I was tempted to borrow a book or two, but they were so perfectly arranged, it would certainly be noticeable if I did so. I’d ask Delfina later. Maybe the books could be checked out somehow, or at the very least I could park myself right here in this room when I needed a break from the others, and do some reading in one of those luxurious chairs…

My eyes grew heavier just thinking about it, the exhaustion from the long drive and the overly pushy driver bearing down on my shoulders and chest. My eyelids felt weighty as I made my way back out through the long dark hallway and up the double-sided staircase that led to the second-floor bedrooms.

The second floor was less grand than the first, but I preferred it—the walls painted a soft, eggshell-blue at the bottom, curly bits of flower and ivy wallpaper stretching to meet the ceiling above. Precisely six bedrooms—it couldn’t be a more perfect set-up for Rosalee’s bachelorette party. Almost as though we were destined to come here…

Through the long, airy hallway, I peeked in, room by room, looking for mine. As planned, each private room came equipped with its own lush bathrobe on the bed, each guest’s name stitched in gold lettering on the right breast. I wonder how much each of these cost me, I thought, bitterly, rolling my eyes when I saw the one with Mara’s name etched in gold. I didn’t understand what Rosalee saw in Mara, I truly didn’t. She was self-centered and annoying. But that wasn’t true—I did understand it because I understood Rosalee. Unlike me, with my hermit-like tendencies and withdrawn personality, Rosalee could shine in a crowd. She knew how to fake it; in fact, I’d watched her do it for years after her parents died. And an outgoing person like Mara was exactly the type of friend Rosalee had always been drawn to…

Rosalee was fourteen when she came to live with me and my mother. To say I wanted her there would be an epic lie. I didn’t want her to come at all.

Rosalee’s father was my mother’s brother, but I’d only met them once previously, before that fateful day when Rosalee lost both mother and father in the span of a few short hours.

Mom didn’t ask me if it was okay; rather, she told me that Rosalee was coming. Not to stay for a while, but to live permanently. And she expected me to treat her with care. I want you to do better than kindness, Tinsley. I want you to shower her with love. Make her feel at home. Just think of her as the sister you always wanted but never had, my mother insisted.

But that’s just it—I’d never wanted a sister either.