I frown as I watch him. He’s got a few new wrinkles along his forehead. It seems like all of us do, me included. “I take it Ilarion didn’t impress you? Mom seemed to like him.”

  His mouth ripples with tension. “He just… doesn’t suit her.”

  “Mom thinks we should just trust Celine.”

  Dad stays quiet for so long that I wonder if he’s going to go back to avoiding me mid-conversation. He runs a finger around the rim of his glass, again and again. “I know. She already told me to keep my big bazoo shut about this whole thing. ‘She’s your daughter, Archie. Be supportive.’”

  “You don’t have to keep your big whatever shut about anything with me, Dad. Tell me what you really think.”

  He glances up at me warily before sighing again. “She’s too young. She hasn’t really lived yet. And she’s rushing into this relationship. What’s wrong with taking your time, getting to know each other over a few years, maybe even living together first?”

  “She says she’s in love.”

  “Love,” Dad grunts, as though the word personally offends him. “What do you girls know about love? You’re babies.”

  I frown, and just like that, there’s distance between us again. “That’s exactly the problem, Dad. You still think of us as babies. Celine’s a grown woman, and so am I. We know our own minds, and I think you need to give us credit for that.”

  “It’s not that I—”

  “This relationship might seem impulsive to us,” I continue as my head spins with images of the night I got pregnant. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not right for her. If she doesn’t regret it, who are we to tell her she should?”

  Dad lifts his gaze to mine. Celine inherited Mom’s eyes, and I got Dad’s. Those stubborn, green, almond-shaped eyes. It’s always struck me as strange, how someone who frustrates me so endlessly and efficiently can be the source of all the things I’m most proud of in myself.

  “You’re a lot like your mother, you know,” he says softly.

  I chuckle. “I was just thinking that I was a lot like you.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “You’re better than me. Braver. Stronger.”

  I frown, wondering what’s brought on this dark mood of his. It can’t be just about Celine and her surprise engagement. It has to be something else.

  “Dad?”

  “I never did apologize to you properly,” he says gruffly. “I’ve handled things badly. I’ve been handling everything badly lately.”

  I get up and drape my arms around his shoulders from behind. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” I say. “We all have bad days.”

  “I’ve had bad years, kiddo,” he whispers, tensing under my arms. “And I’m afraid they’re catching up to me.”

  Of course. Mom’s condition is getting to him, too. It must be hard to see her fade in and out, day after day, with no real hope on the horizon.

  “We’ll get through this,” I assure him. “She beat the cancer once before. She’ll do it again.”

  He sighs, and his whole body feels like it’s resting on that one heavy breath. “There are some things that can’t be beaten, Taylor.”

  I’m about to ask him what he means, but then I note the smell of burning rice and rush to the stovetop.

  “Oh, shit!” I groan, scraping up clusters of charred-to-a-crisp rice. With a sigh of defeat, I turn to him. “Where did you say those takeout menus were again?”

  13

  TAYLOR

  The nervous tension in the car is palpable.

  Apparently, this Ilarion—I still can’t say his name without exaggerating it in a posh accent—lives clear across town in a neighborhood known as “The Valley.” Which means we’ve been driving for almost half an hour and we’re still twenty minutes away.

  The further we drive, the cleaner the streets become. It’s like we’re closing in on hallowed ground. I almost expect to see a sign that reads “No Poor People From This Point On.”

  “I should have worn something different,” Mom chimes from the passenger’s seat.

  She’s wearing her favorite blue cocktail dress, a yellow silk bandana on her head, and a pair of thick wedge heels that she hasn’t pulled out of the closet in years. She tripped twice on her way to the car.

  I blame the nerves more than the heels.

  “You look beautiful, Fi,” Dad hums immediately, offering her his palm. She slips her fingers through his and takes a deep, steadying breath.

  “Seriously, Mom, you look hot as hell.”

  “Taylor Marie.”

  “What? You do.”

