In gratitude she ran off with a younger wealthy man. He was only in it for the fun, so she seduced his father. He bought her new lips and flew her to his home in Southern France.

And so on and so on.

She kept my parents updated with her shenanigans and travels but I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in five years.

“Get out of my way,” Vanessa hissed at my manager. She pushed her heavily made-up face into Aydan’s, her boobs almost falling out of the skintight, low-cut, calf-length color-block dress she wore.

Red snakeskin stilettos put her at a few inches taller than Aydan, and I found myself mesmerized by the gaudy crystal buckle on the straps wrapped around her slim ankles.

Beside her, strewn across my beautiful hardwood flooring, were three Louis Vuitton suitcases, and three Louis Vuitton travel bags.

Holy hell.

“Vanessa?”

She whirled around at my voice, her red hair, lightened with blond highlights, sliding across her shoulders poker straight and silky, and in complete contrast to my auburn waves. She now wore a permanent pout. Her nose was still the same, and of course her eyes. It was her eyes that gave away our relation. We had our mother’s eyes. Tip-tilted, light green eyes.

I missed how my baby sister used to look. The difference in her appearance only seemed to emphasize the idea that this Vanessa wasn’t the Vanessa from our childhood.

“Where have you been?” my sister snapped, her perfectly manicured hands flying to her ultra-slim hips.

I frowned, not just at her greeting after our five-year separation, but over the realization that she was much thinner than she used to be. “Have you been eating? You look thin.”

“Oh, you’re sweet.” She preened for a millisecond before snapping, “Now where have you been? I’ve been left here to deal with this little person who won’t let me get settled into a room.”

“We’re fully booked, that’s why.”

“But I’m your sister.”

“Yes, I am aware. Even though I haven’t seen or spoken to you in five years. What are you doing here, Vanessa?”

She shrugged her narrow, bony shoulders. “I’m terribly bored,” she said in an affected weird British accent. “I’m tired of wandering.” She grinned. “I’ve come home to run the inn!”

Oh.

No.

Holy shit.

It took everything within me not to stomp my foot and bellow, Like hell you are!

Instead I shot a very worried Aydan a reassuring look before turning to my sister. “That’s sweet, V, but I don’t need help running the inn.”

“No one calls me V anymore. And I’m not asking whether you need help. It’s my inn, too.”

“You hate the inn.”

She shrugged. “I judged it too harshly. I’m growing up, Bailey. I’d like to take on some responsibility.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay. What’s your experience?”

“Excuse me?”

“Management experience.”

She made a face. “Bailey, I’m tired, and I don’t have time for this nonsense. I’ve flown from Monte Carlo to be here.”

“Fleeing the mob? The cops?”

“What?” Vanessa said shrilly.

“You being here does not make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to you.” She stepped toward me. “I’m here to get to know my inn.”

I sucked in a breath at her audacity. This place had never been her inn. “I haven’t even heard from you in five years!” I repeated.

“I’ve been busy.”

“I hope to God managing a business because otherwise you are not getting near this one.”

“Does she have experience?” She gestured to Aydan. “Somehow I doubt it. Look at how she’s dressed. Do you honestly let her greet guests this way?”

Aydan narrowed her eyes and I knew she was about five seconds from removing the huge hoop earrings in her ears and telling Vanessa to step into a fight ring.

“Aydan is my manager and she is good at her job. For instance, she would know the impropriety of standing in the middle of reception arguing where any of the guests can hear.”

“I’m not arguing.” Vanessa shrugged again. “There is no argument. Legally this place is mine, too, and you’re just being petty not letting me get to know it a little better.”

“I’m not being petty. I’m being wary. I don’t trust your motives, dearest sister.”

“How horribly unkind of you.” She sounded bored already. “Okay. I’m bored,” she confirmed. “Show me to a room.” She gestured to her bags like she expected me to carry them all.

“I don’t have a room. I’m fully booked,” I repeated through gritted teeth.

“Well, I’ll just have to stay with you then.”

I guffawed.

And then realized she was being serious.

“Oh, hell no.” It slipped out before I could stop it.

Her eyes grew round and wet and her lower lip trembled. “What a dreadful welcome this has been. I know it’s been a while since we were close”—a tear rolled down her cheek—“but I was at least expecting a hug.”

There was nothing about her performance that I bought. From the moment she came out of the womb my little sister had perfected the art of the fake cry. She’d gotten my brother, Charlie, and me into so much trouble with that fake crying. My parents were the only idiots in the house who believed it.