Page 20 of Burning for the Billionaire 7

“And you’re such a bitch,” I grumble, eying her warily in case she attacks.

Isabelle’s laugh catches me off guard, but it sounds less like amusement and more hysterical.

Is this just pre-wedding jitters kicking in? Isabelle has always seemed so confident, I didn’t imagine she’d experience any nervousness. She’s stopped laughing and as I study her a little closer, I see the lines of strain in her face. Her eyebrows are puckered and her lips are tightly pressed together.

“Um, Belle, are you okay? I mean,really.”

“No!” She stomps a foot and scowls as if I’m supposed to know what has her so upset.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re happy, Grace! And it isn’t fair.”

My jaw drops.

“You were supposed to come crawling back from California and show Dad that you’re not as smart and amazing as he always brags about. Show Mom that you’re not so tough and independent. Then, finally, you’d fall from your status of Golden Child, and I’d get a little respect around here.”

I dissolve into a fit of laughter. Loud, belly-cramping laughter. Slapping the kitchen counter, I cackle until it’s hard to breathe.

Isabelle glowers.

Wiping away tears, I gasp out, “You think I’m the Golden Child? I’ve been calling you that for years.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabs a half-bottle of wine from the counter. I watch, stunned and amused, as she chugs it straight from the bottle. Putting aside years of resentment and the shock of recent revelations, I realize that my big sister is utterly miserable.

I don’t understand it. She acts like she has the perfect life, and she shoves it in everyone’s faces on social media. The pretty, perfect socialite.

“Belle, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’ve always felt... well, less than, like me.”

After one more dirty look, her shoulders sag. “I’m not really angry that you’re doing well, Grace, but I’m jealous. You’ve always marched to your own beat. I’ve never had the courage to be someone other than what everyone else wants.”

I search for what to say. I’ve never seen or heard her like this, so I don’t know how to handle this. “Then stop. Be who you want to be.”

The wine bottle hits the countertop with a thud. “It’s a little too late for that.” Threading her fingers through hair that’s always glossy and flawless, she sighs. “I skipped out on college because Mom said all I needed to do was marry well.”

I snort. “That’s on you for listening to Mom.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

Holding up both palms, I mutter, “Sorry.”

“Now, I’m marrying a man because of who he is and what he might achieve. A man who doesn’t even respect me enough to keep his dick in his pants. The rumors about how many women he’s cheated on me with are beyond embarrassing.”

Outrage boils my blood. Isabelle may be a mean girl, but she’s my sister and I’m pissed on her behalf. “Then why are you marrying him?”

She shrugs. “I’m hoping he’ll change after the marriage. Plus, what right do I have to be mad? I’m just hitching onto him, hoping to go where he goes in life, and that’s so fucking sad.” She turns to me. “You know the saddest part? I didn’t realize how pathetic I am until you showed up, brand-new and happy with a man who looks at you as if you hung the moon.”

I blink. Does Rowan really look at me like that?

“I want someone to look at me like I’m the most amazing person in the room, too. You’re really lucky, Grace... brat,” she adds with a slight smile.

I snort, but my heart is breaking for her. How did I misinterpret everything so badly for so long? We’re quiet for a while and I place a hand over Isabelle’s. She glances at our connected hands and resumes drinking her wine from the bottle.

“Don’t go through with the wedding,” I whisper.

“I’ll be fine.”

Blowing out a breath, I entertain the thought that she’s insane for going through with it, but it’s her life. The only thing I can do is try to establish the sisterly connection with her I’ve always craved and be there for her.

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