But never would her mother actually step foot in here. And every time she addressed her, it was Lilian. Never Lily anymore. She was still a conscientious, responsible mother.

Just no longer a friend.

Lily stood, switching off heaters and lights and what fans she no longer needed. She had to slide sideways to make her way to the door, and by the time she opened it, Mama had vanished. Another sigh slipped out.

She missed her friend.

As she neared her bedroom, her brows drew together at the scraping noises coming from Ivy’s. What in the world was her sister moving around now? She’d just rearranged everything last week, though no doubt that meant she’d found issue with something.

Smiling, Lily slipped into her room and went straight to the spot on the floor by their shared wall. Once the noise stopped on Ivy’s side, she lifted a knuckle. Tap, tap-a-tap.

“Oh! You’re here!” Instead of an answering tap, footsteps moved toward the hall, and a moment later Ivy entered Lily’s room, closing the door behind her. From the conspiratorial smile on her face, Lily knew there’d be a letter in her pocket. “Secret delivery.”

Lily patted the cushion next to her. She’d known her sister would be a willing partner in this most innocent of crimes, but she’d underestimated Ivy’s enthusiasm. “Did you and Clarke have a good walk?”

Ivy managed somehow to both smile dreamily and sigh sympathetically. “We did. It was a positively perfect afternoon. The only thing that could have improved it would have been had you and Zivon been there.”

Lily could hardly argue with that.

“But enough of that. Here.” From her pocket Ivy pulled an envelope with Lily written on the front in that elegant script she’d grown increasingly familiar with since the wedding. “Oh! No, wait.” Rather than hand it over, she held it high, away from Lily’s reaching hands. “It’s my turn.”

“Ivy.” She tried to inject into her voice the same censure that Mama could achieve with no effort. “Just give it to me.”

Apparently she failed, because her sister laughed and shook her head. “Nope. You know the cost of my cooperation. Now, settle down and let me serenade you with the sweet music of your beloved’s words.”

Though she rolled her eyes, it was largely for show. “Fine. But no dramatics.”

“No input from the audience, please.” Ivy cleared her throat, sent Lily the look that she probably used on her students to keep them in line, and said, “‘My sweetest milaya . . .’”

Lily groaned at her ridiculous attempt at a Russian accent. “Stop.”