People pay me. People work for me.”

Speaking of, the poor girl working the counter. I glanced at her. “Do you want to take a bonus break? ”

She nodded, looking grateful, and scurried out the front door without another word.

“That’s cute,” Grandma said. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t. And while I don’t owe you any justification for myself or my business, you seem to think you’re entitled to it. I spent yesterday with a woman from L.A. Someone who was on the cover of Elle earlier this year, and who will be wearing an assortment of my custom fitted vintage clothing to her next red-carpet premiere.”

Grandma opened her mouth.

I wasn’t done. “And that isn’t a one-off incident. You think I earn a living having a shop full of antique clothing that women who will be you one day come in and paw at, then turn their noses up at as they leave?”

“I—”

“So is this a real store?” I was on a roll, and she didn’t get to talk until I was done. “Yes. I own a real fucking business, and why you refuse to acknowledge that, why you seem to have a big ol’ sand brick in your vagina when it comes to me, is beyond me, but fuck your opinion. And while we’re on the subject of dresses Sylvie doesn’t need one for her wedding, because her fiancé is a narcissistic, manipulative asshole, and she dumped him at two am in a screaming match in my apartment.”

Grandma’s eyes had narrowed to slits.

Sylvie stared at me with wide-eyed shock. “No. Peter and I had a fight. That’s all. Every couple fights.”

“The police had to remove him from my property,” I said. “You told Peter in front of me and the neighbor and everyone within shouting distance that you two were fucking done.”

“Language.” Grandma finally got a world in. “What is wrong with you?”

Did she really ask that? Of course she did. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. What’s wrong with you, you judgmental?—”

“We should have made an appointment.” Sylvie talked over me. “We’ll come back.”

“No, you won’t. Not for this.” I wouldn’t push Sylvie away. “I’m always here for you, but you can’t ignore that something is wrong with him.” It wasn’t my right to tell my sister who she could love, any more than it was anyone else’s right to tell me I should be with Clint or Brodie. Or both. But the two of them were good people, and Peter was not.

Grandma turned away from me. Not unusual. This was her Aubrey isn’t worth talking to stance. “Whatever happened, you can forgive him. Give him a call, and make things right.”

I stared in disbelief. Did she really just say…? The woman who owned an insurance company empire? The head of our fucking family?

Sylvie reached for her phone.

“Do. Not.” I bit off the words. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Donna Lantrey, that you think Sylvie needs a man to make her happy? That you think any woman does? Sylvie was in a good job before this. She gave up a lucrative career for this asshole.”

Sylvie winced. “I…”

There was more to her story, but unless she shared it, I had to go on what I’d heard and seen. “Sylvie doesn’t need to get married to be whole,” I said. “I don’t need to find love to be whole. I’m doing so well on my own, and so was Sylvie.”

“I don’t know why you think you can talk to me like this. Stop, now.” Grandma’s posture was rigid and her jaw was set.

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