“What’s on your mind?” Her blue eyes searched mine. “Wait. I think I know.”
I expected her to roll her eyes. To tell me to toughen up. Insist I’d done the right thing and the pain would go away soon. Instead she climbed up onto the bar stool next to me and laid her wet, soggy head against my shoulder.
“You’re not you anymore,” she said. “Ever since you ended it with that guy. With our new stepbrother.” She placed air quotes around the word I’d grown to hate. “I miss you. The girl you were when you were with him. You were happier then. You’re not happy anymore.”
I tilted my head, my cheek hitting the top of her wet hair. “I miss him so much, Co.”
“Are you still working with him? Selling him properties?”
“Technically, yeah. I don’t think I should anymore. You should see him now. He’s not himself, either. It’s like he’s been replaced with this… darker version of himself. Like his heart’s turned black or something. And it’s all my fault.”
“Psh,” Coco said, sitting up. “You can thank Tammy Lynn for marrying some random guy who just happened to be Wilder’s dad. She sure can pick ‘em.”
“I just can’t get over how happy she is now. I’ve never seen her this way. She’s suddenly the mom we always dreamed of having.”
“It’s not going to last. You know it’s all an act. She’s pretending like she gives two fucks about us because that’s what Vince wants to see.”
I lifted the steeped tea to my mouth, blowing first and then taking a careful sip. “You know, I could wait until this whole thing blows over and she divorces Vince, but who knows when that’ll be? She was married to the last guy for three years. Three years from now, Wilder will have long moved on.”
“Is he coming to Florida?” Coco changed the subject, sort of.
I set the teacup down, my heart racing. “I hadn’t thought about it. I have no idea. I doubt it.”
Coco ruffled the towel over her hair one last time and finger combed it into place. “Why’s that?”
“I told him I needed space.”
Her lips bunched in the corner as she drew in a deep breath. “I really hope Mom divorces Vince. I hate seeing you this sad. When you’re sad, I’m sad. And I’m this close to telling you to just fucking be with the guy.”
“But your career,” I objected. If me being with Wilder had any adverse consequences for her career, I’d never forgive myself. As her sister, I couldn’t do that to her. And if her career went tumbling down over some stepbrother-stepsister scandal, I’d be next. “I’m not going to put your future at jeopardy. I love you, Coco. I’m not doing that to you.”
“I appreciate it,” she said, a hint of her Kentucky twang emerging. She’d told me endless stories in the past about a certain subset of journalists and Susannah Jethro loyalists who’d do anything to get their hands on a single piece of dirt that would take her down. “Though it doesn’t make me happy, I’ll tell you that. Have you thought about talking to Mom about him? Maybe come clean and tell her why you were acting so weird at the restaurant? You never know. She might decide to put her daughter’s happiness before hers, for once.”
“She loves Vince. I can’t ask her to not to be with him.”
“She doesn’t deserve you as a daughter.” Coco raised her brows. “You’re handling this a lot better than I would.”
Wilder’s words burned in my mind, “You’re a goddamned saint, Addison… that’s your fucking problem.”
* * *
Two weeks later…
I’d emailed Wilder several listings, never getting a single response. I’d even sent him some referrals for new agents. Still nothing. I supposed it was his way of giving me space. I couldn’t blame him. He was only doing exactly what I’d asked.
It didn’t help that every tall, dark-haired man in a three-piece suit strolling the city sidewalks of Manhattan looked like him. I searched for him everywhere I went. Every restaurant. Every showing. Every open house.
He was never there, and it was as if I’d wished him away. Like he never existed in the first place.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some sun.” Coco stretched her pale arms in front of her as we settled into our spots on the plane. “It’s been such a cold, gray spring.”
“I got us a convertible rental car,” I said, nudging her arm. “A Mustang.”
“Do you even remember how to drive?”
“Of course I do. It’s like riding a bike.”
“Not really.”
“How hard can it be?”
“You haven’t owned a car in, like, eight years. Do you still have a license?”
“Of course I do. And I promise I’ll get us where we need to go, all right? Just trust me.” I shoved my purse beneath the seat in front of me and pulled out a tabloid magazine I’d picked up in the gift shop. Flipping through, I stopped when a spread in the middle caught my eye.
It was an article about Coco’s ex-boyfriend, Beau, and how he was permanently retiring from the music business for personal reasons. The article quoted many close sources to him, stating he was refusing to give an official interview. I felt her eyes over my shoulder as she pretended not to read it.
“You want this when I’m done? You can maybe cut out his picture. Frame it. Kiss it goodnight…”