Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever."
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The morning started loud.
Not because of anyone, but because my stomach practically sang opera while I waited in the hall, legs bouncing, half-eaten toast in one hand and pure impatience in the other. The November light slid through the windows, all soft and buttery, like the universe itself was mocking how I’d been ready for three hours straight.
My suitcase stood there beside me—fat, overpacked, twice as pink—and already zipped up with surgical precision. Mama kept saying it looked like it was packed by a concierge. Well, yeah. Elin helped. She’d folded my jumpers like they were museum exhibits.
Mama sat across from me on the couch, spooning yoghurt into her mouth and eyeing me. “You’re vibrating, baby. Relax before you combust.”
“I’m fine,” I said, chewing fast. “Totally chill. Extremely composed.”
“You’re chewing like a squirrel in crisis.”
I gave her a look.
She grinned, that evil grin that always meant she was about to say something mortifying.
“Can’t remember you being this excited for Saint-Tropez, or Capri, or that Monaco yacht week.” She paused, spoon dangling midair. “Wonder what’s so special about a muddy cabin in the Highlands.”
“Mama,” I groaned, dragging the word. “Don’tstart.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m just fascinated. My daughter, who once refused to share a hotel pool with other children, now squealing to sleep in a wooden hut with six of them. Miracles happen.”
I swear she lives to bully me.
“It’s not a hut. It’s a cabin. Big difference.”
“Oh sure. A cabin. With a boy.”
“Mama.”
“With your boy.”
I threw the toast crust at her. She caught it midair, cackling. “Careful. You’ll starve yourself before your little adventure even begins.” She dipped the crust in yoghurt and ate it.
“I hate you.”
“Lies. You love me, you menace.”
She reached over and shoved another bite of pancake toward my mouth like I was still five. I pretended to resist, but I still leaned forward and took it. She beamed. “Good girl.”
