Arabella Baylor személy
Idézetek
A page from Bridal magazine was taped to my office glass door. It showed a woman in a spectacular gown made with long white feathers. Someone—probably Arabella—had cut out my head from some selfie and pasted it over the bride’s. A big heart, drawn in a pink marker and sprinkled with glitter, decorated the bride’s dress. Inside the heart someone had written N+R = LURVE. Little pink hearts floated around my face.
Killer way to make the first impression. I wished I could fall through the floor.
Through the glass I could see another bridal photograph, this one embellished with glittering dollar signs, waiting on my desk. On the bride’s dress, big block letters written with Catalina’s painstaking precision, said Marry him. We need college money.
“She wants lilacs in her wedding bouquet.”
“Okay . . .” Nevada had said she wanted carnations, but we could stuff some pretty pink lilacs in there. I didn’t see the problem.
“Blue,” Arabella squeezed out. “She wants blue lilacs.”
No and also no. “Nevada . . .”
“I had to hide in a bush of French lilacs yesterday and they were very pretty and smelled nice. The card on the tree said, ‘Wonder Blue: prolific in bloom and lush in perfume.’”
I googled French lilac, Wonder Blue. It was blue. Like in your face blue. “Why were you hiding in a bush?”
“She was being shot at,” Arabella said with a sour face.
“So you stopped to smell the lilacs while people were shooting at you?”
Chapter 1
“What happened to the FBI agents breathing in toxic fumes while trapped in a car that was being crushed?” Alessandro asked.
“I pulled them out. Agent Garcia was mostly okay. Wahl wasn’t breathing, so I did CPR until the FBI guys ran out of the building and helped.”
“That’s my boy!” Grandma Frida said.
I stared at him.
“What?” He raised his arms. “He was breathing fine when I left. They put one of those masks on his face and he kept taking it off to curse. All is well that ended well. And now I’ve got cool scars. Chicks dig scars.”
“Such a fascinating family,” Konstantin said.
Movement troubled the oak. I focused on it.
Alessandro sat on the thick branch directly across from my window. He wore charcoal grey, and his hair was brushed back from his face.
He raised his hand and waved at me.
I caught my hand rising to wave back and spun to my sister. „He's here!”
„Who?”
„Alessandro! He's sitting in the oak.”
Arabella dashed to the window. „Where?”
The tree was empty.