by Lauren Layne
“My birthday’s been the same day for years, and usually I only get a text. Generally a day or ten late.”
There was no real ire or irritation in Ava’s voice, only befuddlement at her sister’s presence, and for some reason that made Luc’s chest squeeze. Her own family didn’t remember her birthday?
“Sweetie.” Her sister’s hands found Ava’s shoulder. Squeezed. “You know how busy I am. And Danny too. And Mom and Dad—”
“I know,” Ava said, her voice just the slightest bit sharp. “You’re all very busy and important.”
But her sister had already moved on, looking around the room with an expression half-curious, half-disdainful.
Miranda’s eyes locked on Luc, giving him an impressively subtle once-over.
“So…this looks fun,” she said.
Ava sighed before forcing a smile and raising her voice slightly. “Everyone, this is my sister Miranda Sims, here from Los Angeles.”
Although it wasn’t really his place, as the mere subject of Ava’s story, the mood in the room had turned definitely awkward and he decided to throw Sims a bone. He moved toward Miranda, extending a hand. “Hey there. I’m Luc.”
Miranda met his hand with a firm handshake. “Miranda Sims. Ava’s little sister.”
Miranda was a good four inches taller than Ava, so “little” was a misnomer, and there was a harshness around her eyes that made her look older than Ava. But even still, she was a gorgeous woman, and the cocky tilt of her chin said that she knew it.
“Nice of you to come up for Ava’s birthday,” he said.
“Oh well.” Miranda gave a little dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s also for business.”
“Mmm,” Luc said, his eyes flitting to Ava to see if the real reason for her sister’s visit had any impact on her. But her face was carefully blank.
“What business is that?” Luc said, feigning interest. Ava still hadn’t moved.
Miranda gave an incredulous little laugh. “Um, the Miranda Sims show?”
Luc shrugged and shook his head. Never heard of it. And even if he had heard of it, he wouldn’t give Ava’s sister the satisfaction of showing it. The woman had self-absorption coming off her in waves. He’d known the woman for all of forty seconds, but it was long enough for him to know that he didn’t like her.
“I have my own talk show,” Miranda said with a self-deprecating laugh, even though nobody had asked.
“Well it’s nice to meet you,” Luc said, deliberately skipping over her announcement. “Didn’t realize Sims here had any siblings.”
Miranda’s brown eyes narrowed just the tiniest fraction to show she’d caught the unspoken jab:
Ava’s never mentioned you. I’ve never heard of your stupid show.
“Our Ava’s a busy girl. What are you working on this time, sis? Fluff piece on cops?”
Ava’s bottom teeth dug just briefly into her upper lip in what might have been a grimace, but she recovered quickly with a huge fake smile. “Yup. Totally fluffy. Sort of an unsung hero type of thing, you know?”
“Oh well that’s great, sweetie!” Miranda said with another of those condescending little laughs. “Not bad at all for the local news, you know? Mom and Dad must be over the moon. And look, if they start to get on your case about not being anchorwoman yet, just call me, ’kay? I’m happy to run interference.”
“Right,” Ava said, plastic smile still stuck in place.
Luc’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on here. For starters, Ava’s story was national, not local. Luc didn’t know shit about broadcast journalism, and even he knew that was an important distinction. A distinction that most of the time pissed him off. He didn’t want to be a local hero, much less America’s Hero.
But that didn’t mean he liked the way Ava was letting her sister belittle her. Deliberately belittle her, if Luc had to put money on it.
“So can I steal you away?” Miranda was asking Ava. “I’m sure they can handle taking a few pictures of a cute cop without you,” Miranda said, linking her arm through Ava’s and pulling her toward the door. “I’ll take you to lunch.”
“Um, sure.” Ava shot an apologetic look at the photographer. “You good getting those last few shots we talked about?”
“You got it,” the photographer said distractedly, apparently unaware of the sibling drama playing out before him.
Luc, however, wasn’t unaware. And he didn’t like it one bit.
“I love your outfit, Avie,” Miranda gushed as they headed toward the door. “I feel like I don’t even get to pick my own clothes anymore. Now that it’s my name on the show, they’re extra careful about which labels I wear, you know?”
Ava murmured something in agreement, and Luc’s eyes narrowed as the two sisters finally exited. Ava hadn’t looked at him once. Hell, she hadn’t even seemed the same person. Five minutes in the presence of her domineering sister had brought out a meek, self-deprecating version of Ava. He felt her lack of sass acutely.
