Louise Bentley is a feisty, wild, 'let's-go-to-Capri-for-the-weekend-yeah?' kind of girl. She spends her days working at a party-planning company. Oh, and she never wants kids. Ever.
Ben Langford is a studious, quiet, 'I'm-busy-reading' sort of man...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Louise was running late.
This was partially because she had gotten stuck on the tube, and partially — okay, mostly, Louise admitted — because she'd drunk an entire bottle of red wine last night. She and Ella had stayed up late, swapping memories of Millie: her sister's graduation; her horrific piano performance; the time she'd secretly kept a frog in their bathtub for a week.
Ella had fallen asleep at midnight, sprawled out on a couch, glossy photo albums open on the table. Louise had spent the night staring up at the ceiling.
And now, Louise was late.
She hurried across the street, cursing her heels as she stumbled. Then again, Louise reflected, she was always off-balance these days. She felt that the entire world was shaking apart, like a pair of giant invisible hands had seized a snow globe and tossed it into the air. She was tired. So goddamn tired.
Ben was waiting outside of the glass building, dressed in a navy suit. His brown hair was styled today, and he glanced at his large wristwatch.
"Do I want to know, Bentley?"
She frowned. "Can we call a truce? Just for today?"
Ben held up his hands. "I'm not having a go at you."
"Well," Louise said, shouldering past him, "you have a funny way of showing it."
They made their way into the building. A harried-looking man was waiting for them in the lobby, and he introduced himself as Darby. Louise blinked. She was uncertain whether that was his first name or surname, and as they entered Darby's office, she realized that she was even less certain about his décor.
A large fish tank filled with flowers. A half-eaten pink pineapple. No framed photos, apart from a shot of a mallard duck.
Ben raised an eyebrow that very clearly said, "What the hell?" Louise shook her head.
"Tea?" Darby asked.
Louise looked at the kettle — ancient, covered in dust — and shook her head.
"No, thanks," Ben said.
They sat. Darby typed something on his laptop. Paused. Clicked on something. Adjusted his jar of pencils.
"So," Darby said. "How much did Camille and James discuss with you both?"
Louise felt a jolt go through her. She rarely heard her sister's full name that it sounded odd to her now, like a word that lost its meaning after you said it too many times. If Millie was here, she would roll her eyes and say, "What am I, French royalty? Call me Millie, please."
Her throat tightened.
"Nothing," Louise said. "They told us nothing."
"Ah." Darby steepled his hands. "I was afraid of that."
