Stepbrother's Darling
I stand on the pristine stone, clutching the worn strap of my duffel bag, I'm so out of place here.
Amelia comes out of nowhere, but I hear her before I see her.
I try not to act surprised, she looks just as flawless as the magazines say, perfectly composed in a cream pantsuit, looking like a woman who plans $500,000 weddings for fun. Because she does.
“Mirabelle, darling!” she squeals with a wide grin, too happy for someone who abandoned me when I was eight. “You’re here! We were so worried,” she says, her arms stretched wide for a hug.