“Poor Ava,” Carly muttered beside him. “I bet her sister totally keeps old trophies on her mantel and thinks she deserves a gold medal just for being alive.”
Luc nodded in agreement, but his mind was still putting the pieces together. Ava’s sister had her own talk show. And based on what Miranda had said about their parents, it would seem Mr. and Mrs. Sims were putting pressure on Ava as well.
An uncomfortable realization settled over Luc:
What if all of Ava’s exhausting ambition wasn’t even hers? What if Ava did what she did because it was expected of her?
If anyone understood the power of family pressure, it was Luc, although lucky for him, his own ambitions had lined up with his family’s desire to see him join the force.
But there had been something on Ava’s face when she’d let her sister belittle her career. If Ava had been passionate about this America’s Hero story, wouldn’t she have jumped at the chance to tell her sister it was getting national coverage?
And she hadn’t. Instead she’d looked…
Tired. And maybe a little lost.
Luc frowned.
“Good,” the photographer said, circling around Luc with the damn camera clicking. “That pensive, thoughtful look is exactly what Ava’s looking for.”
Luc barely heard him, still lost in thought.
If the polished, perfectly dressed anchorwoman-wannabe wasn’t the real Ava, then who was?
And even more annoying…
Just why the hell should Luc care?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wait, I thought your sister came into town for your birthday.”
This from Mihail who stared at her over the edge of the cubicle wall separating their desks at the station.
“That’s what my sister wanted people to think,” Ava said, not bothering to pause in the e-mail she was writing.
“But she flew home. On your birthday.”
“Correct.”
Mihail scratched his long nose with a finger. “That’s messed up.”
Ava sighed and looked up. “Honestly? Her leaving was the best present ever.”
And she meant it. Three days with her little sister had been…hell.
Even though Miranda had spent the majority of it with her oh-so-important contacts, she’d made a token effort of making time for Ava.
Nightmare.
Miranda’s idea of “making time” for her sister was Ava dashing over to Miranda’s hotel every time Miranda had a five-minute break, only to wait awkwardly on the sidelines while Miranda “networked” in the lobby.
But the real icing on the cake was Ava’s “birthday dinner” the night before. It had, of course, turned into a dinner with three other producers in which Miranda had run through the gamut of the Sims family achievements.
Miranda herself, of course, was one of the youngest talk-show hosts in the history of the network.
Danny was the leading authority in international relations.
(It had taken all of Ava’s self
-control and good manners to keep from pointing out that expertise on various types of wine did not an international relations expert make.)
Their parents, of course, were Oklahoma royalty and would have been household names had it not been for the unexpected conception of Ava’s brother…
And Ava—how had Miranda put it?
Oh yes. Poor Ava has all the makings of a great anchorwoman; she just needs her big break.
It would have been the perfect time to point out that she had gotten her big break, in the form of Officer Luc Moretti.
But Ava hadn’t said a word, even though it would have been slightly fabulous to watch her sister’s smug smile disappear.
It was bad enough Ava was using Luc Moretti to get ahead in her career, even though it was becoming increasingly apparent that he legitimately didn’t want to be in the limelight. Ava hadn’t been able to bring herself to use Luc’s goodness as ammunition against her family.
She wanted to get her family off her back her way.
So she’d endured the hell of all hellish pre-birthday dinners. As such, Ava hadn’t even been the tiniest bit fazed when her sister’s flight was scheduled for the morning of her actual birthday. In fact, watching her sister get driven away in her fancy town car was the best Ava had felt in days.
Mihail dangled a red and yellow gummy worm in front of her face. She raised an eyebrow, because it was his favorite flavor.
“Your birthday present,” he said.
She accepted the gummy with a smile. “You spoil me.”
“Someone has to,” he muttered.
“Hey!” she said around the gummy. “Quit making me feel like a loser just because my sister didn’t stick around for my birthday. I’ll have you know I have plans tonight!”
Since Ava’s birthday was their “friendship anniversary,” Beth always went all out for the celebration.
In their early twenties it had been all about clubs. Mid-twenties, it was fancy cocktail lounges.
And now that they were officially in their late twenties, and had more respect for things like bedtime, tonight was girls’ night at a fancy wine bar.
