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“That, too.”
“Rearranging your life to annoy your mother is expected at thirteen. At twenty-nine it’s just kind of sad.”
Rebecca turned to her. “Tragedy keeps my art fresh.”
“I see you’re still dramatic.”
“I see you’re still dressing badly.”
Jayne glanced down at the faded magenta scrub shirt she wore, now decorated by the latte stain. “I came straight from work.”
“Maybe something more tailored?”
“I’m a nurse, Rebecca. This is what I wear.”
Rebecca gave a little sniff, then pulled a bottle of water out of her carry-on.
She was the only person Jayne knew who could fly from Italy to L.A. and look ready to step into a photo shoot. Carefully highlighted blond hair hung past her shoulders in layered curls. Her skin was flawless, her lips full, and gold-and-diamond earrings, her own design, glittered as she moved.
Hans finished supervising the luggage being loaded into the trunk, then walked to the front passenger seat and slid in next to the driver.
“What about a workspace?” Jayne asked. “You’re not going to be making jewelry at the condo you rented, are you?”
Rebecca laughed. “I think the landlord would object to me melting gold in my living room. I’m going to look at a place in an industrial park.”
“You’re not the industrial-park type.”
“People grow and change, Jayne. I have.”
Jayne ignored the smug smile. “Is this where I remind you that you’re back in L.A. to piss off your mother?”
“Not if you love me. Speaking of the socially correct Mrs. Worden, how is Elizabeth?”
“Stuck in France.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? Did the private jet develop mechanical trouble? Are my parents being forced to fly commercial?”
“Nothing that dramatic. There’s fog. She and Blaine are delayed a few hours.” Jayne glanced at her watch. “Which means I asked the driver to drop me off at my place. I need to head to your parents’ house.”
“Why?”
“I have to open it up for David.”
Jayne was careful to keep looking at Rebecca as she spoke. Her friend might be self-absorbed, but she wasn’t stupid. Still, after nearly twelve years of keeping her secret, Jayne was an expert at making sure nothing ever showed.
It was foolish, really. One of those freak things that happen every now and then—like plane-grounding fog in France. Twelve years ago, at the age of sixteen, Jayne had gone on vacation with the Worden family. They’d spent the holidays at an exclusive resort in the Bahamas. The hotel had been fabulous, the weather perfect, but what Jayne remembered most was how she’d taken one look at David, Rebecca’s older brother, and fallen madly and completely in love.
Well, as completely as a sixteen-year-old could.
Since then, she’d seen him every couple of years. The conversations had been casual and friendly. Siblinglike. Because that’s how David saw her. As a sister.
Having him ignore her would have been better. At least then she could have held on to the fantasy that one day he would look up, finally notice her, and utter the classic, “Ms. Scott, you’re beautiful.” He didn’t even need to think she was beautiful, although it would be a nice little bonus. But no, he thought of her as a sister.
She’d overheard the damning truth about eight years ago, at a lovely Worden Christmas celebration. The tasteful party had included a few hundred of Elizabeth and Blaine’s closest friends. David had flown home, and Jayne had been all quivery at the thought of seeing him again.
She’d been supervising the catering staff, checking that everyone had enough stuffed puffs or caviar when she’d heard David’s girlfriend du jour asking who Jayne was.
“A friend of the family,” he said easily. “Has been for years. She’s nice. Sort of a second sister, without being a pain in the ass.”
