“Girls,” Claire’s voice floated up from downstairs, warm but carrying the kind of motherly firmness that didn’t quite leave room for refusal.
“Dinner’s ready. Don’t keep us waiting.”
Adria let her forehead fall into her hands with a groan.
She had almost forgotten about dinner. Tiffany, meanwhile, perked up immediately, bouncing off the bed like she’d been invited to a gala.
“Food? Say less,” she chirped, already straightening her hair in Adria’s mirror.
“And your stepmom’s cooking smells amazing, by the way. I could smell it the second I got here.”
Adria didn’t move.
She sat frozen in her chair, chewing at the inside of her cheek.
Dinner meant sitting across from him. Watching Tiffany beam at him.
Watching him… watch her.
What the hell was wrong with her, she didn’t like hi
