Mitch snorted. “No one will buy that book. I’ll hack into Amazon and give it zero stars.”
Aster leaned over and kissed Mitch in response. He pulled her legs up onto his lap, and she sighed, nestling into his chest and closing her eyes for a brief moment of peace. People would buy the book, she knew that. People bought anything with her family’s name on it, good publicity or bad. But surely Elizabeth would be fired for writing a tell-all, right? Aster felt a little excited. That meant she would get a new boss.
She reached for the magazine again and flipped to the next page, which contained a story about Danielle. The image of her was a candid from her days at NYU, probably submitted by one of her classmates. “The Secret Daughter” was the headline. But there wasn’t a single quote from Danielle; the reporters had built the piece around the public details of Julia’s confession on the bridge, and little else. As far as Aster knew, Danielle hadn’t said a word about anything.
She pulled out her phone and composed a new text. I saw the story in People, she wrote.
A few moments later, Danielle texted back. Ugh, I know. Disaster.
Actually, you look good, Aster replied. And they aren’t too mean.
She and Danielle had been talking a little since the standoff, mostly in texts and e-mails. Aster didn’t know what it meant or where it would lead, exactly; she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around the fact that Danielle was her sister.
In one of their first conversations after Julia attacked them, sitting at the police station before they gave their statements, they’d rehashed that night five years ago when Danielle had come to Aster on the beach. “Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?” Aster asked her.
Danielle shoved her hands into her pockets. Her cheeks were still stained from crying, and her nails had been bitten to the quick. Aster was amazed she was even coherent—if her mother had just tried to kill her, Aster would be a complete wreck. “Your dad said not to say anything, but I thought you’d figured it out,” Danielle said. “I thought that’s what you were fighting with your dad about. And then, when you rejected me, I just figured . . . well, you didn’t want me to be part of your family.”
“I thought you guys were sleeping together,” Aster repeated.
Danielle nodded. “I get it now. The look on your face when you put it together . . .”
Aster took a sip of the bitter-tasting coffee one of the officers had poured for her. “Do you remember when we’d sneak to that bar on the other side of the island? Finchy’s?”
Danielle’s expression grew wistful. “Of course.”
“And all those guys were like, Are you sisters? And we would pretend we were?”
Danielle bit her lip. “Yeah.”
“I used to fantasize about you being my sister,” Aster said quietly.
Danielle made a small, pained noise. “I did too. And when I found out . . . I was so excited. That’s why it hurt so much, when I thought you’d rejected me.”
There was a cough from the back room, pulling Aster out of the memory. Her father opened the den door, clad in a robe and slippers even though it was three in the afternoon. His gray hair stood up in peaks, and there were bags under his eyes. Her stomach clenched.
“Aster,” he said in a sticky, mumbling voice when he saw her.
Mason’s downfall had been so fast, moving at the same whirlwind pace as everything else, and Aster hadn’t had time to really decide how she felt about her father. He’d quietly stepped down as CEO of Saybrook’s, and Natasha’s mother, Candace, had taken over. The idea of him losing everything brought tears to her eyes, but so did the idea of him hiding an affair with Julia . . . and hiding Steven’s death . . . and hiding that awful secret about the company. He’d felt like a stranger to Aster for so long. Where was the father she’d known as a child, the warm, encouraging man who’d help her through anything? Was he still in there somewhere? It was why she had asked him to meet with her today. It was time he finally answered some questions.
“Will you come into my office?” Mason asked quietly, his tone subdued.
“Sure,” Aster said, sliding off the couch.
She looked back at Mitch. He reached out and squeezed her hand. She bent down and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you again for coming,” she whispered. When she pulled away, Mitch looked as surprised and delighted as he had when she’d first kissed him at the rehearsal dinner. Aster would never, ever get tired of seeing that expression.