Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Damn, she’s older than I am. I’m thirty-five. She’s at least thirty-seven, if not older.
She looks twenty-five. If that.
I know Rouge is her older sister. She’s probably three or four years her senior. I have no difficulty believing Rouge is in her forties. She’s gorgeous, but she carries herself with the austerity that comes with middle age. Not at all the case with Bianca. She’s elegant, almost ageless in her perfect beauty.
“But that’s enough about me,” Bianca says quickly. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Yeah. I grew up with six brothers.”
Her eyebrows nearly fly off her head. “Six?”
“Yeah. My parents were like jackrabbits. I was the second youngest. Harold, Harrow, Harvey, Harker, me, and Harlan.”
She blinks. “How…alliterative.”
“Our babysitters had their work cut out for them.” I lean back in my chair. “I come from an Irish Catholic family. My parents were encouraged by the church to reproduce as much as humanly possible, and they took that command to heart like no other.”
“They must have had their hands full.”
“They did.” I swallow. “We didn’t exactly grow up in a mansion. Money was pretty tight my entire childhood, and my parents drank quite a lot.”
She bites her lip. “I unfortunately empathize. Do you stay in touch with your siblings?”
I frown. “Not really. Weddings and funerals. I don’t have a lot in common with the rest of them. They love hunting, fishing, watching football with their wives after church every Sunday, a beer in each hand. I’m the only one who left the little town we grew up in. The only one who went to college and then medical school after that.”
“I see.”
“But while we’re on the subject of siblings…” I tilt my head at her, narrow my eyes. “I’ve got to know. What was it like growing up as the younger sister of Rouge Montrose?”
16
BIANCA
I shrink back into my chair at Harrison’s question.
It’s one I get often.
My sister casts a huge shadow, and people don’t mean to imply that she dominated my childhood when they ask the question.
But that’s exactly what Rouge did.
Daddy’s little angel. The one he groomed her entire life to replace him as the owner of Aces Underground.
And then there was me. The spare.
The little girl who wanted to be an actress on Broadway.
The child whose dreams were too big for her.
“My relationship with my sister was always…complex,” I say.
Understatement of the century. On the one hand, I owe my entire lifestyle to Rouge. I wouldn’t be living in a luxury apartment in the Loop if not for my job at Aces. Rouge pays me well, and that’s before factoring the extra money I make offering myself to patrons.
After everything that went down with Reflections, her phone call was a damned godsend.
To have a full-time job as a singer, perks and benefits included, is almost unheard of even among the elitest of the elites in the acting world. Technically speaking, I’m an independent contractor, but being a member of my family does have some advantages.
And let’s be real. The only reason I got the job is the DNA I share with Rouge Montrose.
That’s not exactly true. She would have no qualms about releasing me from my position if I didn’t deliver every night. My connections got me in the door, but my talents kept me inside the club’s walls.
But I’m not sure if all that makes up for what Rouge did to me when we were kids.
Suffice to say that she was a holy terror.
There are gaps in my memory—I was so young—but what I do remember is horrific.
Rouge is six years older than I am. She knew what she was doing to me was wrong.
But…she was still a kid. Kids do terrible things to each other all the time without ever thinking about the long-term consequences of their actions.
As an adult, my sister has been overbearing, controlling. But she’s an absolute saint compared to how she treated me back then.
“Complex?” Harrison says. “That’s a loaded word if I ever heard one.”
“It is,” I say.
I have no idea how else to respond. Luckily, Hans saves the day, rolling up with our oysters in tow. He sets a large silver tray between us with theatrical pomp and circumstance. Crushed ice glitters beneath the shells.
“To your left, the Emperor’s Flight,” Hans says. “And to your right, the Black Pearl Reserve—tonight’s selection comes from a private tidal lease off the Oregon coast, harvested just this morning.” He then presents the bottle of Muscadet. Harrison nods, and Hans pours a taste.
Harrison swirls, sips, and smiles. “This will be perfect. Thank you.”
Hans smiles, filling our glasses. “Would you like any assistance with the oysters?”
Harrison speaks before I can answer. “I’ve got her covered.”
“Of course, sir. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” Hans vanishes into the background.