MY SISTER, THE CELEBRITY
ADDISON
S arina and I rode the elevator down eighteen flights to the ground floor. She’d done our hair in matching styles—long mermaid waves with plenty of volume, thanks to the amount of hair spray she’d put in it. And our makeup, while slightly different, was still similar. We actually looked related for once. Our outfits were the only things that didn’t match, although we were coordinated in traditional Christmas colors. We were like a walking, talking Christmas card.
Sarina was wearing a sparkly two-piece emerald-green dress by some designer I’d never heard of. She had matching dazzling green booties that were honestly to die for. She looked like she’d stepped out of Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. I’d opted for a long, strapless ruby-red dress that had a slit all the way up to my thigh. My kitten heels also shimmered, but they were black, and they didn’t have quite the same effect as Sarina’s green booties.
When the elevator doors opened, our doorman, Gary, was standing there, waiting to escort us outside. I noticed the black limo idling at the curb as I glanced over his shoulder.
“Your car is outside. You two look lovely,” Gary said.
We both thanked him as he held the front door and handed us off to our driver, who opened the car door for us and helped us inside.
“I knew you’d get a car, but a limo?” I said as soon as we were comfortably seated in the back.
Sarina shrugged. “They sent it.”
“Who’s they?” I asked.
“The event planner, I think. She is so excited I’m coming because they’re trying to reach a younger demographic and they know I have it.”
I laughed. “Your life is wild, Sarina. Truly.”
She reached for the bottle of champagne chilling in a side cubby and popped it open. Holding onto two glasses, she poured us each one before handing me mine.
“I know. I love it. Cheers to a fun night.” She winked at me, and we clanked our glasses together.
I sipped the alcohol, and the bubbles hit my throat. “It’s going to be great,” I said right as a text message lit up my cell phone.
Glancing down, I noticed it was from someone at work, and I didn’t even want to read it.
Sarina groaned. “After you respond to that, please change the wallpaper on your screen.”
“What? Why?” I asked, even though it was kind of a dumb question.
Seeing Patrick’s face every time I reached for my phone should have caused me constant pain, but sometimes, it gave me comfort instead.
“There’s a guy I want you to meet,” she said before polishing off her glass in one large gulp.
“Sarina, no,” I breathed out. “I thought you were just saying that to get Mother off your back earlier.”
“Come on, Addison. You have to at least be open to the possibility of meeting someone new. Right?”
Her words made me grow defensive. Why did I have to meet someone new? What if I didn’t want to? Plus, I didn’t have time for a relationship.
“I really don’t.”
“Are you going back to Sugar Mountain when your agreement with the restaurant ends?” she asked.
It was something I still didn’t know the answer to.
Even though most restaurants didn’t require chefs to sign a contract for a specific employment term, I’d verbally agreed to work for one year. It was a promise I’d made to the man who’d given me this shot and to myself. A year felt like a respectable length of time. I had about six months left.
“I’m not sure,” I answered, even though I knew the exact day my verbal contract ended and was subconsciously counting it down.
“Then, change that wallpaper. Please. Just for tonight.” She put her hands together in prayer pose and gave me a pout.
I pulled the phone away from her gaze; responded to the text, asking where the fresh basil was hiding; and did not even remotely think about changing my phone’s background. Doing that would signal to the world that I’d officially given up. I wasn’t ready to do that, even though any sane person would most likely tell me that it was over a long time ago. If that was the final nail in our coffin, I refused to be the one to hammer it in.
“Is there anything I need to know about this event? Do we have talking points?” I found myself asking as I finished off my glass.
“We’re not going on a talk show, Addi.” Sarina laughed, her eyes narrowing with my apparently inane question. “Just be yourself. I’ll do the rest.”
She poured us both some more bubbly, and we downed it right as we arrived. When the limo pulled up to the building where the event was being held, I felt myself fighting back an audible gasp. It looked like a scene out of a movie—the red carpet lining the center of the stairway while a plethora of press and paparazzi, with cameras and microphones in hand, lined each side.
“This is crazy.” I looked at all the fancy decorations and lights.
Sometimes, New York could be charming, and this was definitely one of those times.
“Ready?” Sarina asked as she angled her body toward the car door.
“As I’ll ever be,” I answered because I had no idea what we were in for.
Our driver stopped the car, and a gentleman in a suit opened our door immediately. He extended his hand toward Sarina. I watched as she expertly navigated getting out of the car without showing off her goodies in the process. The cameras snapped and flashed, and her name was being shouted from every direction.
I’d known my sister was popular, but I’d had no idea it was like this. When the gentleman returned for me, I gave him my hand, and the flashes were blinding. I’d figured they’d all take one look at me, know I wasn’t anyone famous, and not bother even taking my photo.
“Sarina, who did you bring with you?” someone shouted from somewhere.
My eyes were trying to adjust to the lights, but it was no use.
“This is my sister, Addison. Addison Whitman. Isn’t she gorg?” she announced like I was the star instead of her, and the flashes and cameras went wild once more. “She’s a big up-and-coming chef,” she declared before I could stop her.
I must have looked uncomfortable or something because she leaned toward me and whispered, “Smile, Addison.”
