Modern Romance Collection: October 2017 5 - 8. Heidi Rice

celebrity trainer.

      “Everyone’s obsessed with this workout,” she’d informed Eleanor as she’d contorted about.

      Eleanor had responded by finishing off the last packet of chocolate biscuits. At her.

      Now Vivi plunked herself down on the small sofa next to Eleanor, making the cushion dip alarmingly and a pile of her waiting mending tip over. Eleanor thought she’d switch the telly over to a show and drown her mood out, as she been doing since they’d returned, but instead she twisted her body around so she could look her sister straight in the face.

      “I know you think you hate me,” Vivi said, her voice serious and an unexpected wallop. “I understand that. I even accept it. You don’t have any experience with these things.”

      Eleanor’s teeth ached. She made herself unclench her jaw.

      “If you mean making up tawdry stories and selling them to the highest bidder, then no. I certainly don’t.”

      “I mean Hugo.” Vivi’s voice was soft. Worse, kind. “I mean men.”

      Eleanor bent her head to the blouse she was attempting to repair. She kept her attention furiously focused on her needle. But she was sure that it was no use, that Vivi could see the flush that crept up the back of her neck and threatened her cheeks as well. She didn’t understand how a topic that she’d been so pleased to discuss with Hugo—or not discuss, as the case might be, because he’d known and he’d handled it—she had no desire at all to discuss with her sister.

      “I think I’d prefer to skip the ‘poor, sad Eleanor’ discussion tonight, thanks.” Eleanor had to order herself to unclench her jaw. Again. And do something with her shoulders before she lifted them over the top of her head. “I think it’s possible that the only thing worse than the story you sold might be your pity.”

      “I don’t pity you, Eleanor,” Vivi said, and her voice was different. Almost unrecognizable. It made Eleanor uneasy. “I envy you. I don’t think I’ve ever been soft or dewy-eyed about anything. Not even way back when you cried over me in the hospital and I didn’t.”

      Eleanor paused. She very carefully put down her sewing. And then she turned and held her sister’s gaze.

      “Vivi. Please tell me you’re not about to give me ‘the talk.’”

      Vivi’s eyes gleamed then, and they really did look like shiny gold coins, something that Eleanor wished she could find more annoying than she did.

      “You spent all night with Hugo Grovesmoor. I think any attempt at a sex talk at this point would be a waste of breath, don’t you?”

      Eleanor tried to hide the pain that flashed over her. Or that near-reflexive urge to draw in a sharp breath, as if that would ease it.

      “I don’t want to talk about Hugo.”

      It was more that she didn’t want to talk about Hugo with Vivi, if she was honest. But either way, thinking about him was painful enough.

      “I know you’re not going to believe me.” Vivi reached over and put her hand on Eleanor’s leg, and all Eleanor could seem to do was stare at it. “I know that I’m too selfish and take you for granted and anything else you want to accuse me of. It’s all true. I know it’s true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Eleanor. And I get to protect you, too.”

      Eleanor frowned at that hand on her leg. Hard. “Is that what you were doing, Vivi? Protecting me? Are you sure?”

      Eleanor didn’t know how she dared ask that—especially because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Beside her, Vivi blew out a breath. And when Eleanor looked up, something else glittered in her gaze.

      “That’s fair enough. I can’t deny that I reacted a bit poorly when I arrived at Groves House. I guess it all took me by surprise.”

      “You were jealous.” Eleanor held her sister’s gaze, and dared her to refute it.

      But Vivi only shrugged, making the curls she’d piled on the top of her head bob a bit. “I don’t know what I was. I’ve worked hard, for years.”

      Eleanor wanted to argue that, but something made her hold her tongue. Vivi’s gaze darkened.

      “I’ve put up with people you wouldn’t tolerate for the length of a simple conversation, thank you. I thought we were on the same page. I thought we had specific roles to play. And then it looked as if maybe everything I was doing was beside the point and I didn’t know how to handle that.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I’m not as perfect as you are.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      “You could have told me how much you liked him.” Vivi’s voice cracked slightly, startling them both. “You could have told me that, Eleanor.”

      “I didn’t think you would have listened if I had.”

      Vivi shook her head, as if that had hurt her and she was reeling. “Of course I would have listened. You’re my sister. It’s you and me against the world, remember?”

      “I remember,” Eleanor whispered. “Of course I remember.”

      They sat there for a moment, and something shifted inside of Eleanor as they did. That ugly, clawed weight seemed to dissipate a little.

      “But this is what I wanted to talk to you about even if it makes you turn red. You don’t know about men like Hugo, Eleanor. I do.”

      “I was under the impression that there were no men like Hugo.”

      She knew that was true for her. She thought it might also be true for the world, given the way they talked about him as if he’d rounded them all up, abused them horribly and personally, and then booted them out of a speeding vehicle.

      “Men are more alike than not.” And there was a weariness in Vivi’s voice that pricked at Eleanor. She’d been so concentrated on herself. So focused on all the ways she felt overlooked. Taken advantage of. Why had it never occurred to her to wonder if her sister felt the same way? “Keen to take what they can get. No matter what. But it doesn’t necessarily mean more than that.”

      And Eleanor wanted to argue. She wanted to tell Vivi that she was wrong. That she didn’t know Hugo. But the fact was... Neither did Eleanor. She’d lived in his house, true. He’d flirted with her, she’d given him her virginity—but despite what that meant to her, it was likely all in a day’s work for the likes of Hugo.

      She believed that he wasn’t the monster the tabloids had made him out to be. But that didn’t make him a monk. It didn’t make her any less of a fool. She felt her eyes fill up, and ducked her head to hide it. And blink the tears back before they could fall.

      “I feel like such a fool,” she whispered.

      “I can’t think of a woman who wouldn’t fall for Hugo Grovesmoor,” Vivi said, distinctly. “Not one. He’s gorgeous and evil and everyone knows he’s wild in bed. You never stood a chance.”

      She could talk about more of this than she’d thought, it turned out. But she couldn’t talk about Hugo’s reputation in bed. There was only so much she could be expected to handle, surely. Without cracking apart into little pieces, all over the floor, that she knew her careless sister would never sweep up.

      “And what now?” Eleanor asked instead, lifting up her hands and then letting them drop back to her lap. “What am I supposed to do now?” She moved one hand in a lazy, circular motion that encompassed the whole of her chest. “With all of this.”

      Vivi laughed, then. It was that merry laugh of hers that still warmed up the room. It astonished Eleanor how welcoming she found the sound.

      “That I can help with.” Vivi got to her feet and reached out her hand, beckoning for Eleanor to join her. “Come on, then. The night is young and filled with trouble for us to throw ourselves into.”

      “Oh,