“That he likes you. That he trusts you. That he couldn’t be happier with the way things are turning out.” Anya let the laugh go, but the soft breathlessness of it was cut short. “Don’t let him down, Lila. He’s counting on you. We all are.”

Lila barely had time for these heavy words to settle before Anya hung up. It was followed by Sophie flouncing forward with a somber black dress Lila had only worn to funerals.

“Since you don’t like any of my other choices, how about this?” she asked. She held it up to her frame and grimaced at the overflow of the hem at her feet. Sophie was a good six inches shorter than her two sisters, something that had always been a source of annoyance to her. “Hmm. Maybe not. What was that about, by the way?”

Lila took the dress and tossed it onto her bed, which was showing signs of becoming the untidy heap so often visible in Dawn’s room. “Anya wanted me to know what a good job I’m doing so far.”

Sophie perked up, her eyes widening in delight. “Oh, Lil—congratulations. That’s fantastic news.”

“No, it’s not.” Lila groaned as she surveyed what remained of her closet. The boxy suits and funereal dresses that would keep Ford at bay were no good. Any princess-like confections were out, too, since she was going to be doing a lot of crawling around with a puppy today.

Judging by Anya’s call—and the implications behind it—she needed something approachable. Something soft. Something so wholly unlike her it was laughable. She had no other choice. People were counting on her. People were always counting on her.

“Why did we ever think it was a good idea to put me in the same room as a child?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question, so she didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “This is your fault, you know. Yours and Dawn’s. If you hadn’t wrangled me into that piece of pink fluff, none of this would have happened. Everyone would know me for what I am and adjust their expectations accordingly.”

Sophie blinked at her, not the least bit intimidated by the criticism. “And what are you?” she asked.

Lila heaved a heavy sigh. That answer was easy.

“I’m the fun sponge.”

* * *

Ford Ford’s house wasn’t at all what Lila had been expecting. Meeting a well-groomed man in a tuxedo—even one with a young daughter—had a way of creating the illusion of secret agents, sleek chrome-filled bachelor pads, and vintage sports cars.