  “Can we perhaps keep the swearing to a minimum when we get there? To pretend, for just one afternoon, that we are a family of culture?”

  “What?” I tease. “Rich people don’t swear?”

  I expect Dad to chuckle or pipe in with a quick quip or a word of comfort, but he does neither. He just stares ahead at the road with a deadpan expression on his face. Like a pirate’s victim about to walk the plank.

  “I want to make a good impression,” Mom says firmly. “I should have worn the red dress. This one is too big on me.”

  “It’s not like Cee gave us much time to shop for alternatives,” I mutter, pulling down the hemline of my strapless black mini. It’s both tight and short, and completely inappropriate for an engagement lunch.

  Excuse me—luncheon.

  But the way I see it, I won’t be able to fit into this dress in a few months. And God knows my partying days are going to be dead and gone once the baby comes, so I figure, there’s no time like the present, right?

  Not that Mom sees it that way. She throws me a disapproving look over her shoulder. She’s unaware of my airtight logic or the ticking time bomb in my belly, but I’m in no hurry to tell anyone about my… situation… just yet.

  For one, I want Celine to have her moment in the spotlight.

  And two—I’m a coward.

  “We could have gone shopping this morning,” Mom persists. “If only someone had answered their phone before half past ten in the morning.”

  “I overslept,” I mumble quickly. “And my phone was on silent.”

  The second part at least is not a lie. My phone was indeed on silent. But I hadn’t been lying in bed like a loaf—I’d been flat on my back on an examination table with ultrasound gel smeared on my belly.

  “Is the father coming?” the doctor had asked me.

  I answered with the only thing I could say: “There is no father.”

  She’d given me a sympathetic smile and proceeded to confirm what I already knew: in seven-and-a-half months, I would be a mother.

  Which felt extremely anti-climactic, somehow. You expect the big moments in your life to come equipped with a built-in soundtrack. Sound effects, at the very least. You’re going to be a mother. BOOM—confetti, laser beams, a line of dancers doing the can-can.

  But no. It’s just you and the doctor, staring at an amorphous gray blob on the screen. And all those big feelings you expect to feel don’t actually come.

  At least not until the doctor looks at you and asks what you plan to do.

  “What do you mean?” I’d asked.

  “Taylor, you’re clearly very young. You’re here alone. It doesn’t look like you were trying to get pregnant. I’m asking if you plan on keeping the baby.”

  And then it hits you. You don’t actually have to have a baby if you really don’t want to. Which begs the question—do I want this baby?

  And the surprising answer is… yes. Yes, I do.

  So after I cried on the doctor’s shoulder for a good ten minutes, after I’d sufficiently embarrassed myself, I’d picked myself up, driven myself home, and gotten myself ready for my sister’s engagement party.

  “We’re here!” Mom gasps suddenly, shocking me out of my thoughts. “We’re here. Zakharov House—that’s what Celine said it was called.”

  You know a family is wealthy when they name their properties after themselves. I lean forward, sticking my face between my parents’ seats. “What should we call our house?” I ask. “The Theron Thatch? Overgrown Garden Cottage? The Yellow Villa doesn’t rhyme unless you say it kind of weird, but—”

  Mom glances at me. “Please behave.”

  I give her a bright grin. “Cross my heart.”

  “And you,” she says, turning to Dad, “are to be nice. I want this to go smoothly. It’s important to Celine and that makes it important to me, too.”

  “Mom, we all love Cee,” I chime in. “Even if I hate the guy, I’m gonna pretend otherwise.”

  She sighs. “Couldn’t you just like him right off the bat?”

  I loft a brow. “Seems unreasonable to me.”

  “Me, too,” Dad mutters under his breath.

  For once, he and I are on the same page.

  14

  TAYLOR

  We’re saved another lecture when the gates part before we’ve even reached them.

  I’m having a hard time containing my natural inclination to project vibes of “IDGAF.” It’s like we’ve entered a whole other world.

