I dabbed a glob of paint onto the top of one of my tiny boxes, creating the satisfying, barely overfilled bubble people always seemed to go nuts for in the videos. These would sell in about five seconds. But it was so pretty I kind of wanted to keep one just for me and use it on something new.

“You’re going to keep making up new excuses or ways to do things to get me out of the house, aren’t you?” I asked my sister.

“Bet your ass.”

Sighing, I glanced at what I had left. It wouldn’t take long. “Fine, but I need to finish these so they can dry, and I’m not changing.”

“Glad I didn’t have to do more convincing,” she said. “I’m letting myself in right now.”

The line went dead, and I heard her steps as she moved through the house and finally ended up in my studio. “Remind me to take back your key.”

“You want to cut off my thumb? That’s harsh.”

Security was obviously a big concern for us, so thumb-printed locks graced all of my doors with an alarm system which would make a museum’s look tame.

Eva looked me up and down and shrugged. “You’ve looked worse.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, is this one of mine?” She leaned closer to the paint on the table.

I nodded. “Yeah. The palette is on the table behind me.”

“Oh, I remember this one. Nice.” I heard her move back toward my second studio—the one I used for my own paintings. I sold those under a fake name too. “Working on anything new?”

“No, but I am very tempted to keep some of this color and use it.”

“Do it. Imagine the craze of only selling three pots.”

I smirked. Eva was a fangirl of my paints in the way only a sister could be. Putting the finishing touches on the last pot, I turned off the camera and rinsed my tools.

“Okay, let me grab my shoes and let’s go.”

My hair was in a high ponytail, so you couldn’t really tell it was that greasy. Black leggings and an oversized pink hoodie were the rest of it. I grabbed a baseball hat and sunglasses too. No matter what Eva said, there was always the risk of photographers.

“Has it been bad?” I asked as I closed the door behind us and double-checked the lock.

“Has what been bad?”

I winced. “The press from the party. About me.”

Neil was there opening the car door for us, but she paused, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t looked, but I assumed there would be some sort of story about me and Bennett. How I climbed and practically licked him on the dance floor.”

Following her into the car, she pulled out her phone and started texting. “There was nothing.”

“Really?”