Page 1

Chapter 1

Emilie

Did I think my younger sister would end up dating my ex-boyfriend? No.

Did I think she would agree to marry said ex-boyfriend? Fuck no.

I watch Eliza and Mitch walk hand in hand into the event. My event. Well, it’s really Tripp’s fundraiser, but I planned it. And I did a damn good job.

That’s the thing about the two of them—they’ve always been good at taking things that weren’t theirs.

The worst part of this whole thing? One of my biggest regrets is going to become family. I almost gag at the thought. Instead, I take a sip of champagne, the bubbles bright and promising on my tongue.

People mingle and chat before finding their seats in a comfortable kind of lull. Tonight we’re raising money for a non-profit, When We Play ; a passion project for Tripp Owens focused on supporting single-parent families and the cost of playing sports. Tripp is the star wide receiver for the Upstate Cosmos—the first expansion team to win a Super Bowl. I think, or have a very strong hunch, that this is his exit strategy from the NFL.

“Em, this place is packed!” Willow says, eyes sparkling with what this means for the non-profit. “You really outdid yourself.” She smiles while taking in the ballroom, every table full, and as the most popular recording artist of the century, she knows about filling a space .

Bumping my shoulder with hers, I joke, “Don’t sound so surprised. When have I ever let you down?” I look around, reveling in the success.

Willow says hiring me is one of the best things that’s happened to her; but really, it’s one of the best things that happened to me. It’s ironic considering I had no business applying for that job—she was looking for a seasoned assistant—but I took a chance, and it paid off for both of us. Now, I’m more involved than that—she promoted me last year when she went out on her own to start her own label: True Blue Records.

When I’m not working with Willow, I’m helping Tripp get his non-profit up and running. Typically, I help plan and coordinate events while sometimes assisting with social media. Some days are longer than others, but my paychecks reflect that.

With the two, I learn something new every single day, and it’s rewarding. Plus, I’m spoiled, like how Willow lets me rent her SoHo apartment.

“I can’t believe they really came. ” Willow takes a sip of her champagne, lips pressed tight. She looks over at Eliza and Mitch, who are sitting with couples I don’t know at the table Mitch paid for.

I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. The last time I saw them was enough to last me the rest of the year, and it was only last week.

“What’s new with you, Emilie? Still managing Willow’s appointments and things?” my mom asks from her end of the table, her voice bookended with condescension.

Appointments. A hot wave runs over my skin. My silverware clinks on the edge of my almost-full plate. No matter how many times I remind my parents I don’t like salmon, they still seem to make it for every family dinner.

I’m the Artist Relations Manager for True Blue Records, which means I’m first up when it comes to managing artists and their relationship with the label. I get to support artists while making sure the label also benefits.

I fold my hands in my lap, digging my nails into my palms.

“She’ s some sort of manager, Mom. Not an assistant, ” Eliza explains but her eyes don’t lift from her plate.

At this point, I’ll take even the lukewarm support from my sister.

“I’m also planning the kick-off fundraiser for Tripp Owens’ new non-profit. It’s a black tie dinner and we’ve already exceeded the projected tables.” I can feel the pride in my voice.

“Tripp Owens. Hell of an athlete, ” my dad responds, pulling out the only piece of information he deems valuable.

It would sting if I didn’t expect it.

“When are you getting me tickets to see Willow?” Eliza asks, jumping to what serves her. She’s talking about Willow’s current tour, which is being held at small venues for a more intimate feel. It’s exactly what Willow wanted for this new album, and it’s been an insane success.

“I’m not asking my boss for tickets. Buy them if you want to go.” I slowly turn to face my sister. Perfect Eliza, with her hair hanging in loose curls, looking like the result of every Internet tutorial we’ve tried that never seems to work.

She was always too pretty for her age. Flawless porcelain skin, green eyes, and rich strawberry blonde colored hair which made her look sophisticated—or at least older than she was.

“Oh, Emilie. I’m sure Willow wouldn’t mind.” My mom teams up with Eliza, like she always does.

“I mind,” I emphasize with a hand on my chest.

“Do you have any extra tickets for the boring fundraiser?” Eliza asks, rolling her eyes.

“It’s a fundraiser, meaning the whole point is to raise money. There are no free tickets,” I reply.

“Don’t worry, El. I just bought a table,” Mitch announces, while showing the entire family the confirmation message. “Maybe Emilie can introduce you to Willow then?” He knows this is the last thing I’d ever want to do, which is why he brings it up.

I fall back in my chair, slouching, even though my mother will scold me any second. What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?

Every time he uses that nickname, I wonder how many times he’s slipped up and said Em instead of El.

“Isn’t that nice, Emilie? Mitch, you’re really a keeper.” My mother takes the knife and twists it—her favorite pastime.

Mitch makes sure to lock his eyes on mine before pulling up one corner of his mouth in a grin. The rage bursts from my racing heart to the top of my skin as a flush runs up my neck. I hate how well he still knows me.

“Emilie, don’t sit like that.” My mother’s voice is sharp. I respond by sitting up straight like it’s programmed into my being.

My head shakes with a touch of annoyance and the rage that is always sitting right under my skin. If I’m not careful, it could swallow me whole.

Not tonight.

I sit up straight, shoulders back, very aware of my open back dress. My dark red curls are pulled back, tamed in a low bun.

Willow covers one of my hands, which rests on the table, with hers. Her golden eyes, full of gratitude, catch mine. As I swallow back the lump in my throat, I reach for the glass of champagne, finish it, and smile at Willow. We’re able to say so much without saying anything at all.

Good thing, too—because if I open my mouth now, I’m not quite sure what obscenities I’d scream across the room.