Page 95 of Frosted Fakes

"No," Elliott interrupted. "How do you just… let people in? All the time, knowing they could destroy you?" She picked harder at the fringe. "Sam could break your heart. Jo could decide you're too much work. This whole dinner could blow up in your face. How do you keep doing it anyway?"

Shay was quiet for a long moment. When Elliott looked up, her friend's expression had gone serious, which happened so rarely it was almost alarming. "I don’t know," she said finally, honestly. "All I can tell you is that there’s no reward without risk. And that life without any reward is… boring."

"It’s safe."

"But boring," Shay said again. She put a hand on Elliott’s shoulder. "Now get off my couch and go outside. Take a walk or something. You’re beginning to turn transparent it’s been so long since you’ve seen the sun."

So, much against her will, Elliott left the flat.

SHE HADN’T PLANNED on it, but when she got to the retirement home, she realized that probably she’d intended to go there all along. Intended to see Milly, to look for some kind of solace. The place smelled like industrial cleaner and slightly burned toast.

She found Milly in the common room, holding court from her armchair like a tiny, white-haired queen. Two other residents were listening raptly as she described something that involved a lot of hand gestures.

"—and then the vicar said, 'Madam, that's not a christening gown, that's a tablecloth,' and I said, 'Well, Father, if it was good enough for my great-aunt Edith, it's good enough for baby Geoffrey.'" Milly spotted Elliott and waved her over. "Elliott, darling! Come, come. I was just telling Margaret and Bernard about that business with the christening."

"I heard." Elliott bent to kiss Milly's papery cheek. "I’m glad to see you."

"Come on, let’s find ourselves a pot of tea and a table somewhere out of the way."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting by a window, cups in front of them. Milly sighed in contentment. "Now, tell me everything. How's the cookbook? How's Julia?"

Elliott's stomach clenched. "I don’t know."

Milly's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing. They never had. "Oh dear. Drink up. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Elliott Sinclair, I have known you since you weren’t even old enough to order a decent drink at the pub. You cannot lie to me. Something happened with Julia, and you've run away from it. I want to know what and why."

Put like that, it sounded so simple. Actually, it sounded cowardly. "She betrayed me," Elliott said, and the words tasting sour in her mouth. "She went to her mother behind my back. Sent her my manuscript without asking. Tried to get Gabby Richardson to write a foreword for my cookbook, like I was some… some orphan or something, someone who couldn't succeed on her own merits."

Milly reached over and took Elliott’s hand, holding it gently between her own. "And what did Julia say when you asked her why she did it?"

"I didn't…" Elliott stopped. "I didn't ask. I didn't need to ask. It was obvious."

"Was it?"

"She thinks I can't do anything without her family's help. She thinks I need rescuing. She doesn't understand that I've spent my whole life proving I don't need anyone, and I…"

"You've spent your whole life pretending that you don’t need anyone," Milly said quietly. "That's not the same thing."

Elliott pulled her hand back. "That's not fair."

"I'm eighty-three years old, darling. I've earned the right to be unfair." Milly's expression was gentle. "Why do you think Julia went to her mother?"

"It doesn’t matter, she had no right to," Elliott said, the anger building now that she'd started. "That cookbook is mine. Years of my life. And she just handed it over to Gabby Richardson like it was nothing. Like I needed saving. Like I couldn't possibly succeed without her family's connections."

Milly watched her with those sharp old eyes.

"I was going to ask Gabby myself. I was working up to it. But Julia didn't even give me the chance. She just decided she knew better. Decided I needed fixing." Elliott's voice went up a notch. "I'm not a project. I'm not something to be fixed. I don’t need her throwing money and connections at problems."

A silence stretched between them. Elliott waited for Milly to say something. To tell her she was right to be angry. To validate all the hurt that had been festering in her chest for days.

Instead, Milly reached over and patted her hand. Once. Twice. Her expression was sad. Disappointed.

"Say something," Elliott said eventually.

"Do I need to?" asked Milly. "You seem to have everything all worked out in your head."