my sister. It always has. Ever since she landed her first commercial when she was four years old, my sister’s life has always taken priority.
Even when Mama’s illness got worse and the end was near, my father would still take Margot to her auditions and modeling jobs before going to see his own wife in the hospital. That’s what happens when there’s an opportunity to lift a family out of poverty—everyone latches on for dear life.
Including me.
Margot is the gravy train that we all need to survive. And because my sister is such a damn saint, she doesn’t hold it against us. She shares her wealth and success with my father and me without rancor or the need for anything in return.
So, every day, I swallow my jealousy and get up at the crack of dawn to make sure my sister’s days go according to plan.
This morning, in particular, is hectic. I have to make sure the hair and makeup artists are here on time. I need to confirm the limo service and call her stylist to make sure she’s finalized the outfit.
I need to make sure Margot eats enough so that she doesn’t faint on her way to Farcliff Castle, but not so much that she’ll look bloated in her pretty blue dress.
Most importantly, I need to make sure my sister is happy, confident, glowing, and ready to meet the Prince of her dreams.
Margot still has her silk eye mask on when I gently shake her awake. She lets out a cute little sigh—because even in her sleep, she’s graceful and perfect—and pushes the pink silk off her eyes and onto her forehead. Her golden hair is still curled from yesterday, splayed out in soft waves on her pillow.
I couldn’t look that good when I wake up if I tried.
“Hey, Ivy,” she smiles. “Is it time to get up already?”
“Rise and shine, future Princess.”
Margot beams at me, and pads to her ensuite bathroom. I hear a yelp, followed by a series of clattering bangs, and I let out a sigh.
My sister’s single, solitary flaw is that she can’t go anywhere without knocking something over. ‘Clumsy’ doesn’t even come close to describing it. She’s a bull, and the world is a china shop.
A really pretty, really feminine, blonde-haired bull, but still.
An accident waiting to happen.
She’s lucky she has an entire team of people around her who hide that particular flaw from the public. The Margot LeBlanc that the masses see is graceful, kind, and pretty much perfect.
Knocking on the bathroom door, I wait for her response.
“It’s fine,” she calls out. “Just the shampoo bottles.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
I make her bed while she showers, and check my phone when it dings. The hairstylist is on her way. Makeup will be late.
Today is all about managing Margot. Her agent, Hunter, arrives at our seven-bedroom mansion at eleven o’clock, prepping Margot with a thousand and one facts about Prince Luca.
“Remember, Margot, don’t mention Queen Cara.”
“His ex. Right. Got it.” Margot nods. “No mention of the Queen of Argyle.”
“I mean it, Margot. They were sweethearts their entire lives. When Queen Cara married Luca’s older brother, it was a massive controversy in Argyle. Prince Luca was still in Singapore at the time.”
“For his operation?”
Hunter nods. “That’s something you can focus on—his recovery from the spinal fracture and how miraculous it is that he can walk again. But not Queen Cara. Not even her name. When she married his brother, Prince Luca went off the rails. Talking about her is a sure way to get the Prince to dislike you.”
“I get it,” Margot repeats. Her voice has a slight edge to it—the most aggression you’ll ever hear from my angelic older sister.
Hunter pulls his phone out of his pocket and stares at it as he continues: “Keep the conversation light. He likes sports—he’s a big basketball fan. Just be yourself.”
“Is she supposed to be herself, or is she supposed to talk about basketball?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
Hunter ignores me.
I slink to the kitchen, tired of hearing about Prince Luca. It’s all they’ve talked about for months. If I hear the words ‘bad boy meets good girl’ or ‘relationship of the century’ one more time, I think I might explode.
Heading for the pantry, I pull out some flour, sugar, yeast, and a few other bits and pieces. My favorite mixing bowl lives in the corner cupboard by the sink, and as soon as I feel the weight of it, my shoulders start