Finley laughed, pulling off her gloves and walking down the hall to the piano room. She tossed them on the chaise and sat, relaxing back and crossing her socked feet. Her golden hair fell in soft waves just past her shoulders, shiny and perfect like it should be after the money she’d spent to keep it that way. “Not that he hasn’t tried, my love. You’re right, he would probably breathe for me if he could.”

“Isn’t that annoying?”

“Not really. I worry about nothing except what I have to worry about.”

“When do you go back to work? Is Daddy’s board still bitching about your promotion?”

She sighed. “Soon, and yes. How’s Winterland?”

I looked out the window. It wasn’t snowing, but the wind was blowing icy globs from the tree branches. “I think I’ll be ready for the sea.”

She watched me as her red lips pulled to the side. “You don’t look ready.”

I picked the navy-blue polish off my thumbnail. “I feel numb. We’ve tanned on every beach. Skied every resort from Estes to the Alps.”

“You’re bored?” Finley asked, amused.

“Displaced.”

Finley rolled her eyes, disgusted. “Don’t do that, Ellison. Don’t become a goddamned cliché. The rich girl who is bored with life, surrounded by everyone and no one, feeling all alone.”

“Don’t patronize me. I recall you going through a phase.”

“I shopped and spent a month with you in Barbados. I didn’t fuck my way through it. You’ve always enjoyed your pharmaceuticals—you get that from Mother—but for Christ’s sake, Ellie. Pick a hobby. Get a boyfriend—or girlfriend. Find a cause. Find God. I don’t give a fuck, but don’t whine about having too much money and too many options.”

I wasn’t sure what expression was on my face, but it might have mirrored Finley’s. I covered my eyes, and then sat down on the sofa, leaning back. “Fuck, you’re right. I’m Sterling.”

“You’re not that bad, but you’re one stint in rehab away. You’re not bored, you’re empty. Stop trying to fill up with coke and hash. You know that shit doesn’t work.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “The fuck, Finley. When did you start adulting? You have a ladysitter who stirs your coffee, and you’re coaching me on life choices?”

She stood up, walked the few feet to the sofa, and collapsed next to me, hooking her legs over my lap. She interlaced her fingers between mine. “Betsy OD’d. I don’t want that to be you.”

I sat up. “Betsy March?”

Finley nodded, rubbing my palm with her thumb. “Nine months ago, she was where you are. We all saw it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been MIA, Ellie. No one sees you anymore. Except maybe Sterling.”

“We’re going to Sanya next week.”