“Why did we agree to meet them in a bar?” Kira griped as she watched the door.

Marissa was a butterfly in a beehive. Too soft and frilly for the hard edges of crude language, clanking glass, and heavy music that was more felt than heard. And not metaphorically, either. When the band was in full swing, the rumble caused the shot glasses along the counter to bounce and hum.

“I don’t mind it,” Marissa lied. She lifted her glass of iced seltzer water with a wedge of lemon and a slice of lime and brought the double red straws to her lips. “Mmm …”

Kira fought back an eye roll and turned to look at the entrance.

“Hey, Kira?”

“Yeah,” she replied, eyes still set on the doorway.

“I’m sorry for not having your back the way I should have,” Marissa said, leaning in and practically belting the words.

Kira tipped back, held her sister’s gaze for a moment.

“I always knew Monty stole your images, but I told myself you deserved it. You didn’t, but …” She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she slid her drink closer.

“But what?” Kira asked.

Marissa poked at the citrus wedges with her straws. One after the next. “I envied you for being so … quick to do things most people were too scared to do—things I’d be too scared to do. I told myself you were irresponsible, but then you came out here and did all these amazing things with the studio.” She shrugged. “Mom and Dad have been showing me the texts. And I realized that more often than not, you were brave. You’ve always known how to live life, you know? Even when risk is involved.”

Wow. Kira could hardly believe her ears. “Marissa,” she said, choked with an onslaught of emotion. “Thank—”

“Oh,” Marissa hissed with a nod. “They’re here. We’ll talk more later.”

Kira spun to see the couple striding into the place like the party had arrived. Finny whipped her white, hip-length hair over one shoulder with the exaggerated sway of her long, giraffe-like neck. The woman had a list of unique features that only made her more beautiful. Exotic. After all, Finny Shea started out as a model before she designed her own clothing line and ran her namesake magazine. Most didn’t achieve a fraction of what she’d accomplished after living ninety-plus years, but that didn’t stop the determined thirty-year-old.

Kira hated to admit it, but Monty looked like a rock star. A sloppy, stayed-up-partying-all-night rock star, but one nonetheless. He swaggered through wafting smoke as flashing lights bounced off his sunglasses. He’d gotten more ink on his neck, a reptilian pattern he’d started on his chest while Kira was dating him. How she’d managed to ever find him attractive, she couldn’t say. He might have a magnetic appeal on the surface, but lots of dangerous things did. Including the snake he related himself to. After all, how perilous could a nonvenomous snake be?

Of course, Kira had discovered for herself that there was more than one way to hurt a person. And the truth was, as she watched necks wrench and heads turn, she was still reeling from the effects of it all. She’d been so close to being someone. To impressing the likes of Finny Shea, her designing crew, and a handful of A-list models in the least of it. More than that, she’d have made her family proud.

Kira straightened as they neared, patted her hair to assure it was in place, and lifted her chin. Perhaps she should have paid more attention when she’d gotten ready. Or when she touched up her makeup before coming. Finny’s pale skin glowed like she’d doused it with a million tiny sparkles.

Marissa shot to her feet and extended a hand across the table. “Hey, guys,” she hollered.

Finny, always the professional, shook her hand before reaching for Kira’s. Her eyes were lavender today—no surprise; she had a new color for every outfit. “Miss Moretti. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. It’s very gracious of you.”

“Hope you don’t mind meeting us outside of that rinky-dink town,” Monty said. Kira had always envied Finny’s Swedish accent. Obviously Monty had too, because he’d adapted one of his own. “The bar in Cobble Creek only lets locals take the stage. We were hoping for a little more than hicks strumming banjos and thumping coffee cans.”

The couple broke into laughter. Even Marissa joined in. Kira only stared at them and cleared her throat.

“Anyway, we’re not here to make fun of your new life, Kira,” Monty assured with his phony accent. “We’re here to make you an offer.”

Finny piped up, leaning across the table, her flawless face calm. “Marissa graciously agreed to arrange this so that we could both apologize. Upon seeing your work years ago, I knew I wanted you to shoot in Milan. And after you accepted—and did a stellar job of it, I might add—I repaid you by calling you a liar and letting you go.”

