Naomi Moore’s brow furrowed into deep, jagged lines of frustration. Her voice, usually sharp enough to cut glass, took on a grating, persistent edge as she paced the living room of the Flynn Villa.
"You are being impossibly stubborn, Sienna!" she snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "I don't understand where you get this streak of defiance. You are a descendant of the Flynn family. Blood is thicker than water, and certainly thicker than your wounded pride. Your grandmother, Nanny Flynn, was merely acting out of a moment’s heated temper. If you would just swallow your pride, go to her, and offer a few soft, submissive words, we could be back in her good graces by sunset! We could have our lives back!"
Sienna Flynn stared at her mother in sheer, unadulterated shock. The memories
