Page 32 of Wild Card

I’ve been thinking about what she said about letting a primrose die.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Okay.”

I reach for her hand, and her eyes widen in fear.

“No, Beauty, I’m not taking you upstairs.”

Not today anyhow.

“I have something I hope you’ll actually be able to eat this time.”

She takes my hand. Her nails are painted a bright sky blue, and her toes match, though the polish is chipped off quite a bit.

I lead her back to the couch and hand her a mug of broth.

“Chicken bone broth,” I say. “My grandmother made it.”

“Does she live nearby?” She asks, smelling the broth before lifting the mug to her lips.

I nod and open a package of the crackers for her.

“What do you do for work?” I ask. It’s a ridiculous question, but I want to get to know this woman a little better.

“I’m an influencer. On social media. I’ve always loved fashion and photography,” she says, slowly sipping from the mug. “I went to Mass College of Art for it. I started vlogging…”

“Vlogging?”

“Video blogging. Sort of like the film version of a diary, but one that everyone reads.” She lets out a laugh. “I started making videos of my experiences at Mass Art, and soon I had a decent following. Businesses asked me to review their products, at first for things like free shoes, and then for ad revenue. I taught myself how to edit videos and do audio production so my work could be more sophisticated than my competitors, and it worked.”

“Do you mostly just talk about clothes and stuff?”

She breaks one of the crackers.

“I talk about clothes and social issues. Sex and relationships. I do interviews.” A slow smile spreads across her face. “Birdie dances with the Boston City Ballet Company, and that was one of my more popular videos.”

“Is she your favorite sibling?”

“She’s easy to love. She’s beautiful, talented, kind to a fault. It’s why my brothers guard her like the secret service.” The smile drops from her face. “Probably why it was easier to grab me. But I’d rather it be me than her. She’s not as tough as I am. Neither is Siobhan.”

She’s tough, but she still deserves the same care as her sisters.

“There’s a story there.”

At least one, but probably more.

She puts the mug down and pulls her legs up, resting her chin on her knees.

“Siobhan was very sheltered. She’s extremely talented, and my parents found it easy to mold her into what they wanted. But she had more spirit than they bargained for.”

Probably not as much as Catriona, though.

“When we were teenagers, she wanted to go to this big party some cute guy she knew was throwing. My folks wouldn’t allow it—they didn’t want her sullying herself for anything less than the son of a Fortune 500 CEO.”

She laughs quietly, but I don’t miss the sadness in her voice.

“But Siobhan could be defiant in her own way, and she asked me to help her sneak out. So I did. I went with her. She’s older, but she’d never really been to big raucous parties. Her cute guy turned out to be a handsy creep, and I found him cornering her in a dark bedroom. I kicked him in the balls and got Siobhan back home in one piece.”

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