“Well…” Paige smiled a secretive, happy little smile. “…you remember Sergei?”
“Vaguely?” I remembered some Russian guy from Paige’s college art courses: tall, skinny, androgynous; deep soulful brown eyes but couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it, and a build that reminded me of nothing so much as a collection of coat hangers strung together tenuously. “Well, different strokes for different folks, I guess.”
“Oh, stroking has been happening, all right,” Paige said in a low voice with a wicked grin that seemed imported from an alternate universe, not native to the face of my famously dependable and well-behaved older sister.
“Uh, what?” I said, an answering grin beginning to steal across my face.
Paige lowered her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course!”
That wicked grin widened, and she let out a little giggle. “I’ve been seeing him again! Under the Mom-radar, of course. He’s painting me,” she sighed.
My mouth fell open wide enough to catch every last fly in the universe. “No way!”
Paige nodded, the cat that got the cream. “Yep. Hunter was actually helping out.”
“Seriously?” I asked again.
“True story. That guy’s a total romantic; I explained about Sergei, and he came right out and offered to invite me on dates and then drop me off at Serge’s apartment. He’d drive off to the library to do research and come back a couple hours later.”
My heart squeezed tight in my chest. Damn, but I had fallen into bed with a nice guy that night at the hotel.
“It was pretty obvious he was hung up on someone too,” Paige went on. “Then I saw you two together, and—well. I can put a puzzle together when it’s that easy.”
I was so relieved I couldn’t believe it; all the tension that had lived in my shoulders and back for so long had fled, and I felt like without it I might collapse. “Oh my God, Paige, I’m so happy I can’t even—and I’m so happy for you!”
“And Sergei’s been helping me get back into the art scene,” Paige confided. “In fact, some people want me to do a show at Blackbird, you know that little gallery downtown?”
“Do I know it? The place you’ve been pining to do a show at since you were seventeen? Of course I do!” I was so proud and happy I could burst. I wanted to grab her hands and swing her around in a circle. “Oh man, you are a superhero.” Then a thought occurred to me. “So wait, all that party planning and socialite stuff—”
“Oh, I’ve been having to do all that too,” Paige said. “You know Mom would’ve smelled a rat if I’d let any of it slide. And of course I’ll keep helping out with the Knox stuff even after I tell Mom; it’s the least I can do for you. Plus, I really love it. I do.”
“See previous statement about superheroics, times a billion,” I said.
“Thanks, Ally. I don’t always feel that way.” Paige’s lower lip wobbled slightly; her eyes took on the slightest sheen of unshed tears. “I’ve been under her heel so long, sometimes I forget that it’s actually my life. I let her take over. You were so smart to move out when you did, get yourself out from under her thumb. I’ve been thinking about doing the same. So I can start doing things my way.”
I restrained myself from leaping up and doing a victory dance; I didn’t want to scare her off. Instead I asked, “Are you moving in with Sergei?”
Paige shook her head regretfully. “No. It’s tempting—Lord, is it tempting—but I have to stand on my own two feet first.” She looked determined, and then she sighed. “It’s hard work, though. I’ve been looking at apartment listings, trying to work out a budget I can live on with my salary, but everything is so overwhelming.”
“I’ll help you!” I volunteered.
Paige’s face lit, then fell again. “But you’re so busy. I couldn’t impose.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “Hey, anything for my big sister. Especially anything for a big sister like you.”
And then tears really did well up in Paige’s eyes, and she stood, pulling me toward her to envelop me in a great big bear hug that warmed me to my bones.
So that was one source of guilt resolved.
How much trouble could the next one cause?
(Ever hear the phrase ‘famous last words’?)
SEVEN
“How’s my favorite ad person?” Hunter asked, strolling onto set.
“Uh, I’m the only ad person you even remotely consider human,” I told him, trying to ignore how delectable he looked in a loose white linen shirt that set off his tan, and jeans that hugged his ass in all the right ways. “And I’m great! I mean, I’m being eaten alive by this schedule and judging by their hungry looks, possibly eventually also by the actors, but I’m great—”