Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Whatever, bitch. It’s poetry. You don’t have to follow the plot.” Daria rolls her eyes. “Also, Sissi wants to say hi.”
Cressida, her not-so-secret weapon, stumbles into my lap, smashing through my mental barriers. I adore my nearly two-year-old niece.
A mass of blond curls tickles my chin. Sissi climbs up my body, pudgy fingers and ruddy cheeks drawing me close.
She tries to grab my nose with her dimpled hand. “Bayblee! I thteal your nose.”
“Oh no! I can’t breathe now!” I put the book down and snuggle her close to my chest.
She giggles, pretending to screw my nose back onto my face.
I don’t know how something so innocent came out of someone so devious.
My sister is the epitome of the smoke-show villainess. Fresh-faced and long-legged, her bombshell body is swathed in a pink tennis dress, her shiny, canary hair arranged in a high, sleek ponytail.
She always looks like she just finished shooting a double spread for Vogue, and she never apologizes for who she is and what she wants.
“How’s it going, Bails? You’ve been ghosting my ass like I’m a dating app date who asked you to split the bill after one drink.” Daria wraps a dainty arm around my shoulder, and I roll my lips together to prevent myself from bursting into tears. If nothing else, she doesn’t hold a grudge for how I treated her the past few weeks.
“I really am sorry, Dar.” I start braiding Sissi’s out-of-control curls just to keep my hands busy. “I’ve been swamped.”
“Doing what, rearranging all your poetry books alphabetically?” Daria arches a fluffy, perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“No.” They’re already arranged by spine color, author, and date of publication. Duh. “I have a ton of schoolwork to catch up on.”
And there it is again—the look of pity and concern.
She shakes her head. “Never mind, I’m not here to lay into you. I’m sure Mom and Dad are ripping you new ones every single day.”
“What are you here to do, then?” But I don’t want to know. Because I already do. It’s written all over her face. Laced into her elegant features.
“You don’t want to go to rehab, and I totally get it. You don’t want to give up Juilliard,” she says matter-of-factly. “Which is why I came up with a better idea.”
I sit straighter, a glimmer of hope flickering like a broken flashlight inside my chest.
The prospect of being treated without going off-radar tempts me. “Yeah?”
“A live-in sponsor!” She opens her arms wide.
I finish braiding Cressida’s locks and send her on her way to show Cayden. Daria grabs my poetry book and uses it as a fan, beaming. “Someone to keep you on the straight and narrow, be with you twenty-four seven. I spoke with this friend from college—she was a total cokehead;
you could make a snowman with the amount she snorted a day—and she told me her parents had refused to send her somewhere at the time because her dad was running for senate or whatever.” Daria rolls her blue eyes. “Anyway, I zoned out—honestly, people who take longer than twenty minutes to tell their life story are so high maintenance. Hello, you’re not Jennette McCurdy; no one wants to read your autobiography—but she mentioned she had a live-in sponsor and that they work with doctors and cardiologists and whatnot to ensure you don’t go all cold turkey while you’re in withdrawal. They’re professional. With degrees and all that jazz.”
I’m digesting her words, which keep on coming at the speed of light. “It’s not cheap, but Penn and I have decided to give you a very early birthday present. Or maybe you can call it an extension of your last birthday’s present. That Miu Miu skirt did nothing for your knobby knees, honey.” She pats one with a patient smile.
“Didn’t that Miu Miu skirt make her look like an English schoolboy about to run away from his prep school to join a dark-magic academy?” She twists her head to look at her husband.
“Uh-huh, absolutely, Skull Eyes,” Penn agrees. He’d agree if she said I looked like the Loch Ness Monster.
“Daria, I—”
“No, don’t shut it down. It’s going to be so much fun, I promise. A nice and easy rehabilitation. It’d be like having an au pair, but for—” She sinks her teeth into her lower lip.
“Junkies?” I pop an eyebrow.
Daria huffs, giving me an exasperated look. “People who need help overcoming their addiction. Anyway, most agencies get their personnel from overseas. We can get you an Italian stud, Bails! A Magic Mike. Ohmymarx or we can get someone from South Korea. They have the hottest men.” She wiggles her brows.
“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to dance the horizontal tango with your sponsor.” Butterflies flutter their delicate wings inside my stomach.
It is a good idea. I want to get better, I truly do. I just don’t want the stigma and setback of rehab. “I mean, why not? I can try the at-home thing.”