18. Sisterhood of the Traveling Rumors
SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING RUMORS
KARINA
My sister Viktoria has this look she gives me.
I called it her "Laser Eyes of Truth" when we were kids, and three decades later, it hasn't lost its power.
It's a penetrating, soul-stripping gaze that makes me feel like I'm twelve again, being interrogated about who finished the last of Mom's special occasion baklava.
She's giving me that look now, over artisanal avocado toast at a trendy Capitol Hill café, as Seattle's hazy July afternoon light filters through the windows.
It's been three days since I left Callum's yacht in his borrowed shirt, and I've somehow managed to maintain a veneer of professionalism at work despite the fact that I still remember exactly how his hands felt on my skin.
"You slept with him," Viktoria declares without preamble, cutting straight through my orchestrated small talk about the weather and her daughter's summer camp schedule.
I choke on my kombucha. "Good morning to you too."
"It's 1:30 in the afternoon, and you're avoiding the question."
"That wasn't a question. It was an accusation."
"Fine." She sets down her fork, golden-brown eyes narrowing. "Did you sleep with Callum Abernathy?"
I study the foam art on my latte. "Define 'sleep with.'"
"Katherine Peters-Petrosian." Her use of my full name makes me wince. "Did you or did you not engage in sexual activities with your boss, who happens to be the brother of the man who nearly destroyed your career and possibly stole your identity?"
The elderly couple at the next table suddenly becomes very interested in their scones.
"Could you say that a bit louder?" I hiss. "I think there's someone in Bellevue who didn't hear you."
Viktoria doesn't flinch. "Answer the question."
"Yes," I admit, lowering my voice. "Sort of. But not exactly."
"How do you 'sort of' have sex with someone?"
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
I sigh, pushing my plate away. "Things happened. But not... everything. And now we're back to being professional colleagues who are pretending those things never happened."
"You realize this is Richard all over again."
"It is not," I push back, perhaps too vehemently. "Callum is nothing like Richard."
"He's an Abernathy man in a position of power over you. That's already two strikes."
"He's different." I stab a piece of avocado. "He's responsible. Ethical. Careful."
Viktoria raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "So careful he slept with his Marketing Director."
"He didn't—That's not what happened."
"Whatever happened, you're now in an even more precarious position than before." Her voice softens slightly. "Kari, I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine."
"You're falling for him."
"I am not,” I say, even as my heart skips at the mere mention of his name. "This is purely physical. A momentary lapse in judgment that we're both mature enough to move past."
Viktoria takes a sip of her herbal tea. "Did you know Charlie asked me if 'Auntie Kari' was dating the 'kilt man from the internet'?"
I blink. "What? How does she even know about that?"
"She's twelve, not dead. She has friends with phones. Apparently, you two are something called 'hashtag goals.'"
"Oh god." I drop my head into my hands. "It's worse than I thought."
"Much worse. But the viral nonsense isn't actually why I asked you to lunch."
I peer through my fingers. "It's not?"
"No." She glances around before opening her sleek laptop. "It's about this."
She turns the screen toward me, revealing what appears to be an email thread. I squint at the sender name.
"Luke Sterling to Callum Abernathy," I read aloud, then jerk back. "Is this—did you hack Callum's email?"
"I did not hack his email. I merely accessed it using security protocols I helped design for Abernathy Corp last year."
"That's literally the definition of hacking!"
"Details. The important part is what it says."
I scan the email, my stomach sinking with each word.
Callum,
Preliminary background checks for the Reeves event complete. Most guests check out, but I've found some inconsistencies in company personnel files that warrant discussion. Nothing urgent, but let's talk soon.
—Luke
"This could be about anyone," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "He's probably talking about the new marketing assistant or the IT guy who smells like salami."
"It could be," Viktoria concedes. "But you know that's not how our luck runs in this family."
She's right, of course.
Peters family luck tends to range from "moderately unfortunate" to "biblical plague."
"What else did you find?" I ask, resigned.
"Nothing concrete. But I did some digging into this Luke person.
" She pulls up another window. "Luke Sterling, 45. MIT undergrad. Stanford for his Master’s.
Founded Sterling Security, specializing in corporate security and digital forensics.
Known in certain circles as 'The Bloodhound' for his ability to track down information others can't find. "
"That's... not comforting."
"It gets worse. He consulted for the FBI on multiple identity fraud cases. The man can find a digital breadcrumb in a data hurricane."
I push away from the table, suddenly needing to move. "What if he finds out, Vik? Everything I've worked for—Mom's treatments, Susanna's business loan co-sign, your mortgage help during the divorce—it all depends on this job."
