Page 182 of Collide
“I’d like that,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Without hesitation, she pulls me into a hug, and for the first time, I don’t stiffen or pull away. I lean into it.
My big sister.
She smiles, a real one this time, before nudging me playfully. “Good. Because I need you to give one hell of a maid of honor speech, and if you embarrass me, I’ll never forgive you.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Oh, I’m absolutely telling the story about how you snuck a wombat into the house when we were kids.”
“Elena!” she gasps, shoving my shoulder.
The laughter comes easily, melting the tension that always seems to cling to us. Maybe this is the start of something new. Maybe, for once, we can just be sisters.
My phone dings, and it’s from Kylie, a link to a story. I click into it, and my stomach drops:
A lead weight anchors in my gut, the blood draining from my face as I stare at the screen. The words blur, but I can’t look away. Of course, they’d spin it like this. Of course, I’d end up in a tabloid-fueled mess with Alex.Again.
Photos of me in his lap at Vanguard, his hands halfway up my dress. Photos of us on the beach, me straddling him on the sand.
Fuck.
I set my phone aside, forcing myself to be present with my sister, though the headline lingers in the back of my mind, needling at me like a thorn I can’t pull out.
Despite my protests, Philippa insists I step out into the main gallery of the bridal boutique to show Carole and Father the dress she’s selected for me.
Carole’s face lights up the moment she sees me, gushing about the fabric and the fit. “Oh, Elena, it’s stunning on you.”
My father, however, is silent, though his face has changed.
Philippa notices immediately. “What do you think, Dad?” she asks, her tone expectant.
He exhales slowly before setting down his drink. “I have some thoughts, but it’s not about the dress.” The disappointment in his voice is unmistakable.
I recognize it well.
“Dad!” Philippa gasps.
Mortimer sighs before pulling out his phone. “My team sent me this.” He holds up the screen, and I don’t even need to look. I already know.
The fucking article.
“And what of it? Celebrities get photographed all the time.”
“Not with his hands up your skirt, Elena. Don’t you care what people will think or say?”
“It has nothing to do with you or your precious empire,” I snap, crossing my arms.
His eyes harden. “I could give a damn about that.”
The bluntness of his response throws me off, but before I can recover, he stands, leveling me with a look. “You’re going to allow yourself to be humiliated like this, reduced to a frivolous headline? Where is your dignity?” His voice is sharp, cutting straight through my defenses.
I’m stunned into silence.
“He has a reputation. Women come and go. He’s not serious, Elena. I know the type—hewillbreak your heart, mark my words.”
There’s something in the way he says it, something almost resigned.
And then it hits me.
