Page 8 of Fire

Speaking of Paris.

She’s just returned from Paris Fashion Week, and she would be enjoying a bit of downtime if I hadn’t crashed it by moving in.

Yeah, she has that kind of job. The jet-setting, designer wardrobe-wearing, model kind of job. And yes, before you ask, of course, she’s beautiful. Like me, she takes after our mother’s mostly Greek heritage, with her olive skin and long, mahogany brown hair. But unlike me, she inherited our father’s athletic skills and height. She likes to say I got all his brains and love of science because I’m the doctor of the family, but she’s just being modest. My sister is damn smart too.

“Try it on.” She motions to the dress in my arms.

I do as I’m told and start slipping off the silk robe. “There is only one model in our family, Vi. Seriously, look at these hips!” I point to my curves to emphasize my point.

I never used to be insecure about my looks. In college, I was so focused on schoolwork and getting into med school, I barely gave it a second thought. It wasn’t until I got married that I really started to scrutinize my body.

Now, I feel insecure about…well, everything, honestly.

Having a model-perfect sister has never been part of the issue, though. She’s never made me feel less than adequate. In fact, she often tries to convince me of the exact opposite. Like now, for instance.

She just rolls her eyes. “I have hips too, and trust me, the camera loves them.”

I slide my arms into the straps and walk over to her so she can zip me up.

“See?” She turns me to the side so I can see all those curves for myself. “You’ve got the beauty and”—she finishes the zipper and then playfully smacks my ass—“the brains. Total package, right?”

Although the dress is tighter and definitely sexier than I usually wear to any event with Tanner, it’s still suitable for the occasion. The knee-length, ruched fabric helps boost my confidence a bit. The wide straps and deep neckline also make my cleavage look amazing.

“If that were true, I wouldn’t be here, divorced and—” I start to say, but Violet interrupts.

“Nope.” Her head shakes back and forth. “You’re not allowed to say mean things to yourself in this dress. Says right here on the label.”

I roll my eyes.

“Speaking of your asshole ex, why are we doing this? The dressing up and going out with him, I mean.” She archesone perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “Usually, when you sign divorce papers and move into your sister’s swanky ass apartment—you’re welcome, by the way—you aren’t required to attend functions with your husband anymore. That’s what theexin ex-husband is for.”

“I know.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “But he insisted. It’s one of his buddies from college, and since his parents haven’t made the official announcement yet?—”

“So…he doesn’t want to be the one who has to tell everyone, so he’s making his mommy and daddy do it?”

I nod. “Well, his dad is a senator. I guess there has to be a statement.”

“And they couldn’t have done that in the last six months?” She rolls her eyes. “That family is a piece of work.” I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a finger. “Don’t make excuses for the man, Zar. That’s not your job anymore. You may have served him the divorce papers, but he deserved it after the shit he said.”

“Are you happy?” Tanner asks, and I come to a screeching halt in the middle of our kitchen. It’s such a random, off-the-wall question for him that I find myself momentarily stunned.

Why is he asking?

It’s been a long day for both of us. Maybe that’s it? There’s a stomach bug making its way through the local schools, and with fall sports coming up, everyone’s rushing to get physicals done by the end of the summer.

I place the salad bowl down on the counter and turn toward where he’s perched on a barstool, watching me.

“At this specific moment? Or in general?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood, but the way he’s looking at me tells me he isn’t amused.

“In general, Zara.”

“Of course I’m happy.” Or I thought I was until about two minutes ago when you started this conversation. Now, I’m nervous, anxious, and kind of nauseous. “Why?”

“I’m just…” He lets out a deep breath. “Bored.”

“Bored?”

He nods, and I feel my stomach clench.