Viktoria closes her laptop. "I'm working on it."
"Working on what, exactly?"
"Insurance." She tucks a strand of her immaculate bob behind her ear. "I'm reinforcing the digital trails we created. Adding more verification layers. Burying certain searches deeper."
"Can you do that without leaving traces?"
"I'm very good at what I do," she reminds me. "But I'm not infallible. If this Sterling guy is as thorough as his reputation suggests..."
She doesn't need to finish the sentence.
We both know what's at stake.
"This is a disaster," I mutter, sinking back into my chair.
"Not yet, but it could be." She reaches across the table to take my hand—a rare gesture of physical affection from my typically reserved sister. "What I need to know is how much you trust Callum."
"Trust him?" I repeat.
"If Sterling finds something—if he tells Callum about your... creative resume enhancements—what do you think he'll do?"
The question hits like a punch to the solar plexus.
I haven't allowed myself to consider this scenario, despite it being the most obvious potential outcome.
"I don't know," I admit finally. "He values integrity. Truth. Everything I've compromised."
"People have complex moral codes," Viktoria says. "Richard talked about honesty while embezzling funds. Callum might preach integrity while overlooking certain transgressions."
"You think he'd look the other way?"
"I think people make exceptions for those they care about."
The implication hangs between us.
"He doesn't care about me like that…” I finally eek out.
"You spent the night on his yacht."
"That was just... scratching an itch."
She sips her tea, examining me over the rim. "Did he ask about your background at all?"
I think back to our morning conversation. "He mentioned Luke's background checks, and I may have... reacted oddly."
"Define 'oddly.'"
"I might have tensed up and asked how thorough they were. Then changed the subject really fast."
Viktoria closes her eyes briefly. "Subtle."
"I panicked! I'm not a professional spy like you."
"I'm a cybersecurity consultant, not a spy."
"You literally just hacked my boss's email!"
"Accessed it. And keep your voice down."
I take a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm just... scared."
Her expression softens. "I know. That's why I'm telling you this now, before anything happens. So we can prepare."
"Prepare how? Should I just confess everything to Callum? Get ahead of it?"
"Absolutely not," Viktoria says firmly. "Never volunteer information that might incriminate you."
"That sounds like something a spy would say."
"It's what a protective older sister would say." She fixes me with her serious gaze. "We need more time to strengthen your digital footprint before anyone starts asking questions."
I nod, trying to ignore the anxious flutter in my chest. "What about Richard? What if he says something to Callum?"
"Richard is a self-serving opportunist. If he had concrete proof, he'd have used it already. My guess is he suspects something but doesn't know for sure."
"Great. One more thing to worry about."
"Speaking of things to worry about," Viktoria segues, "Charlie's father wants to take her to London for the rest of the summer."
The abrupt subject change throws me. "What? When did this happen?"
"He called last night. Apparently, his new wife has family there." Viktoria's voice remains even, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. "He says it would be 'educational.'"
"And you don't want her to go?"
"I don't want to be away from my daughter for six weeks. But I also don't want to be the parent who keeps her from opportunities." She sighs. "Co-parenting is a special kind of hell."
I reach over to squeeze her hand. "What does Charlie want?"
"That's the problem. She says she wants to go, but then she cried herself to sleep last night. When I asked why, she said she's worried I'll be lonely without her."
My heart twists. "She's got the Peters women caretaking gene."
"Petrosian," Viktoria corrects automatically. "And yes, she does. Too much like her aunt Karina for her own good."
Despite the circumstances, I smile. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't meant as one. I don't want her sacrificing her happiness for others at twelve."
"Like we did?"
"Exactly like we did."
We fall silent, the weight of shared history settling between us.
Our childhood ended abruptly when our father left—mine more than Viktoria's, who was already in college, but neither of us emerged unscathed.
"I'll talk to her," I offer finally. "Aunt Kari to the rescue."
"Thank you." Viktoria hesitates, then adds, "And I'll keep monitoring the Sterling situation. If anything changes, you'll be the first to know."
"So we're both playing defense."
"We're Petrosian women," Viktoria says with a rare smile. "Defense is what we do best."
As we exit the café into Seattle's surprisingly warm afternoon, I'm struck by an odd sense of déjà vu.
Once again, I'm hiding parts of myself, constructing elaborate protections against potential discovery.
The difference is, this time, the stakes feel even higher.
Because the man at the center of it is much more formidable than the Abernathy before him. And keeping this secret from him will be a task I’m not sure I’m prepared to take.