Married To The Wrong Twin

"Two feet off the mark isn't a rounding error. It's a redesign."

The contractor didn't answer right away, which told me everything about how confident he actually felt. I kept my eyes on the drawings spread across his tailgate, the ones with my stamp on the corner, the ones his crew had apparently never bothered to open.

"The old plans had it further west," he finally said.

"The old plans weren't approved. These are." I tapped the sheet. "I want it torn out and repoured by Thursday, on your dime, or I make a call to your project manager and we discuss why a two-hundred-thousand-dollar terrace is currently sitting on the wrong footprint."

"Thursday's tight."

"Thursday's what you've got." I rolled the drawings back up and handed them to him instead of leaving them for the wind to argue with. "Send me photos when it's poured right. I don't want to drive out here twice."

He looked at the sheet in his hands like it had personally inconvenienced him, then nodded once and walked off toward his crew, already shouting something about pulling the forms.

Theo was leaning against my car when I finally made it back, two coffees in hand, grinning like he'd watched the whole thing from a safe distance, which he had.

"You didn't even raise your voice," he said, handing mine over. "It's honestly a little terrifying."

"He'll have it fixed."

"He looked like a man who just found out his mother was right about something." He fell into step beside me. "Lunch, or are you one of those people who forgets food exists when she's busy winning arguments?"

My phone rang before I could answer. My mother's contact photo lit up the screen, and Theo took one look at my face and mouthed I'll wait in the car.

"Hi, Mom."

"Odessa. Please tell me you haven't forgotten about tonight."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Six o'clock, not six fifteen. And wear the navy, it photographs better than the green did at the shower."

"I'll wear whatever's clean."

"Don't be difficult, this is your sister's night. I just want everyone looking their best." A pause she never seemed to notice she left. "You know how the Ashfords are about appearances."

"I know exactly how they are about appearances." I was already walking faster, like I could outpace the conversation itself. "I have a client in ten minutes."

"Navy," she said again, and hung up before I could tell her I'd already decided against it out of pure spite.

The Ashford estate at six thirty looked the way it always did, lit up gold against the dark, string lights strung through the terrace trees like the house was daring anyone nearby to feel ordinary. I found parking behind a car worth more than my studio's annual lease and let the noise of the party swallow me whole.

Ivy found me first, the way she always did, silk the color of champagne and an expression that had already decided how the next five minutes were going to go.

"You made it. In green." Her eyes moved over the dress once, quick and thorough. "Bold choice for tonight. Though honestly, the cut's forgiving, it works on you."

"It's a dress, Ivy."

"I just mean it in the best way." She smiled, soft at the edges, sharp underneath. "Mom said the navy fit better, structured things always do, but green's brave too."

"Nobody asked for a review."

"I know, I know." She waved a hand, already scanning the crowd behind me. "I told the caterer to do lighter tasting portions for the family table tonight, by the way. Rich food doesn't love all of us the same way, and I didn't want anyone feeling stuck after." She said it warmly, like a favor, like something she'd thought of out of pure consideration, and squeezed my arm before I could decide whether it deserved an answer. "Try the salmon first. Trust me."

She turned back toward a cluster of Ashford cousins waiting on her attention like she was the only interesting thing in the room, which tonight, she was.

Across the terrace, Callum stood between his parents, laughing at something his father said, an arm slung easy around Ivy's waist the moment she rejoined him. He belonged to the center of every room he stood in without ever having to try, and tonight the center of the room was exactly where he was supposed to be.

I made it almost an hour without him looking my way once, which was fine, which was normal, which was every family gathering I'd survived so far. Ivy found me twice more in that hour, once to ask, sweetly, if I'd found the smaller fork for the passed appetizers, "so much easier for pacing yourself," and once to steer me gently away from the dessert table before I'd even reached for anything, a light hand on my elbow, a laugh shared with her cousin that didn't quite include me.

My father found me not long after, two glasses of wine in hand, one of which he passed to me without asking if I wanted it.

"You look like you're counting exits," he said.

"I'm always counting exits at these things."

"Your mother mentioned the navy." He said it the way he said most things about my mother, flat, careful, leaving room for me to fill in whatever I needed to. "For what it's worth, I liked the green better."

"You'd say that regardless."

"Probably." He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine, the closest thing to affection either of us was built for in a room full of Ashfords. "Your sister mean anything by the fork comment?"

"She never means anything by anything."

"Mm." He didn't argue, and he didn't agree either, just let the silence sit there long enough that I understood he'd noticed exactly what I had. Before I could say anything else, Helena's assistant called him toward the head table for photos, and he squeezed my shoulder once on his way, a small, wordless thing that did more for me than the wine had.

I was reaching past a tray of passed appetizers, the regular fork, on principle, when Callum reached for the same tray from the other side, close enough that I stepped back before he did.

"Didn't peg you as the type to skip the sit-down menu," he said, already glancing past me toward wherever he was actually headed.

"I like the appetizers."

"Sure." He wasn't really looking at me, wasn't really talking to me, just filling a half second of proximity with a sentence that cost him nothing. Someone called his name from across the terrace, his cousin, or Desmond's assistant, I didn't catch which, and he was gone again before I'd finished deciding whether the comment deserved a response.

Desmond tapped a glass a few minutes later, and the whole party turned toward him like a tide pulled by the moon.

"I won't keep everyone from the wine," he said, smiling the careful smile of a man used to rooms full of people watching him, "but I wanted to say a few words before tomorrow's madness takes over completely."

Helena's hand found his arm, steady, and something about the gesture made my stomach tighten before I understood why.

"Ivy has always been the daughter this family didn't know it needed," Desmond went on, and Ivy's face arranged itself into exactly the right amount of humble surprise, "and tomorrow this family gets to make that official. Given everything happening with my health this year, I can't tell you what it means to see this settled while I'm still here to see it."

A ripple of warm laughter and applause moved through the crowd. Ivy raised her glass, radiant, found my eyes across the terrace for exactly one second, long enough to make sure I'd caught every word of it too, and then turned back to the room with a smile so easy it looked genuine even to me.

"Actually," she said, loud enough to carry, "I want my sister to say something. She's been suspiciously quiet all night."

Every head on the terrace turned toward me at once, glasses still raised, waiting, and I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was about to say.