“You’re quiet.”

Millie looked up from her lap to meet Lizzie’s gaze. She forced a smile. It didn’t make any difference. The way she plucked at her lower lip still gave away her anxiety.

“Sorry darling. Just thinking.”

“About?”

The tone wouldn’t brook being ignored or fobbed off. They’d argued before they left for the event and clearly she wasn’t forgiven yet.

Millie stifled a sigh and tried not to drift back into that mindset. There was no point getting defensive again. The fight was her fault. She shouldn’t have been so abrupt. It came off like she was dictating and it was little wonder Lizzie took umbrage. But she couldn’t stand the idea of her sister getting anywhere near the modelling industry and it was hard to make her understand why. Frustration got the better of her. For so long she’d shielded her from the nasty details – telling them to her now might have the desired effect of putting her off, but would open a whole other can of worms in the bargain. So she was stuck and she’d handled it wrong.

It was less than ideal - yet another disagreement on top of the strange incident after the Ball. Millie still wasn’t sure what that episode was about. Felicity’s prediction that she’d open up in the morning had been off base. Her best bet was that Lizzie had been offloading about their family situation. She feared her shortcomings as a sister might have been part of it. Insight into her thinking was sorely lacking at the moment.

After a tense, snippy conversation over breakfast where Lizzie clammed up she gave up trying – maybe too easily. They both seemed to mutually agree to drop the subject (and then Justin turned up, preventing any further raise of it). That plan wasn’t working so great, she thought ruefully. Tension simmered.

The city rolled past the windows of the town car, and her eyes drifted out. The crowds couldn’t see her through the tinted windows but she could see them. Sometimes that felt like a metaphor for life.

“About?” Lizzie repeated.

Another sigh swallowed, Millie shifted in her seat to face her. “I’m still not sure this was a good idea. If our sperm donor didn’t realise you were with me before he will now.”

Although they’d been back together for a few weeks, she purposely kept her sister away from the paparazzi. They couldn’t hide her forever; a short while to get her bearings was as much as they could ask. Today, however, Lizzie insisted on attending a Prada event with her. They were dressed similarly and she suspected that wasn’t an accident. The two sisters looking so alike and co-ordinated made a statement. Millie couldn’t believe it would go unnoticed. As much as she tried to tell herself they were out of reach, she found it hard to trust that it would go unpunished.

She hated herself for that. She hated herself for still being afraid.

“So? Fuck him. We both have what’s ours and he can’t hurt us any more.”

“It’s just… I worry about you burning bridges, that’s all.”

“With that wanker?”

“With everybody he can influence,” Millie said. “I mean I know he was going to find out at some point but I think maybe we should have planned and done it a bit more carefully, that’s all.”

“You’re such a worry wart. Chill out and just enjoy flipping him the V.”

She bit her tongue, trying to curb exasperation. “Darling, you have no idea how hard the bastard can make life. You’re better off than I was because at least you have money and choices…”

“And you didn’t?”

She snorted. “I had a name and a body.”

“And look at you now.”

“Yes, look at me now,” she snapped. “Still in that corner and struggling to get out before I’m yesterday’s news. This is why I keep telling you to think first.”

“You mean to sit and hesitate until I decide to play it safe with you. God, you need a damn backbone. You wouldn’t let him hang himself even though he so richly deserved it, you won’t take any risks with Beth, and now you don’t want to be seen in public with your own sister because you’re sitting around obsessing about what his irrelevant arse thinks. I say this with love, but you need to grow a pair.”

“Lizzie…” Millie breathed heavily, struggling to keep some measure of calm. “You don’t know the half of what went on and if you did you’d understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You mean it’s one of the umpteen secrets you don’t want to tell me. That’s fine, you just keep sitting there blaming me for not understanding when you won’t sodding clue me in.”

 “God, you’re so bloody bull-headed,” Millie said. Her hands smoothed her hair back from her forehead, nails scraping a touch too hard along her scalp. “You get it from him.”

“Fuck you,” she snarled.

That was a cardinal error. Suggesting any similarity with their father was the lowest blow possible.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

She pushed strands of hair out of her eyes. Funnily enough the do was yet another Lizzie masterpiece - the very bone of contention.

It wasn’t that she thought her sister would make a bad stylist. On the contrary, she seemed to have a knack for hair. That didn’t make it a good idea. Millie knew that industry. She knew how hard it was to get to the level where catwalk shows and celebrity clients were on the books. Her sister had money and options. She didn’t need to get sucked into her world where the whispers would be of nepotism and of not being pretty enough to follow in big sister’s path. It wouldn’t be true but that wouldn’t stop them.

