Jemma pinched Frazer’s foot with no less mercy. Ignoring the “ow!” she said, “You’re in such a mood, seriously. You haven’t been there in weeks, and I’m sick of hearing them talk about it. Come. Eat. Smile. Then we can go to a bar, and you can tell me who put the stick up your arse so we can go about getting it removed, because you’re certainly not gonna open up tonight.”

With a loud groan, Frazer dropped her head back. “Fine. But I’m not smiling.”

“Yeah, you will. Gran’s coming, and she’s a riot once she has a wine.”

Trying to hide the amusement that that thought induced, Frazer sat up straighter. “Gran’s coming?”

“Yeah.” Jemma’s eyes sparkled.

“Well, you could’ve led with that.”

“Dear sister, I was hoping my charm would be enough. Also, she’s excited because Tony’s coming with the kids.”

Frazer groaned again. Louder than before.

“Yeah.” Jemma patted Frazer’s foot. “See?”

It wasn’t the kids. Frazer liked her nephews and niece. They were funny and sweet and loud. Her golden brother and his golden wife were actually doing a good job raising them.

It was the comments that would come Frazer’s way with their presence. Family ideals. Kids. Marriage.

A quiet comment about finding a husband that her mother would slip out when she thought Frazer’s father wasn’t listening.

“Don’t worry. Maybe I’ll tell them about my affair with a lecturer. Then the attention can fall to me.” Jemma winked.

“You love me, but not that much.”

“That’s true. Maybe one of the kids will vomit on Mum’s bed again. That should work.”

Frazer chuckled. “Yeah. I’ll feed Lyle lemonade then give him a piggyback ride again.”

“Lyle.” Jemma said, her face wrinkled up. “And Tabitha. And Laurent.”

“I know.”

They caught each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

* * *

There was silence in the house, and Cora couldn’t stop bouncing her leg. Everything was spotless. Yesterday, she’d possibly gone overboard with the cleaning—it had taken a full two hours to get the wine out of the carpet. Her arms ached from ‘blotting’ as the internet had informed her to do.

Nothing got the dent out of the table.

Her face flamed whenever she looked at it. Constantly, her eye was drawn there again and again until she’d thrown a table cloth over it.

Then promptly removed it an hour later.

It looked even more suspicious.

They never covered that table—it was too pretty to cover, the wood gleaming. It was ridiculously heavy and the one thing besides the couch Cora really liked in the house.

There was the sound of a key in the lock. Cora straightened. Her fingers gripped her knees. She stilled her bouncing leg.