  The property is nothing short of sprawling. A band of ancient trees, at least an acre thick, separates the road from the home. A paved driveway unfurls like a red carpet up to the marble front staircase of the house—although the word “house” feels woefully inadequate to describe the huge, ornate palace that rises from the earth at the top of the hill.

  Dad slows down unconsciously as we approach. It feels like the kind of place you can’t just run up to. You need to take your time, be respectful, soak it all in.

  A stone fountain dots the middle of the circular courtyard. Water sprays from it in a graceful arc, shooting high in the air before coming down around the head of the statue. Water lilies bob on the surface of the pool.

  When we come to a stop, my door is pulled open. I look up to see a wiry older gentleman in a suit.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. Welcome to Zakharov House.”

  What I mean to say is, Thank you. What actually comes out is, “Hot damn.”

  “Taylor!” Mom snaps as she’s helped out of the car by another valet. This one is a little shorter and a lot younger. He gives me a cheesy smile that’s not in the least bit professional, and I find myself pulling down the hem of my skirt.

  Mom wobbles around the front of the car. I take one elbow, Dad takes the other, and the three of us begin to mount the stairs.

  The double doors at the top have been thrown open. It isn’t until we reach the landing that I can see through them and into the belly of the house beyond.

  “This is batshit,” I breathe. The foyer stretches on forever before it reaches an indoor koi pond. Flashes of silver and orange nip at the surface before disappearing again.

  I’m not sure Mom even hears me. She’s too busy admiring the crystal chandelier hanging over our heads. “You’ve got to hand it to him: he’s got exquisite taste.”

  “Or his interior designer does, anyway,” I mumble.

  Beyond the koi pond is a perfectly manicured lawn that seems to stretch on for miles. The perimeter is ringed with flowering hedges bursting in every color known to man. Reds, blues, and, like Il-ar-i-on somehow knew Mom loved them, one yellow bloom after another after the next.

  At the far side of the garden, I see a cluster of people standing together and talking. A dark-haired head rises from the crowd, looming over the others in a way that draws my eye, but it’s too far away for me to tell who anyone is.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Theron. Miss Theron.” I turn toward a tall gentleman in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. “I’m Semyon, the housekeeper. I’m delighted to welcome you all to Zakharov House.”

  “I’m Taylor. The bride-to-be’s sister. Nice to meet you, Semyon.”

  “Of course.” He gives me a thin, knowing smile. “Your sister is in the east gardens, ma’am. Please allow me to escort you there.”

  I nudge Mom forward and the two of us follow Semyon down a broad corridor drowning in sunlight. I’m aware of Dad lurking just behind us, but I’m too distracted by this house to concentrate on how he’s handling all the wealth and splendor.

  “Did you say ‘east’ gardens, Semyon?” I ask as we parade through the house. “Meaning there are south, west, and north gardens, too?”

  “The manor faces south, Miss Theron,” he explains. “So the gardens extend only to the east, west, and north.”

  “Oh, boy. And here I was, so close to being impressed.”

  He chuckles, but only briefly, as if it’s outside of his job description and he wasn’t expecting someone like me to ever turn up at a place like this.

  That makes two of us.

  “Here we are,” he finally says as we reach the end of the hallway. He gestures toward a pair of open glass doors, beyond which the eastern gardens beckon. “I will leave you all to enjoy the party. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  My mother and I thank him with smiles, but Dad just grunts and follows as we all troop into the garden. Tall hedges guide us around the edge and spit us out onto the open lawn we saw when we first arrived.

  I thought this house itself was the most intimidating thing I’d have to face today.

  But then I take one look at the other guests, and I realize how wrong I was.

  The men and women mill around between tables, chit-chatting with the kind of nonchalance that only endless money can buy while clutching champagne in crystal champagne flutes. Pinkies out when they sip, of course.