Finny gave Monty a nod. “Python here had me fooled at first. Or perhaps I wasn’t fooled at all. Perhaps I only wanted to believe him. But I discovered the truth soon enough.”

“Soon enough to admit it in court?” Kira asked. Forget the shot glasses bouncing to the beat. Her heart was hammering a clash of drums and cymbals.

Monty and Finny looked at each other. “I was still denying it, Kira,” he admitted.

“That’s true,” Finny said, “but I knew better. You can’t fake taking photographs like the ones you captured, Kira.” Finny motioned to a waitress passing by, ordered two virgin drinks Kira had never heard of, then stretched her long, slender arms across the table.

Kira looked down at them, white against the dark wood, wondering what Finny wanted her to do. Place her hands on there, too, so she could hold them while she spoke? No thanks.

“You have a gift, Kira. Something years of training won’t touch. And we want you back.”

The we part in that sentence threw her off. Marissa must have sensed that, because she tapped Kira’s shoulder.

“Python’s Finny’s partner now. Business partner.”

Monty gave her a soak-in-that look while Kira’s jaw clenched. “What do you bring to the table?” she couldn’t help but ask. Last she looked, dumb and broke weren’t the best traits one could offer an already successful business owner.

“The charm,” Finny said. “People love him.”

“Not all people,” Kira corrected with a glare.

“Hey, I said I’m sorry for doing that, okay? That’s why I’m here. To make it right.” His accent was gone. “I regret saying that those pictures were mine.”

Kira stared at the look on Monty’s face as he popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. “And you abandoned me,” she said. “Left me stranded and fending for myself in a foreign country. And then you lied about it in court. I didn’t get paid for the shoot. I didn’t even get reimbursed for my flight.” She turned her attention back to Finny. “The least you could’ve done is give me what I was asking for in court. Not make me look like a fool for suing such a big name.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I feel so horrible about wronging you. I cannot tell you how awful it makes us feel.” She and Monty shot one another a glance before Monty gave her a nod. “We’re going through a rehab program.”

Rehab? Kira was stunned.

“We’d appreciate it if you allowed us to make amends. If you agree to shoot at out next fashion show, I’ll not only pay you twice what I pay other photographers, I’ll give you everything I owe you and add twelve percent interest to it.”

Marissa shifted in her seat. “Kira, you can’t pass up this opportunity. There’s no way.”

She thought about the publicity the case received. “Would you guys do something to clear my name? Like contact the press and explain what happened?”

Finny thanked the waitress as she brought their drinks then leaned over the table once more. “The six major networks, yes. And we’ll also clear your name with the agencies who caught wind of things and explain that there was a critical error in the processing department, but that it’s since been discovered and made right.”

Kira lifted a brow. “Critical error?”

“Python is a partner in Finny Shea,” the woman explained. “We couldn’t likely smear his name and build our line at the same time.”

“That’s true,” Finny said. “I tried to think of a way to reimburse you without strings attached—that being committing to the upcoming shoot—but for both legal and tax reasons, I can’t.”

Excitement started like a tiny blizzard in Kira’s chest, whirling and growing until it gripped hold of her every limb. Making it feel like she’d entered a walk-in freezer suddenly. It’s what happened when Kira was about to do something life-altering. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. But to clear the Moretti name once and for all … she couldn’t turn a chance like that down. “When’s the fashion show?”

“In five days,” Monty said.

“What? Oh my gosh. There’s no way I could make that work.”

“But if you come with us,” Finny added, “we’d need to leave tomorrow evening on the private jet.”

Kira shot her sister a look. “What about Marissa? She just got here.”

“We’ll pay for her to come back after your return, since we hijacked her visit this time,” Finny said.

“And when would I be back? Like, a week or something?”

“We’d need you to commit to the entire tour. First New York, then Paris, Milan, with the last stop in Barcelona. You’d be back in about forty-five days.”

“No.” Kira shook her head. “Sorry, no. I just started my life here. I’m really happy.”

