Page 93 of Ink & Desire
She nods. “Sounds like a solid plan to me.”
“Yeah. But something happened.”
Henley’s eyes go wide. “Is she pregnant? Am I going to be an auntie?”
“What? No! Geez,” I say. “No one’s pregnant. Fuck.”
She looks slightly disappointed which makes me question her sanity. “Fine,” she mutters. “So, what happened?”
I try to figure out how to put into words something I’ve barely let myself consider before now.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say, my gaze on my hands.
“You fell for her?” she says softly.
My eyes fall shut and I find that I can’t speak around the sudden lump in my throat, so I just nod. I wait for Henley to speak, but she remains silent for so long that I finally look up. Her expression is expectant.
“What?” I say.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me the problem,” she says. “So far I’m not hearing it.”
I sigh. “We’re too different,” I say. “She’s too young. She comes from a totally different world than we do, Hen. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being part of her world. And she doesn’t fit into this one.”
Henley is shaking her head before I finish speaking.
“What now?”
“She seemed to fit in just fine the last time I was here,” she says. “What makes you think she doesn’t?”
I need to make her understand how big the differences are between me and Avery and why it’ll never work. I try a different tack.
“Do you know what the Bradshaw Foundation is?”
It takes Henley less than a second to nod. “Yeah,” she says. “Based out of New York. Lots of capital. Theystarted out in tech before tech was really a thing. Made a ton of money, sold big. Now they’re mostly into investments. They do a lot of charity work, though. Why?”
I eye her meaningfully. “Avery.”
“She works for them?”
I shake my head. “Sheisthem. Her mom runs the whole damned thing.”
My sister blinks in disbelief. “Wow. Her mom is Meredith Bradshaw?” She narrows her eyes before they go wide again. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You see why it’s fucked now?”
Henley shakes her head. “No. I meanoh, shit. I know her.”
“You know Avery’s mom?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “No, not her. I mean, I met her once. She’s a little intimidating, but she seems nice enough. But I mean Avery. I don’tknowher, know her. But I know of her.”
Annoyed by her inability to get to the point, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What are you talking about?”
“I know her story,” she says. “Avery’s. I heard it a few years ago when I went to the Bradshaw Gala for a work thing.”
“What story?” I ask, wondering what my sister knows that I don’t.
“She didn’t tell you?”