Page 2

A pang of irritation shot through her as she registered the truth in them. Maybe she did need a break, maybe she did need to let off some steam.

With fingers that held a hint of tremor, she typed a quick response to Amanda.

See you at the club.

As she strode into the kitchen, Anthea's eyes caught the telltale sight of countertops free of cat hair. She raised an eyebrow at Treia, who was munching on a late-night snack at the kitchen island. Her sister offered a nonchalant shrug in response.

“Did you clean them?” Anthea asked, seeking confirmation.

Treia just shrugged again, her mouth full of a ham sandwich.

“I emailed the cleaners—for the carpet.” Anthea gestured toward the yellow stain on the white fabric, the corner of her lips twitching upward. “They’ll be here on Tuesday.”

“Are you going out? On a Saturday?” Treia grinned, her brown eyes wide with mock surprise. Anthea smiled, smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress—a simple black number that seemed more appropriate for a day at the office rather than a night at a club.

“Amanda invited me out clubbing. It was the best I could do on short notice.”

A smirk formed on her sister’s face as she eyed the pair of knee-high, stiletto-heeled boots adorned with an array of silver buckles. “Ari’s?”

“Busted. I borrowed them from her room. Honestly, these boots are the only thing giving my outfit any edge tonight.”

“Ari told me about the cats . . . the shelter threat?”

“I’m not going to do it,” she said as she took a seat next to her. “I just worry. When is she going to grow up? When will she start taking responsibility?”

Treia took a sip of her tea, watching the steam swirl upward before it dissipated. She looked at Anthea for a moment, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Do you remember when we were kids and Ari would always leave her toys everywhere, and we’d end up cleaning them up?”

Anthea chuckled, nodding. “And she’d just giggle and run away, not understanding why we were so mad at her.”

“Well, I think it’s a little like that now,” Treia paused, tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. “But, to her credit, she’s trying. She has a job interview on Monday.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She wanted to. But you were so angry . . .”

Anthea reached across the table to steal a bite from the second sandwich on Treia’s plate. “So, what is it this time? Another nonprofit?”

Her sister shrugged. “She just wants to save the world. You know how she is.”

“She’ll grow out of it,” Anthea said, putting the half-eaten sandwich down as she received a notification on her phone. “That’s my ride. Thanks for the snack.”

“Make sure you text if you’re not coming home.”

“I’m not going on a week-long bender. I’ll be home.” With a final wave, she picked up her clutch from the counter and headed out the door.

2

The club was a flurry of neon lights and loud sounds. Anthea was losing herself in the rhythm of the music—no thoughts, no worries, only music. The drinks kept coming; an Aperol Spritz, a Tequila Sunrise, a Margarita or two Margaritas. Who could keep count? Her world was tinted with vibrant colors and fuzzy edges. The stress, the tension of the week—it was all gone—replaced by the exhilarating freedom as she danced, throwing her hands up to the beat of the music.

People around her were nameless and faceless in the pulsating lights, and it was just what she needed. Hands rested on her hips, sliding down to her rump, grabbing it with greedy fingers.

She didn’t care.

She felt free.

Somewhere along the line, she had lost sight of Amanda and the others. They were swallowed by the sea of partygoers.

That didn’t bother her either.