“Running your grandpa’s little studio, Kira?” Monty blurted. “Come on. You know small-town life doesn’t suit you. It’s the reason you left the first time.”

“He’s right,” Finny said. “If you stayed on with us, which we’re willing to entertain after this run, you’d be paid generously and enjoy the life of a high-profile photographer in the industry. This could be the start of a very promising career.”

“Or …” Marissa said, “she could do the forty-five-day tour and come home.”

Home. Marissa had called Cobble Creek Kira’s home.

“Correct,” Finny said. “We already have the papers drawn up in an offer. You’re welcome to have a lawyer look over it, but we need you to sign before flying out.”

Wow. This was really happening. Kira slumped back in her seat. She wasn’t even considering the last part, of course—starting a career outside of Cobble Creek; she’d never want a life without Anthony. The mere thought of him caused the ache and upset to collide anew. “I might consider the forty-five days,” she said softly. “But that’s it. I really love it here.” She shot Monty a look. “And that studio is the best gift anyone’s given me.”

Monty took a deep drag, then blew a cloud of smoke toward her face. “You better make up your mind quick, Kira. Our departure time isn’t going to budge.”

Finny reached into a flat, glitter-covered bag, pulled out a manila folder, and handed it to Kira. “Choose wisely, Ms. Moretti.” She reached for her drink, her long delicate fingers gracefully curling around the glass, and turned her face toward the band on stage.

The action said you’re dismissed like she’d spoken it aloud.

Marissa scooted out of the booth and came to a stand. Kira did the same, the folder in her hand growing heavier with each breath. As they shuffled toward the exit, Finny’s offer hung heavy in the air, thicker than the light-trapping haze. She wanted to talk to Marissa now that things were finally on the table; figure out why she’d agreed to help set this up. More than that, she had to talk to Anthony. That thought alone had Kira hashing over the dilemma all the way to the car.

“So are we going to discuss this?” Marissa asked as Kira steered the compact car out of the lot.

“In a minute,” she said, needing to gather her thoughts first. She glanced at the speed limit sign as they passed, wanting very badly to go twice the speed. She resisted. Only gripped the wheel and wondered why this had to come up in her life right then. Why, when she clearly couldn’t accept it, did something as wonderful as that offer have to be thrown in her face?

“You’re being pretty quiet over there,” Marissa said.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Kira peered at the lane markings as she approached a sharp curve up ahead. Watched as it shifted from a single yellow dash to two solid lines. Lines that showed where she should and shouldn’t go. “I just … can’t imagine saying yes to that.” She sniffed. “But I can’t imagine saying no either.”

“You shouldn’t say no, Kira. You’d be crazy to.”

Kira shook her head as more frustrated tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me why you can’t go. You’re the brave one, remember?”

More curves lay up ahead, those solid double lines in sharp focus beneath the beam’s glow. “Because I’m not like everyone else. I do stupid stuff and mess things up. I’ll probably ruin my shot with Anthony. If I leave, he’ll …” She paused there, the panicky ache sinking deeper into her chest. “Anthony’s been through a lot in his life. Enough that even mentioning the offer might set him into a tailspin.”

“Mom and Dad will be disappointed if you don’t take it.”

Kira shot her a look. “They already know about it?”

“Everyone does. Aunt Leonna, Aunt Tullie, Aunt—”

“You know,” Kira blurted, shaking her head, “I’m sick of trying to predict what will impress everyone. I don’t care anymore.” A fresh wave of guilt swept in, reminding Kira that her sister had apologized mere moments ago. That was all well and good, but it didn’t make her decision any easier.

“If Anthony loves you, he’ll understand,” Marissa said.

Quiet crept into the car. A suffocating blackness that made her want to scream aloud just to prove that she could. Instead, she reached over and gave the radio knob a push with her fist. A loud, angst-filled song blasted from the speakers, satisfying the part of Kira that felt like a trapped animal.

She fixed her eyes on the dark road. Her side of the lane. Her side of the lane. She needed to just stay on her side of the lane. Forget about clearing the family’s name. For once, Kira needed to do the safe thing. Even if she would regret letting the opportunity pass.