Emma and Diego offered me their spare room, but their place is tiny. The last thing I want is to impose. Or be in the tiny bedroom next to theirs when they’re doing what they do…no one wants to hear that.
I’ve been living in my photography studio while I find a new place. My old apartment was cheap, although in a decent neighborhood. Everything I needed was within walking distance. Now I live in the back of the studio where I photograph my clients. Half of my belongings are in storage.
“Mom hates you sleeping in your studio. She keeps pestering me about you going home.”
“The horror.” I put a hand on my chest. Emma’s lip twitches.
I moved out when I went to college. I’d rather chew off my arm than go back home. Not that Mom isn’t wonderful. It’s a choice. When I struck out on my own, I intended to stay that way. The deadly sin of beingpridefulis one of my many character flaws. Or so people tell me. I wear that badge with, well, pride.
“You can’t stay in your studio indefinitely. It’s not a home. And it’s not safe.”
“How do you figure? I have more locks and alarms in that place than Fort Knox. My babies are there.”
“That you refer to your equipment as babies is a genuine concern.”
My smile is sweet and salty at the same time. Emma doesn’t push it.
“Doesn’t it smell beautiful?” She takes a deep breath, forgetting my woes, because she knows I’ll get pissed. “I love these flowers. And the color is perfect for a summer wedding.”
“They’d look great in your look book,” I smile.
“No. No cameras.”
It was worth a shot.
I marvel at this place. Even pulling up at the gates was something new to me. There are security guys out there. Now that I think about it, there are guys who look suspiciously like security in the garden, too.
“Who did you say he was marrying again?”
“I didn’t. Because I knew you’d react.” She lowers her voice and mumbles. “Francesca Nova.”
Huh. That is information I would have preferred to know before I bought a brand-new dress and agreed to come here. We went to high school with Francesca Nova. For about three weeks in her senior year, she had purple hair. Unwillingly.
“Oh boy. I can’twaitto see her.”
“She’s changed.”
“How would you know?”
“Because she apologized to me.”
“And you forgave her. Did you forget she gave you a full-frontal wedgie?”
“Shush,” she grabs my arm and looks around. There is no one within earshot.
“You should have told me. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to seeme.Do I need to hide behind the floral displays?”
“You don’t need to worry. She’s over high school and since she apologized, I’m happy to move on.”
“Well, it explains why this is taking forever to get started. She always was an attention seeker.”
“Cora, please.” Emma gives me the look. “It’s her wedding day.”
That look is one that means I can’t continue my rant, for fear of upsetting my sweet sister.
“Fine. I’ll do my best to avoid her.”
“That is probably best.”
