Buttercup the Princess Bride: We'll never survive.
Westley: Nonsense. You only say that because no one ever has.
n The Princess Bride. Director: Rob Reiner Summer "I’ll get it." My voice echoes in the wake of the doorbell.
I am alone, again, in the mansion on Primrose Hill.
It is the start of the weekend and I haven't seen him... or anyone else for that matter. He seems to subscribe to the
philosophy that servants shouldn't be noticed, exc ept for the results of their efforts.
He definitely has a staff... for food seems to appear magically in the refrigerator and the entire place is spotless, so
someone does clean the space. Besides, I'd returned home last night to find my bed made up. It is disconcerting,
like living in a hotel... which isn't quite one. I shiver, scrutinize the massive library. I've adopted the space as my
own. The floor to ceiling bookshelves, framing
the window that looks out on the garden, is my happy space. So why do I ke ep glancing toward the door, hoping to
see him, huh?
Not that I missed him. Nope. N-a-h.
It is a relief not to be on tenterhooks, or peeking around corners before daring to go to my destination within the
house. I’d come home from the office—on the tube—again, not complaining. If anything, I am envious of folks
who go about their everyday life with scarce in the world to worry about exc ept which bar to go out to on Friday
night. Which dress to wear to work in the morning. Which job to hop to next. Which date to shag and take home
for the weekend... Oh, on the last... Okay, I’ve always really admired those who could do that.
Not that I hadn’t tried, mind you, but apparently, I have a weird set of morals; imbued, no doubt, from the nuns in
the convent school that Karma and I had last attended.
While I had held onto those beliefs—perhaps desperately, for they had grounded me— Karma had gone the other
way.
Maybe that’s because she had been such a sickly child.
When she should have been laughing and playing with the other kids, she had been confined to peering at us from
behind the windows. So, when she’d finally come of age, and had joined me in the real world, she couldn’t wait to
explore her fledgling sexuality. On the days that her health permitted, of course.
I race down the st eps and fling open the door.
Karma swaggers in.
She’s wearing dark skinny jeans, torn at the knees.
Boots that have massive platforms, a blouse that slipped down one shoulder and is held together by safety pins;
another of which is pierced through her lip. Her lip? I blink.
"Didn't the Gwen Stefani look fade with the Nineties?"
"Shows how little you are in touch with current trends, Sis."
Huh? I frown and she chuckles. She tugs on my hair, "So easy to pull a fast one over you, huh?"
She saunters past.
"You could, at least, pretend to be a responsible adult."
"Hey, I knit... That’s my two-pence contribution to The World According to Garp."
"What are you talking about?" I knot my hair around my fingers.
"It means, adulting is overrated. Besides, you do enough of that for the two of us."
Her boots leave muddy footprints on the polished floor.
Should I say something? Why do I care? This isn’t my home. I am borrowing it for the duration of... what? A fake
marriage to a cold-hearted, obnoxious alphahole, who is trying his best to forget about my existence, apparently.
"Why are you here?"
She does a turn, blows out a low whistle "Damn, you hit the jackpot, woman."
"Or the end of my patience." I tighten my hold around the half-open door.
"Being able to recognize a good thing when it hits you in the face has never been your strong point."
"What do you mean?"
She pivots, waves her hands in the air. "All this, honey.
All of this can be yours. Correction, is yours, already—" "It’s all pretense." I huff.
"Haven’t you heard?" She leans forward on the balls of her feet. "You gotta fake it till you make it."
I grimace, "You mean like, Legally Blonde?"
"I was thinking more, Pretty Woman."
What the—! "So, I should prostitute myself?"
"You said it." She smirks.
"Honestly, Karma, you sure can be a bitch sometimes."
She drops her hands to her side, "OMG, that was a low, low hit even for you."
"And your stupidity in telling me that I need to acc ept my fate, and go along with whatever this weird-ass plan
spun by a psychopath—" "He’s not a psychopath—" She scowls.
"Full of himself, vicious billionaire-" "Gazillionaire, actually—" "—has concocted, and actually be happy about it,
is sheer and utter nonsense."
My chest heaves.
Her features tense. She moves toward me. "Hey, Summer, I’m sorry that I upset you."
I snort. "No, you’re not."
"I really, truly am. You’re right, I can be a bitch sometimes. I think it’s some self-fulfilling prophecy. After all,
with a name like Karma I didn’t stand a chance, huh?"
"It’s better than Summer."
"You’re not the one having to pronounce your name to people, when you introduce yourself."
"Better than people instantly assuming I am some kind of a hippie."
"Of course, your get-up doesn’t inspire that at all, huh?"
I glance down at my long skirt, teamed with a peasant blouse, and pink Chucks. "What’s wrong with what I am
wearing?"
"Nothing."
"Not my fault if people go by appearances." I snort.
"Woman, you are an optimist. The world is ruled by how you appear. Haven’t you gotten that through your head
yet?"
"What I reflect to the world is not what I am on the inside."
"It’s true." She nods and her lips quirk.
"Don’t go laughing at me. As you are aware, I am more rebellious than I seem."
She looks me up and down. "Let’s agree to disagree on that, Sis. You’re more of a quirky misfit."
Huh? Is that good or bad?
"You’re someone who wants to soothe things over, make the world a better place, someone who yearns for male
approval."
I glower, "You think I have daddy issues?"
"Don’t we all?" She raises her shoulders, then lets them drop.
"That is the most honest thing you’ve ever said. I mean, given how we were abandoned by our own father, of
course, we’d be looking for approval from the men in our lives, huh?"
"Difference is you fear loss of control. You’ll do anything to tame your circumstances, while I..." She looks past
my shoulder.
"You?" I jerk my chin.
"I leverage the cards I’ve been dealt, rather than upset the entire table, looking for that one Ace that’ll probably
never land in my lap."
"If are implying that I’ll never settle for anything other than the one, you’re right." I tip my face up, and peer into
her eyes.
Damn, I could do with some heels about now. Exc ept this isn’t a power play. It isn’t. This is me and my sister
having a conversation about priorities, huh? And it’s time she understands where I stand on this.
"I won’t stop searching for the person who is compatible with me in every way."
She shakes her head, blinks, and I frown. Did something go into her eyes? Doesn’t matter. This once, I am going
to have the last word.
"This marriage is as fake as Posh Spice."
The hair on the nape of my neck prickles; a frisson of electricity ladders up my spine. Too late, I realize what she’d
been trying to tell me. Don’t turn. Don’t. A blast of heat at my back makes me wince.
"Care to r epeat yourself?"