I did as she’d requested, and honestly, it wasn’t too bad. We moved the way the photographers asked us, looking in one direction before spinning toward the other. I’d figured being the focus of their attention would be unnerving, but it was more thrilling than anything else. But when two guys appeared at our sides, acting like they belonged there, I instantly tensed.
“Oh. Mason, Jamison, hi. Take some pictures with me and my sister, please, and escort us inside,” Sarina insisted.
Before I knew it, I was on the arm of some guy I didn’t even know, posing for photos and walking up the long staircase with him.
Honestly, I was grateful for his help because the flashes didn’t stop until we were all the way at the top.
“Thank you for walking with me.” I smiled.
He grinned, and I just knew that grin made women all over Manhattan trip over their own feet. He was that striking.
“It was my pleasure.” He kissed the top of my hand before the doors closed behind us and the press was locked outside. “You’re Sarina’s sister, right? The chef?”
I nodded. “I am, yes. And you’re…”
“Okay, Jamison. Thanks for the escort. I’ll text you later,” Sarina said, interrupting our conversation before whisking me away from the guy.
“Jeez. Is he a creep or something?”
Sarina looked at me like I was from another planet. “What? No. Jamison is rich as sin. Old money. Nice guy, but definitely not your type. He likes to party a little too much,” she said, tapping the side of her nose.
“Ahhh. Big fan of the coca?” I said, referring to one of cocaine’s many nicknames.
There were plenty of people in my industry who partook in cocaine, said it helped them get by and stay awake during our long shifts, but I’d never been one of them. Drugs of any kind were definitely not my scene.
“Huge fan of the coca,” she repeated, and I was grateful that she knew that little tidbit about him. It helped me know who to keep my distance from.
“That’s too bad,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it.
What Jamison did or didn’t do had no effect on my life whatsoever. But he was nice to look at.
“Let’s go mingle. I’ll also need you to snap a few pictures of me for my socials. That’s okay, right? If not, I can always ask someone else.” Sarina started to backtrack her request, like it was a big deal when it wasn’t.
“Of course I’ll take pictures of you. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just didn’t want you to feel like you were working for me or something,” she said, shifting her weight from one sparkly bootie to the other.
I touched her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I definitely do not feel like I work for you. I’m your sister. I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks. Mom always gets pissed whenever I ask her. Tells me that I should have staff for that kind of thing.”
Our mother could really be a bitch sometimes.
“She probably gets mad because she doesn’t know what a good photo looks like and doesn’t know how to take one,” I snapped, and she threw her head back as she laughed.
Sarina reached for my hand and weaved us through the crowd effortlessly, including me in the conversation with each person who stopped her. They were enamored by her, hanging on her every word, complimenting her dress and shoes. Everyone extended equal courtesy in my direction, but it wasn’t quite the same. Sarina commanded them without even trying. And she seemed to know every single person in this place, which was fascinating to me, considering that the guests were of all ages.
“Do you know everyone in here?” I asked after she introduced me to, like, the tenth person in as many minutes.
“Pretty much.” She glanced at me. “There’s kind of a ‘fundraising circuit.’” She made air quotes. “It’s basically all the same people at these events.”
“They all love you,” I complimented.
She shook her head. “They pretend to at least,” she said.
I didn’t believe that for one second, but I wondered if she truly did.
“Oh. There’s Jakob and Colter.” She pointed toward a room in the distance. “They’re in the silent auction room.”
Sarina took a step forward, but I grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“Who are Jakob and Colter?”
Her perfectly full lips pulled together in a straight line.
“Sarina,” I pleaded.
“Come on. We can’t avoid them all night anyway. You might like him. Just give him a chance,” she said before shaking out of my grasp and heading right toward the two good-looking men.
She only paused to grab a flute of champagne from one of the waitstaff walking around. I did the same as I passed him and took a large drink before chasing after him and grabbing another. Following dutifully behind my sister, I wished the ground would open right up and suck me inside. I was almost disappointed when it didn’t.
When we entered the silent auction room, I glanced around, impressed with not only the number of items to bid on, but also the style and decorations that surrounded each one. They were all individually themed and so eye-catching.
A three-foot-tall replica of the Eiffel Tower caught my eye, and I found myself wandering over to it without thinking. Glancing down at the paper, I saw it included two first-class tickets to Paris, a week’s stay at an apartment, and two winery tours. Running my finger down the sheet, I stopped at the latest bid, which was currently over ten thousand dollars. All hopes to bid on this trip, even just for fun, were dashed.
“You like this one?” A gruff voice hit my ear, a little too close for my liking.
I spun around defensively before taking a step back.
“Uh,” was all I managed before Sarina stepped into view.
“I see you’ve already met my sister. Addison, this is Colter. Colter, this is Addison.” She grinned like she was some sort of skilled matchmaker. And maybe she was… for other people.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I gave Colter a smile that hopefully didn’t look as forced as it felt.
His eyes ran the length of my body in a gesture that I assumed most women would have appreciated.
Colter turned his attention toward Sarina. “Where have you been hiding her all this time? I didn’t even know you had a sister.”