  They’re dressed in sharp suits and gorgeous summer dresses too ethereal to be real. And here I am, standing on the periphery of this alien world, in a dress that’s gone from sexy to slutty in mere seconds of comparison.

  And then Celine emerges from around a rose bush, and for a split second, I don’t recognize her. My simple, doesn’t-wear-makeup, barefoot-on-the-weekends older sister has been transformed into a glamazon in five-inch heels.

  She’s wrapped in an emerald green slip dress that glows like it’s bejeweled. Her hair is blown out into the most voluminous golden waves and it looks at least a foot longer than it did when I saw her last. Diamonds gleam on each wrist, around her throat, and of course, on her finger, which sports a rock the size of an asteroid set in a platinum gold band.

  “You’re finally here!” She rushes over to us, though it’s a graceful sort of rushing, like a ballerina dashing across the stage.

  “Darling,” Mom murmurs, every bit as awed as I am by this new woman standing in front of us. “You look gorgeous. That dress is just… wow!”

  “Ilarion picked it out himself.” She laughs as she gives us a twirl and curtsy. “Oh, I’m so glad you guys are here. Tay!” She gives me a quick hug, and then her eyes travel down my body and her face falls. “Really? Your clubbing dress?”

  “I didn’t realize I was being invited to a literal castle to mingle with high society,” I mumble under my breath. I glance up at her and grin as best as I can. “This is some place, Cee.”

  “Isn’t it?” She beams with pride as she looks around. I follow her gaze to see tables draped with white clothes, more crystalware everywhere, and sunflowers woven into the backs of each seat. Waiters in white tuxedos float from group to group with hors d’oeuvres on silver platters.

  I follow her gaze, trying to see if I can guess which of these men who managed to capture my skittish sister’s heart in mere months.

  “So I feel a little left out being the only one in the family who hasn’t met your fiancé yet.”

  “Oh, of course!” Celine frowns as she searches for him and comes up empty. “Odd. He was just here… Hm, maybe he went to check on lunch. I’ll—Oh, wait, there he is. Ilarion!”

  She’s talking to someone over my shoulder, so I turn around expectantly. But the moment I do, I freeze. I can feel the blood draining from my face. I can feel my stomach churning with nausea. And for the first time in weeks, it has nothing to do with the pregnancy.

  I take one look at those misty blue eyes rimmed with hazel, and all I can think is—

  Not again.

  15

  TAYLOR

  This.

  Cannot.

  Be.

  Happening.

  Surely, he’s going to lock eyes on me at any moment and recognize me from that night. Surely, he’s going to pale just as I have and the whole jig will be up.

  How would that go, exactly?

  “Do you guys know each other?”

  “Sure do, sis! I just happened to bang your fiancé before I knew he was your fiancé and now, I’m pregnant and there’s a ten in ten chance it’s his baby. But you know, I’m super excited about your engagement. I hope the two of you will be oh-so happy together.”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Ohhhh, God.

  I’m dangerously close to hyperventilating. But thankfully, no one is looking at me. At least, none of my family is looking at me. Their eyes are focused on Ilarion. And his eyes are focused on…

  “You must be Celine’s baby sister,” he says, extending his hand out in my direction. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  I stare at his hand for a moment. Because—what?! I mean, he has to know who I am. Right? I know I clean up pretty nice, but there’s no way I look that different from how I looked the night we met.

  “I… Uh, yeah. Yup, pleasure,” I say, stumbling over my words like a complete moron.

  Now, everyone is looking at me. Mom looks horrified, Celine looks amused, and Dad looks… well, kinda out of it, if I’m being honest.

  Ilarion—I can’t bring myself to say his name with the same joking cadence I used before; now, it’s just Ilarion, with doom and gloom and thunder crashing in the background—releases my hand after one shake and wraps his arm around Celine’s waist. She looks up at him as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

  Same here, Cee.

  “Would you excuse us for just a moment?” she asks. “I want to introduce Ilarion to some of my friends. They’re dying to meet him.”