After my interview with Archer, I drive back to my shabby little grad student apartment, which I share with two other students. I dressed up—by my standards—for the meeting, but now I change out of the dress I wore and into the jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers that are better suited to my role as teaching assistant/PhD student.

I pull out my battered suitcase on wheels and pack up everything I'll need for the next few days. The semester has just ended. I’ll be staying at my parents’ house in Bel Air until the party, then we’re all going up to my family’s lake house in San Luis Obispo County for a long weekend. I still have plenty of work to do over the summer—I’ll be a teaching assistant again once the summer semester starts, I'm working on a grant proposal, and there’s always more research to do when you’re in graduate school—but for the next week and a half, I’m on vacation.

I’m looking forward to a break from school, and, although they drive me crazy, I'm looking forward to seeing my family. We’re having dinner together tonight at the house, ostensibly to go over some party-related things, but I sometimes wonder if the party itself is just an excuse so my mother can get all of us under the same roof.

My sisters and I are pretty different, and we don’t hang out together often if we’re not at a family function. It’s hard to imagine myself at a high-end club with Carina or bringing the sophisticated Brianna to a grad student party, where it’s all cheap beer and Stephen Hawking jokes. Still, we love each other, and we get along when we’re together.

I also adore my parents, although to be honest, my mother still has the ability to make me feel like I’m four years old. Maybe all mothers are like that.

To the world, my dad is known as a ruthless business man and tough negotiator, but to me, he’s always just been Daddy. I secretly think I’m his favorite, but I also secretly think that Bree and Carina each think they’re his favorite. He’s the kind of guy who knows how to make you feel special.

It’s less than twenty minutes from my apartment to my parents’ house, but it might as well be light years. Despite my shabby, third-hand car, I’m waved through the security gate that guards the entrance to my parents’ neighborhood by a guard who recognizes me and gives me a big grin. I give him a wave before driving down the wide, quiet street that’s lined with Spanish-colonial-style mansions. Each one has space in the garage for at least four cars, each one has a swimming pool in the back, and each one has rooms that the owners probably never use.

My parents have offered to let me live with them again while I’m in graduate school, but I’m in class, in lab, or at the library so much that it doesn’t really matter where I live. I barely see my roommates as it is. Anyway, I don’t want to be twenty-four years old and still living with my parents.

Still, as I pull into their driveway and get out of my car, I smile and feel a pang of nostalgia as I look up at the place where I grew up. It’s more than just a beautiful house; it’s a home, and I’m always happy to be back.

Archer’s face suddenly flashes before my eyes. I’ve been avoiding thinking about him, but now, staring at my childhood home, I realize that he’ll be here himself the day after tomorrow, and I’m hit with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Excitement that on Thursday night, I’ll be the envy of every other woman at the party—and anxiety that somehow, something will go wrong, and I’ll be found out.

Not being able to come up with a worthwhile date in the first place is pathetic; how much more pathetic would I look if people knew I’d paid for one? I swallow down my discomfort as I pull my bag out of the back seat and head to the front door.

My mother greets me with a hug as I step inside. The foyer is lined with tiles that were specially imported from Spain. Beyond it lies the sunny living room with modern art splashed tastefully on the walls. The effect is like my mother, colorful yet calming, and I feel myself already shifting from stressed-out grad student to my role as youngest daughter.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Bree called a little while ago to say she's running late, but Carina's coming over straight from work, and tonight I'll get to have all three of my girls under one roof.” She gives me a satisfied smile. She loves having her family around. She’s happy that all three of us still live in Los Angeles, but I think she wishes we all lived at home, or at least in the same neighborhood.

Sorry, Mom, but the average grad student doesn’t make quite enough to live in a gated community in Bel Air.

“Tomorrow, it's just you and me, but I thought we might go shopping together, maybe get our nails done. What do you think?” My mom looks at me hopefully.

“Sure, Mom. I'd love to,” I assure her, and I'm rewarded with a happy smile.

Despite—or maybe because of—my mother's high-powered former career, her preferred way to relax is to indulge her frivolous side with days of retail therapy and spa treatments. Her trophy-wife days are also her favorite way to bond with her daughters.

Brianna and Carina seem to enjoy them, but I've never felt quite as at home in the spas and salons and high-end department stores. I find the whole scene a bit tedious, but I have no good reason not to go, and it’s an easy way to make my mother happy.

Mom whisks me up to my room, the one I’ve had since I was a toddler. She’s barely touched it since I left for college, and it’s a little embarrassing to see that it’s still full of awards I won in high school and a teddy bear that my first boyfriend gave me. I make a note to clean it out sometime soon.

“I’m going to have to leave you alone for a bit before dinner,” Mom says as I put my bag down on the bed. “I’ve got to write a few emails before I can call it quits. Will you be okay on your own until Carina shows up?”

“Of course, Mom. That's fine.”

It's perfect, actually. I’ve got a cheesy romance novel packed in my bag—I’d get laughed out of the physics department if anyone there ever caught me reading it—and I’m happy to chill by the pool and enjoy the start of my vacation in the lap of luxury.

Ten minutes later, Mom’s back in her office, and I’m lounging by the poolside, for the moment no longer an overworked graduate student but a socialite on vacation. The blue water shimmers under the late-afternoon sun, surrounded by greenery that blocks any view of the house next to ours, and the air is silent except for the occasional bird call.

Perfect.