The comment maybe should have stung a little, but it didn’t. I wasn’t offended in the slightest that people in this world didn’t know about me. Sarina and I lived very different lives. And my being here for the past three years hadn’t really changed that.
My phone vibrated on the table where I’d set it down, making the picture of me and Patrick come alive for anyone to see. I glanced at Sarina, who gave me a disapproving look right as Colter reached for my phone and stared at it intently.
“Is that your boyfriend?” he asked as I snatched the phone out of his hand.
Who grabbed someone’s cell phone without even knowing the person?
I took another drink of my champagne, finishing it off, and my head started to swim.
Sarina let out a sound that I’d never heard from her before. “Oh God, no. That’s, um…” She paused before quickly recovering. “My sister is writing a book, and that’s a mock-up of the cover she wants for it.”
Whaaat?
I almost spit out my drink at the outrageous lie.
“Oh, really? My brother works for a publishing house. I can send him your manuscript if you want?”
I started choking and laughing at the same time, and all eyes focused on me. I was a terrible liar. Thankfully, my little sister was one of the best.
“Oh, that’s so nice of you. Isn’t that sweet, Addison?” She stepped next to me and threw her arm around my back. “She just started writing it. It’s not anywhere near done yet.”
“Well, keep it in mind when you do finish. I’m happy to help. The writing world can be pretty brutal, and it’s always nice to have a friend in the industry,” he said with a wink.
I should have found his offer kind, but for some reason, I didn’t.
Colter seemed like the type of guy who wanted to do me a favor just so that I’d owe him one in return. And I had no intention on owing this guy anything.
“So nice of you, Colty,” Sarina said, and I felt the ick of his nickname all the way down to my toes as my body shook involuntarily in response.
My head felt woozy. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room,” I said as I headed in what was hopefully the right direction.
“Addison, wait,” Sarina yelled from behind me, and I stopped abruptly. “Are you okay?”
“Why’d you let me drink so much?” I complained as if it were her fault when it was my own.
“How much have you had?”
“The ones in the limo, and then I just drank two more in, like, two minutes.” I shook my head. “I need water.”
“Come on.” She looped her arm through mine and pulled me in the opposite direction of where I had originally started to go. “The restroom is right up there.” She pointed, and I wanted to sprint toward it, but refrained myself from attempting to run in heels.
“Wait one sec.” She dropped my arm and raced toward a bar.
When she returned and I saw her carrying two bottles of water, I almost broke down.
I was a mess.
“I can’t believe you told him I was writing a book,” I said once we walked through the ornate door of the restroom and locked it behind us. I was relieved to see that it only held a single stall and that we were alone.
Sarina laughed as she handed me my water. “I know. Me neither, but I panicked!” She reached for my shoulders and leveled me with a look. “Did you at least like him?”
I downed half the bottle. “That Colter guy?” I thumbed behind me, like he was standing right there. “No.”
She popped out her hip and put a hand on it. “Why not? He said he’d help you with your nonexistent book.”
“He gave me creepy salesman vibes.” My lips formed a frown.
“I mean, you’re not wrong. He is in sales,” she confirmed. “The kind that makes a boatload of money.”
“It’s not really my thing.”
“Which part? The money or salesman?”
“Both,” I said because I’d learned pretty quickly since moving here that people with a lot of money also had a lot of expectations.
“I thought Patrick was rich?”
When Sarina said his name, I swore my heart skipped a beat. She always spoke about him like she knew him when she didn’t.
“He has a lot of money, yeah. But it’s not the same,” I started to explain before deciding that I didn’t want to.
Sarina wouldn’t understand, or she would try to make excuses for why the rich New Yorkers were the way that they were.
The elite that I’d been exposed to weren’t typically fun, carefree, or lighthearted individuals. You would think that financial freedom would have afforded them all of those traits, but it didn’t seem to. The rich people I’d been around wanted you to know they were rich. They demanded to be treated in a certain way. Catered to. Fawned over. Deemed themselves far more special than anyone else in the room.
Patrick wasn’t anything like that. No one in Sugar Mountain was. You could be sitting next to a millionaire at the local saloon, and you’d have no idea. That was the kind of rich I liked. The quiet kind. Unassuming.
“I need to pee.” I walked into the stall and closed the solid door behind me before reaching for my phone.
Opening up the Messages app, I read through my and Patrick’s old messages. They’d grown so far and few between in the last few years that I read through them all in a couple of swipes of my finger. I longed to tell him I missed him. That I still thought about him every single day. But every time one of us opened that door, we’d slam it shut just as quickly.
And that part always hurt.
That first text would fill me with hope and make my heart race in anticipation of his response, which always came. But the inevitable messages that followed, saying that we probably shouldn’t talk anymore , would make me physically ache, even if it was the right thing to do.
And if time was supposed to heal all wounds, it was doing a really crappy job on mine. I still felt ripped open and raw, especially on nights like tonight, when the alcohol flowed a little too much and all I wanted was Patrick by my side.
My choices haunted me.
Not so much that I’d left Patrick behind to follow my dreams, but more so that I’d stayed gone for so long. What kind of person walked away from the love of their life and never looked back?