“I have a vivid memory of being six. I wanted to be a ballerina.”

Emily stared straight ahead, remembering how she’d felt at the age of six. Broken. Even after she’d eventually stuck herself back together, she’d known she wasn’t the same.

“I’m mad at Lana. I’m mad at her for dying and for putting me in this position. How screwed up is that?”

“It’s not screwed up. It’s human. What do you expect, Em? You haven’t spoken to Lana in over a decade—” Skylar broke off, and Emily heard voices in the background.

“Do you have company? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Richard and I are off to a fund-raiser at The Plaza, but he can wait.”

From what she knew of Richard’s ruthless political ambitions and impatient nature, Emily doubted he’d be prepared to wait. She could imagine Skylar, her blond hair secured in an elegant twist on top of her head, her narrow body sheathed in a breathtaking designer creation. She suspected Richard’s attraction to Sky lay in her family’s powerful connections rather than her sunny optimism or her beauty. “I shouldn’t have called you. I tried Brittany, but she’s not answering. She’s still on that archaeological dig in Crete. I guess it’s the middle of the night over there.”

“She seems to be having a good time. Did you see her Facebook update? She’s up to her elbows in dirt and hot Greek men. She’s working with that lovely ceramics expert, Lily, who gave me all those ideas for my latest collection. And if you hadn’t called me I would have called you. I’ve been so worried. First Neil dumped you, then you had to leave your job, and now this! They say trouble comes in threes.”

Emily eyed the child, still sleeping in the car. “I wish the third thing had been a broken toaster.”

“You’re going through a bad time, but you have to remember that everything happens for a reason. For a start, it has stopped you wallowing in bed, eating cereal from the box. You needed a focus and now you have one.”

“I didn’t need a dependent six-year-old who dresses in pink and wears fairy wings.”

“Wait a minute—” There was a pause and then the sound of a door clicking. “Richard is talking to his campaign manager, and I don’t want them listening. I’m hiding in the bathroom. The things I do in the name of friendship. You still there, Em?”

“Where would I go? I’m surrounded by water.” She shuddered. “I’m trapped.”

“Honey, people pay good money to be ‘trapped’ on Puffin Island.”

“I’m not one of them. What if I can’t keep her safe, Sky?”

There was a brief silence. “Are we talking about safe from the press or safe from other stuff?”