4.2

“She had options? Like . . . she had to decide which one was worse? Than that?” Hannah immediately raised a hand. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know. Am I the only one who has never been subjected to such horror? I mean, there has been the occasional too-lemony shade of yellow or unfortunate butt bustle, but . . . what kind of friends do you have, anyway?”

Fiona was laughing now. “Hey, you should have seen that dress yesterday before she helped me fix it. Oh my God, we were laughing so hard, so I just kept it on.”

“You . . . fixed it?” Hannah said, dubiously, trying not to recall the unnaturally shiny monstrosity her sister had had on the day before and failing. Spectacularly. Where was post-accident amnesia when she needed it? “Really? What part?”

Fiona’s topaz eyes gleamed. “Yours is even more delicious.”

Alex was watching the interplay between the sisters with open interest. “I can’t decide if I am hating that I was an only child, or if I owe my dad yet another debt of grati