A Bride for the Black Sheep Brother. Emily McKay

was blocking. He wasn’t even touching me!” Was that really how the photo looked to other people? “Mother, it’s just a picture. There are fifty pictures in the slide show that illustrate the amazing work the foundation does. One of them happens to have me in it. It’s not that big a—”

      “It is a big deal,” Celeste snapped. “The fact that you think it isn’t only shows how naive you are. A woman in your position—”

      “My position? What is that supposed to mean?”

      “A woman’s position in society changes when she goes through a divorce. You’ve seen this in your own life and in Caro’s. Thank God you’ve fared better than she has. So far.”

      “Right,” Portia said grimly. “Caro.”

      After her divorce from Dalton, Portia had stayed friends with her former mother-in-law. Caro Cain wasn’t the warmest person, but she was still easier to deal with than Portia’s own mother. And right now, Caro needed every friend she had. Her divorce from Hollister Cain had left her a social pariah.

      “Do you know how many people are out there snickering about that photo?” Celeste demanded.

      “Nobody but you cares about that photo!”

      Celeste took a step closer. “This is how the world works. Stop being naive.”

      “It’s not naive to want to help children.”

      “Fine, if you want to help children, I can have Dede set something up.”

      “I don’t need Daddy’s press secretary to set up a photo op for me.”

      “Fine. If you don’t want my help, do this on your own. Go make puppets with a kid with cancer, but for God’s sake, stay out of the ghetto, because—”

      But Celeste never got a chance to finish her thought, because just then, one of the waitresses walked by with a tray of champagne and somehow tripped, spilling a flute of the amber liquid down the sleeve of Celeste’s dress.

      The older woman reared back, gasping in shock.

      The waitress stumbled again and barely stepped out of the way before Celeste whirled on her. “Why you clumsy, little—”

      “Mother, it’s okay.” Portia grabbed her mother’s arm, more out of instinct than out of fear that her mother might hit the girl.

      Celeste jerked her arm free, her mouth twisting into a snarl. “I’ll have your job for this!”

      “Let me handle this, Mother.” Portia looked nervously around the hall. It was empty now except for this one waitress. “Go on to the bathroom and clean up what you can. Champagne doesn’t stain. It’ll be okay.”

      Celeste just glared at the waitress, who glared back, her jaw jutting out.

      Portia guided her mother a step away toward the doorway that led into the ballroom. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to the girl’s supervisor.”

      “That clumsy bitch shouldn’t be anywhere near a function like this.” Then Celeste flounced off to clean herself up.

      Portia turned back to the waitress, half surprised to still see her there. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair was dyed a dark maroon, cut short on one side and long on the other. She wore too much eye makeup and had a stud in her nose. And she was glaring belligerently at Portia.

      “My name’s Ginger, by the way. If you’re going to go tattle to my boss.”

      Portia held up her hand palm out in a gesture of peace. “Look, I’m not going to have you fired, but maybe you could just stay out of Celeste’s way for the rest of the night.”

      Ginger blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”

      “No. It was an accident.”

      “Accident. Right.” Her tone was completely innocent, but there was a slight smirk to her lips as she stepped toward the door into the ballroom. Her smirk made her look so familiar. “Thanks.”

      “Wait a second—” But the door swung open and two more waiters came into the hall and pushed past them. Portia reached for Ginger’s arm and stepped off to the side, where they weren’t in anyone’s way. “Did you do that on purpose?”

      “Tip the glass down your mother’s back? Why would I do that?” Ginger smirked again and Portia felt another blast of recognition. Like she should know this girl.

      “I don’t know,” Portia admitted. She looked pointedly at the tray of champagne flutes. “But it seems like it’d be awfully hard to tip just one glass without them all spilling.”

      “You gonna have me fired or not?”

      Portia sighed. “Why would you do that?”

      “What? Spill a drink on someone who’s verbally abusing her daughter in public? I can’t imagine why.” Ginger turned as if she was going to stalk off, but stopped and turned back before she reached the door. “Look, it’s none of my business, but you shouldn’t put up with that. Family should treat each other better.”

      “Yes. They should.” Portia had no illusions about her mother. She wasn’t sure why she felt as if she had to justify her mother’s words—certainly not to a stranger—but she found herself doing it anyway. “I know my mother can be a bitch. I’m not going to pretend she has my best interests at heart. But when it comes to this kind of thing, she’s almost always right. And I’m usually wrong. If she thinks people will misinterpret those photos of me, then I’d bet money they already have.”

      “That’s messed up.” Ginger just shook her head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

      “It does, but it’s the world I live in.”

      “I don’t care if that’s the world you live in. Family should be on your side. No matter what.” Ginger’s expression darkened. “The world you live in sucks.”

      The fierceness in Ginger’s gaze took Portia aback for a moment. Portia looked at the girl closely. Again she was struck by how familiar she seemed.

      “Have we met before?” she asked impulsively.

      Ginger took a step back, the startled movement jostling the champagne flutes on her tray. “No. Where would we have met?”

      Before Portia could press her for more information, the waitress spun away and disappeared through the door.

      Now Portia was sure they’d met before. It was something in the girl’s smile. And something through the eyes.

      The eyes.

      Portia’s breath caught in her chest as the realization hit her.

      This young woman. This waitress whom Portia had met by chance had eyes the exact same color as Dalton Cain’s. Now that she’d placed the eyes, Ginger’s other features seemed to slip right into place. That fierce intensity was pure Griffin Cain. That sarcastic smirk looked just like Cooper’s. Ginger was a near perfect amalgamation of the three brothers. Yes, in a more delicate and feminine form, but still, she could be their sister.

      Which Portia might be able to dismiss, except for one crucial fact. Dalton, Griffin and Cooper actually had a half sister. They all knew she existed, but no one knew who or where she was. As impossible and unlikely as it seemed, had Portia just found the missing Cain heiress?

      * * *

      Portia looked for Ginger the rest of the night. She constantly scanned the crowd for the waitress’s maroon hair and nose stud, but she seemed to have disappeared completely.

      By the time Portia had made it back to her small home at the end of the night, she was determined to track down the waitress. It wasn’t that she was obsessed with finding the girl, but it gave her something to think about other than the gossip about her that had been simmering in the background.

      Why