Ruefully she realised that she was attempting to wrap the girl in cotton wool. It would never work. Could she be blamed for trying?

“Look, darling, I don’t want to fight.” Weariness crept into her voice. “I worry about you, that’s all. You’ve been through enough and I want from now on to be more secure for you.”

“Mill…” Lizzie still looked steamed, but her visage was softening and the voice becoming gentler. “You need to accept that you weren’t there, alright? I know it wasn’t your fault, but being extra overprotective and stifling now isn’t going to make up for the past. It’s done. You can’t change it, so get over it. I’ll be fine; you don’t need to smother me.”

This time it was her lip she bit. Tears wanted to well up but she wouldn’t allow them. That one cut to the bone.

“Are we fighting about this launch still or is this really all about the stylist thing?”

“I’m multi-tasking.”

She shouldn’t laugh. Kind of wanted to even in the midst of their angst, but this was not the time. She couldn’t help the urge though – if nothing else, Lizzie was a wit.

“Are you really that determined?”

“Yep.”

“What if…” Ideas were ticking over in her mind. “How about I do you a deal?”

“I’m listening.”

“I make a call, see if I can get you an internship at a salon – somewhere static where you can have a routine and actually make some friends and some roots. Make us both happy. Then if after a while you haven’t been completely put off I’ll put my hands up and you can go into the industry if you want.”

“As if it’s your call to decide if I do or not?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I meant with my blessing.”

Lizzie mulled this over. It wasn’t what she wanted – which was to keep travelling with her sister, who stubbornly refused. She didn’t understand why she thought fashion was such a terrible thing. Obviously the beginning was difficult – but things clearly worked out (and Lizzie would have a leg up that Millie hadn’t, so likely wouldn’t face the same trouble). Now it was a life that brought her fame, fortune and the chance to play with the cosmetics she loved so much on a daily basis. Chances to travel, to see the world, to finally be with the family she’d been deprived of… it sounded like heaven to Lizzie. She wasn’t bothered about the fame but as for the rest of it? She wanted in. And seeing as hair was the only talent she seemed to have, why not make her living out of it?

Screw her sister’s ideas of yet more school and being stuck in one place. Lizzie was tired of being shipped off to school. That was her father’s favourite trick.

For all those yearnings, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew to pick her battles. Millie was overbearingly protective and troubled about her career prospects. The lecture about needing stability and to find a life in her new country was so familiar she could recite it verbatim. This was the best concession she was likely to get – and Emilia the supermodel had connections. If she played along she’d probably get a better job out of it than she would on her own, even with the Adair-Hamilton name.

Her big sister was acting out of love, she knew that. It was still frustrating. A few words of caution weren’t a bad thing, but Millie made even the most avoidable pitfalls sound like insurmountable obstacles of doom. It was maddening. It also wasn’t helped by the fact that she was still used to acting like a substitute parent. Lizzie would need to hold her ground a few more times before Millie realised she was an adult with opinions and not an impetuous child. 

“Aright, deal… but only if you agree to let me cut your hair.”

“What? Where did that come from? No!”

“You’re the one who keeps complaining about it. And if I need to score a job, what better advert than doing your hair? You said you’ve loved my work.”

Unconsciously Millie’s hand went to her long hair, which was currently swept up in an intricate mess of braids. “I do, but an up do is way different than letting you hack at my hair with scissors when you’re untrained! Besides, I can’t, I’m contractually bound.”

“Only for another eight weeks.”

“During which I have to shoot an ad campaign!”

“And what better ad for their overrated hair spray than a stylish new do? Besides what could they do with eight weeks to go, fire you?”

“Umm, they could sue me. A lot.”

How on Earth had this gone from Millie setting the terms to Lizzie steamrolling over her with something unrelated? This wasn’t even what they were fighting about!

“Come on, sis. Quid pro quo. You show me you’ve still got some rebellion in you and I will bow down to your incessant lecturing about security.”

“Lizzie, stop messing around.”

“I’m dead serious. It’ll give me a calling card to get into a decent salon, like you want me to. And it’ll help you remember that the sky won’t fall in if you do what you want instead of what everybody else does for a change. You were the one complaining that you didn’t own your own image any more.”

There was nothing more annoying than knowing the person you disagreed with had a point.