“It must make you happy, seeing me like this.” Elisabeth’s voice was broken, and Helene’s rage wrapped itself protectively around it.

She reached through the curtain, wiped a tear from Elisabeth’s cheek. “I thought it would, but it really doesn’t.”

It was the truth. The newest, truest truth.

After a pause, Helene bridged the space between them with a jest, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You smell delicious, like old Champagne.”

Elisabeth’s own mouth twitched to match Helene’s. “You too.”

Then, a smile, a real one, and Elisabeth whispered, “I like your short hair. You look beautiful.”

Helene’s chest expanded, settled into itself. How was it possible for one compliment to feel like it had mended a fissure so bone-deep? Helene’s anger was cooling into something new: Release. Relief. Her skin tingled with it.

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Me too, Néné.”

“Please say I’m not like Mother.” Helene pressed a hand to her heart in exaggerated dismay.

They both laughed, then, Elisabeth sitting up and leaning forward past the curtains to wrap her arms around her sister’s neck. “I promise, you’re not!”

Then they were both hugging, crying. A tear traced slowly down Helene’s cheek as she pulled away to look her sister in the eyes.

There was something raw in Elisabeth’s expression as she whispered, “Néné, I hope he’s worth it.”

Helene smiled again, hoped it was comforting. “You’ll get used to it. The circus will calm down.”

Elisabeth exhaled her surprise. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Helene tilted her head.

“I meant losing my best friend over him.”

Helene closed her eyes, opened them slowly. Their hurts were the same. Losing each other. Losing the kind of friendship only sisters could have.

But they hadn’t lost it. Only—

Delayed it, caused it to skip a beat.

“You didn’t lose me.”

Elisabeth leaned forward and Helene met her halfway, their foreheads pressed together. And then the other dam in Helene’s heart burst—her hurt, her fear, her desperation to talk to Elisabeth spilling forth. She told Elisabeth about Maxi, about standing by while Sophie went through her bag. Guilt pinched through the anger, the sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Helene whispered, tears tracing cool tracks down her face as she pulled back and pressed her hands to her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Elisabeth took her hands. “I forgive you.”

They sat like that a long time, both sticky with tears and runny makeup. Hands held, eyes searching.

When Elisabeth spoke again, her voice was still raw. Vulnerable. Small. “What if I was wrong, Helene? What if I can’t do this?”

Surprise flickered, then more anger. At everyone who’d made Elisabeth feel as Helene had felt for months: not enough.