Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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"Hello!" I hear my sister call from the driveway. "Party's here!"
Adelaide and I haven't seen each other in person since my wedding. Living in different states and our packed schedules make visits rare, though we text daily and FaceTime weekly. Still, nothing compares to having her here, and I've missed her terribly. She's been in London researching for her debut novel since I got home, and I can't wait to spend time with my big sister.
At the sound of her voice, I leap off the back deck—nearly twisting my ankle in the process—and run to her.
Adelaide and I look nothing alike, though I'm not the first to say we're both beautiful in our own right. She's radiant with her light-brown hair now cropped into a choppy bob, caramel highlights catching the light, and hazel eyes that glisten like polished copper in the sun. The London fog hasn't dimmed her warm complexion; she's always bronzed easily, glowing like summer itself.
I, on the other hand, inherited ivory skin that burns instead of tans, a canvas scattered with freckles across my cheeks and shoulders. My hair is golden blonde, my eyes a clear sapphire blue—a contrast to her deeper tones, like moonlight set against firelight. Side by side, we've always looked like opposites, yet somehow part of the same story.
"Come here so I can hug you!" I shout.
She drops her handbag and wraps her arms around my neck. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you needed me."
"You were out of the country, Addie," I say, cupping her face. "There was nothing you could've done."
"I know," she whispers, eyes shining. "But I'm your big sister. I should've been here."
She's always been more than a sister. She was my first friend. She was three when I was born and insisted on calling me "the baby" for weeks because our mom wouldn't let her name me Big Bird. From the moment I could walk, I trailed after her like a duckling. I was curious, she was cautious, but she always let me in. Having a sister means having a built-in best friend—if you're lucky. And I am.
"I'm so glad you're back," I say, handing her the bag she dropped. "I invited Jo and Hannah, so I want to hear everything about your trip before they get here."
Hours later, my mom is chasing fireflies with Hannah, my dad and Jamison are on their third round of Cornhole, and Jo, Addie, and I are trying—and failing—to climb onto the hammock. The wine doesn't help, and every time it flips we collapse into hysterics. By the third attempt, my cheeks ache from laughing.
"I think I got—oh shit!" Adelaide yelps as the hammock flips again, her dress flying over her face and flashing her Wonder Woman underwear. "You guys did that on purpose!"
"We're not even on it, Addie. You flipped yourself," Jo wheezes through laughter. "Nice undies, by the way."
"Shut up! It's laundry day!" Adelaide grumbles, smoothing her dress before the hammock tosses her again. "What is wrong with this thing? I feel like Jack trying to climb on that damn door in Titanic."
