Page 87 of Wilde Secrets

“Something about how it was all my fault, and that I’d told the reporter you were—” she stopped and swallowed, “—a talentless hack.”

Isla’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t, you know. Say that. I didn’t actually say much at all.”

“I know you wouldn’t say something like that about me. But I know who would.” Isla’s lips pressed into a thin line, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Who would say something like that about you?”

“Guess.”

Harper racked her brain. Their father had spent considerable effort over the years screening anyone who would get close to Isla. And it had to be someone close to her, for her sister to be so angry about it. People said worse all the time, but not people whose opinions mattered to Isla. “Surely not King?”

Isla snorted in laughter. “No, not King. Dad.”

Harper jumped from her stool, her stomach dropping. “What? No way. He would never?—”

“Yes, he would, Harps. He’s called me a talentless hack for years. He even made me repeat it back to him. I am a talentless hack that wouldn’t have made it anywhere without his and my sister’s help.” She snorted, shaking her head, her tone derisive.

Harper sagged back against the stool, knocking it to the floor. Neither woman paid it any attention. Harper felt like her whole world had been turned upside down.

“But he’s our dad…”

“Yeah, he was. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not my father anymore.” Isla’s tone was vicious and biting. “I wouldn’t have been able to face up to any of this without King, you know.” She said, her voice softening.

Harper picked up her coffee and took a sip, not caring that it had cooled almost to undrinkable. She needed something to do with her hands.

“Why would he say that to you?”

Isla sighed. “So he could manipulate us both. Telling me I need you to write the songs. Telling you that your anxiety would never allow you to perform. Keeping us both on an allowance and never giving either of us the money we deserved.”

Harper waved a hand. “Oh no, that’s your money. I wasn’t the one who put the hard work in.”

Isla gaped. “Do you have any idea how much a songwriter gets paid? And then the royalties?”

“Uh, no.”

“Ok. Let’s just say that we’re getting our earnings from dad and we’re going to split them 50/50.”

“I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can. And I’ve managed to negotiate a way to re-release the albums with your name as the songwriter.”

Harper’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, wow.”

Isla lifted a hand. “It should never have happened like this. If we were to be a team, then we needed to work together and be a team, not be played off against each other.”

Harper nodded absently, still shaken by what Isla had revealed.

Isla picked up her own cup of coffee and took a swig. “Oh, yuck. Cold.” She pulled a face and put the mug down.

“I’ll make you another cup.”

While Harper busied herself making coffee, the two women caught up over the events of the past three weeks, ending with Harper singing karaoke more than once and really enjoying it.

“I never thought I’d be able to do that,” she said softly, laughing as Isla squealed and clapped her hands together.

“I’m so proud of you!” Isla cried, throwing her arms around Harper, the coffee forgotten once more.

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