“Sounds like a productive idea.”
“Sounds like psychobabble bullshit.”
“As someone with a psychology degree, I take offense at the termpsychobabble.”
“Noted.” Chloe narrows her eyes at me. “I’m still confused why you’d ever encourage me to reach out to my mother, though. You, of all people, should hate her. She’s been nothing but terrible to you since the moment you showed up in our lives.”
“True enough. But I also know that relationships between parents and their children are never black and white. It’s all gray. Just look at me and Linus. We never really got the chance to know each other. Now, we never will. When he was alive, I had so much anger and resentment toward him for not being the perfect father… for not beinganysort of father… But now he’s gone — and so is my anger. All I feel is regret.”
“This is Octavia we’re talking about, though.Octavia. You really think she’s someone who can be redeemed? Someone who’ll suddenly stop being a monstrous bitch after twenty-two years of mistreatment, simply because I send her a lame letter?”
“Of course not.” I snort at the preposterous idea. “I’m just saying, rage can be blinding — it can overpower more nuanced feelings, to the point that you never actually process them. Being angry at someone doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed feel anything else toward them.You can hate your mother and still be sad about the state of your relationship with her. You can loathe her and still long for a different sort of bond. You’re entitled to mourn the hole someone’s left in your life, even if that person isn’t worthy of filling it.”
She stares at me for a beat. “You know, for someone with such a high emotional intelligence quotient, you’re remarkably obtuse when it comes to your own relationships.”
“I just told you, I wish I’d dealt with my anger at Linus better—”
“I’m not talking about Linus.”
I blink slowly, feeling my pulse spike. If she’s not talking about my father, then… who? Chloe doesn’t know about my relationship with Carter. Not officially, anyway. She may suspect a certain level of attraction — ofunrequited love, as she accused Carter the night we dragged her out of the club. If her insight extends beyond that… We’ve certainly never discussed it.
How could we?
This isn’t some typical schoolgirl crush two sisters giggle over during a sleepover. My love story doesn’t follow generic patterns of courtship.
Girl meets boy.
Girl falls for boy.
Girl lives happily ever after.
Even if the boy in question wasn’t her closest blood relation… A torrid tryst with your stepbrother is simply not the kind of secret you share. Not even with the people you trust most. Not if you want it to stay a secret for long.
I know full well that if Carter and I were ever found out, it would be a scandal epic enough to rock the royal household. The fallout — from the press, from the public — would be unimaginable. I can see the headlines already, one long parade of humiliation in bolded font.
STEPBROTHER BOMBSHELL! INSIDE QUEEN EMILIA’S INCESTUOUS LOVE AFFAIR
THORNE IN HER SIDE: EMILIA’S ROYAL TRANSGRESSIONS REVEALED!
OH BROTHER! READ THE SCOOP FROM AN INSIDE SOURCE ON PAGE 4
I swallow hard, attempting to banish the thoughts. “Chloe…”
“You can talk to me, you know. About anything.” Her voice is soft, unassuming. Her eyes are bright with sincerity. “I wouldn’t ever judge you, Emilia.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Does she know?
Before I can ask, there’s a polite knock on the door to her suite as three seamstresses bustle in bearing a rack of designer dresses. The moment is lost, slipping through our fingers like silk.
But as we laugh and joke over different outfit options for tomorrow night’s event, I can’t quite forget the awareness I saw in Chloe’s eyes. And I can’t stop wondering whether my closest-guarded secret… isn’t such a secret anymore.
* * *
After we decide on dresses— a lavender cape-dress for me, a black strapless sheath for Chloe — we make a big bowl of popcorn and put on a scary movie, reclined back against the headboard of her bed. By the third act, we’ve both got pillows pressed against our faces, half-hiding our eyes whenever the music starts to crescendo.
The suspense is just reaching its climax — the deformed man with the chainsaw is about three seconds away from massacring the heroine — when the door to Chloe’s suite swings open unexpectedly.