I try to lose myself in my novel—there’s an heiress, an arranged marriage, a villain, and an unlikely hero—but I make the mistake of imagining Archer as the hero, and then I can’t get him out of my mind. Those bright blue eyes, that confident smile. I picture him in the pool, imagining smooth skin over rippling muscles. I imagine him lounging next to me, reading aloud, stopping every now and then to feed me grapes by hand. I imagine grazing his fingers with my lips. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard. Would it be scratchy or soft? How would it feel against my cheeks … or other parts of me …?

I sigh and put the book down.

Archer, like the unlikely hero of my romance, is just a fantasy. A bit of eye candy to wear on my arm for an evening, the way my mother sometimes rents lavish jewelry to wear at special events.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy once in a while … but my thoughts are interrupted.

“There you are! Mom said you were out here. It’s so good to see you!”

I stand up and let Carina hug me. She’s a good seven inches taller than I am, slender and graceful, and I feel like a stumpy little midget next to her, R2D2 next to Princess Amidala.

Not that Carina would get the reference.

She’s wearing a sheer, bright green flowing wrap thing that does almost nothing to disguise the tiny but tasteful bikini she’s wearing underneath it. High heels in a matching shade of green make her long legs even longer, and her huge eyes are covered by expensive designer sunglasses. I’m wearing a pink floral retro-style one-piece that looked adorable when I bought it but now feels frumpy in comparison.

The thing about Carina is that even if she weren’t tall and slim and gorgeous, she’d still have men eating out of her hand because she’s just so nice. She’s friendly and outgoing and can strike up conversations with anyone. She has absolutely no snobbery or shyness and can talk to a janitor or a movie star as easily as she gossips with one of her sorority sisters. She listens to you like you’re the most interesting person in the world, and she has an incredible gift for remembering details about people. Like my father, she knows how to make people feel special.

As much as I envy her, I adore her more.

She slides into the lounger next to mine with an eager smile. “Okay, spill. Mom says you’re bringing a date to the party?”

My heart skips a beat. It’s time to start acting. I play it cool—this isn’t going to last, after all, so I don’t want to sound too smitten—but I keep my voice casual and tell her that I met a nice guy in a coffee shop a few weeks ago. It’s nothing serious, but he’s cute. An actor. Thought it would be fun to bring him along.

Carina claps her hands, clearly excited for me. “Oooh, I can’t wait to meet him!”

“What about you?” I ask, anxious to talk about something other than myself. “Are you bringing anyone I know?”

She shrugs. “Do you remember Fiona, my friend from college? Her brother just moved here, and she asked me to look after him, so I invited him to the party.”

“Another struggling actor?”

She yawns and shakes her head. “Something in finance. The job sounds boring, but I met him a couple of times in college, and he seemed nice. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

It wouldn’t have occurred to me that I wouldn’t like him—Carina’s dates are usually almost as nice as she is—but it also wouldn’t have occurred to me to care much one way or another. She flits from man to man like a butterfly moves among flowers, never staying with one for long, so there’s no point in getting attached to any of them.

It’s funny in a way because although you wouldn’t know it to look at her, Carina is actually the most domestic of the three of us. She’s very nurturing and gentle. She loves to cook, and she adores babies—I know she’d like some of her own, but I guess she still hasn’t met the right guy.

And if she can’t find the right guy out of the dozens she’s dated, it doesn’t bode well for me, who hasn’t had a steady boyfriend since junior year of college.

We’re interrupted by the sound of the back door sliding open and a set of crisp, determined footsteps. We look around and stand up to greet Brianna.

“Mom said you weren’t coming until later,” I say, giving her a light hug which she returns with brisk efficiency. Everything about Brianna is businesslike, even her hugs.

“I was supposed to be on a conference call with Hong Kong, but it got moved to next week at the last minute, and I didn’t want to miss out on a moment with you two.”

Even Brianna is no match for Carina, who wraps her up in an affectionate squeeze before holding her at arm’s length and saying, “Wow, you look amazing!”

Like me, Brianna favors a one-piece suit. Unlike me, it’s not because she’s shy about her body, which is long and well toned, but because she’s too serious for a bikini. Instead, she wears a black designer swimsuit that manages to be modest, flattering and elegant all at the same time.

Now my little floral retro suit just feels frivolous.

Brianna lacks Carina’s warmth and humor, but she makes up for it by being insightful, wise, and above all loyal. And she has a snarky sense of humor that few people outside our family know about. She bypasses a third lounger in order to sit upright in a wicker armchair. I try to remember if I’ve ever seen Brianna just relax and decide no; even when she was a kid, she was driven, intense and serious.

Carina fills her in. “We were just gossiping about our dates for the party. Who are you bringing?”

“My boss.”

I raise my eyebrows and Carina lets out a squeal of scandalized delight.

“Chill,” Brianna orders. “It’s not a date, and we both know it. It’s a chance for me to show off my network and for him to meet some people who might be helpful in growing the start-up.”

That’s Brianna, always working even when she’s not.

“Annabelle met a guy in a coffee shop!” Carina eagerly fills Brianna in on Archer, my fantasy date.

Brianna raises a cool eyebrow at me. “Is it serious?”

I shrug, trying to look worldly and aloof. “Not yet. We’ve just hung out a few times.”

“Well, I hope he’s good enough for you,” says Brianna. “You always sell yourself short when it comes to men.”

Brianna’s never liked the guys I’ve dated. She hates geeky guys, but they’re the ones I feel most comfortable with. To the extent that she’s interested in men at all, she prefers guys who are as cool and elegant and emotionless as she is. She’s always telling me to set my sights higher.

Easy for her to say.

But even as her statement annoys me, I’m also touched.

As different as we all are, I know that Brianna and Carina will always have my best interests at heart. And although I know I’m being a little disingenuous by hiring Archer to pose as my boyfriend, I also feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of impressing them.