And after three straight days of her sister’s crafty belittling, Ava fully intended to drink a bottle to herself.
Her phone rang, and Ava waved Mihail away as she picked it up. “Sims.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Sims? Is that how they answer their phone in New York?”
The remainder of the gummy worm nearly got stuck in her throat, and she took a gulp of water to wash it down. “Mom.”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“Thanks. How come you’re calling at my desk phone instead of my cell?”
Her mom let out one of her tinkling, practiced laughs. “You don’t raise three children and not have a sixth sense about when they’re screening your calls.”
Ava sucked in her cheeks to stave off the feeling of guilt. She didn’t always screen her mom’s calls…only when she knew they’d be served up with a healthy dose of you’re not achieving your potential.
“Sorry, Mom. Things have been kind of crazy lately.”
“Yes, Miranda mentioned you were doing some feel-good documentary on traffic officers?”
Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. It was a real gift her family had—make everything Ava did sound insignificant.
“Something like that.”
“Hmm. Well, I guess they can’t all be make-or-break stories. Your father heard from some of his connections that Gwen Garrison is eyeing retirement.”
Ava nibbled her nail. “Yeah, that’s the rumor.”
“Well that’s great, sweetie! This could be it! Your big chance. I mean, not as long as you’re doing traffic stories, but you only have so many windows, and at your age, this might be your last one.”
“I’m only twenty-seven,” Ava ground out.
“Twenty-eight today!” her mother said cheerfully.
“Right. Twenty-eight today. Thanks for that.”
“Anyway, sweetie,” her mother continued. “I won’t keep you. I’m just about to head out to my Junior League meeting. Did I mention I was reappointed president?”
How absolutely earth shattering.
“Miranda told me all about it,” Ava said, hoping to avoid a play-by-play about how her mother was overqualified and overbooked, but still managed to make time for her “old friends in the Junior League.”
“Did she? That’s sweet,” her mom said fondly.
As sugar.
“Well I just wanted to say happy birthday, honey. I’m sure your dad will try to give you a call later if he doesn’t get too busy. He’s had his hands full trying to get a stop sign put in on Rhodes Street. You know, right there by the bowling alley that’s a hit and run waiting to happen?”
“Uh huh,” Ava said, already resuming the e-mail she was writing. “Good for him.”
Her mom missed the sarcasm. Her family always did.
It’s not that Ava didn’t respect her family’s actions. Everyone did really great things. It was just that they did them all for the wrong reasons. It was hard to describe unless you’d grown up attending family dinners in which conversation centered around not only what “good deed” you’d done that day, but whether or not your teacher had seen you do it.
They weren’t bad people, not really. But there was a lack of genuineness among the Simses that had always left the straight-shooting Ava feeling like she was on the outside.
“Okay, Mom, my boss is giving me the signal,” she lied as her mom rambled on. “Have fun at Junior League. Thanks for calling.”
Hanging up the phone she huffed out a sigh and slumped back in her chair. Mihail reappeared, and the red and yellow gummy worm he offered said that he’d heard it all.
Ava didn’t talk about her family much, but friends like Mihail and Beth had been around long enough to figure out what was going on.
Beth in particular knew just how bad it could be.
She’d been dragged to a few Sims family dinners in which she’d blown their little Oklahoma minds with her “indulgent” teaching job.
They didn’t award Nobel Prizes for teaching kids to fingerpaint, after all.
“Did Mommy save a life today?” Mihail asked.
“Dozens, I’m sure,” Ava said with a halfhearted smile.
He jabbed a finger at her. “No pity parties. It’s your birthday. Come on, let’s go get drunk.”
“It’s two p.m.”
“Perfect,” he said, grabbing her purse off the desk. “I’m holding this hostage in the van until you come join me.”
“Mihail!”
But it was no use. He was already gone, swinging the Coach bag she’d bought as a birthday gift for herself over his head.
“Fine,” she muttered. A beer wouldn’t kill her. And she needed to shake off the ick that dealing with her family always caused.
She was just shutting down her computer when one of the runners who worked the main reception area downstairs approached with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.
“Ava Sims?”
“Yep!” she said, greedy hands already reaching for the flowers.
She felt her bad mood start to slip away. She loved flowers on principle, but she loved getting flowers at work even more.
Joey Chavers whistled as he walked by. “White roses, nice. Who they from?”
“My best friend,” Ava said with a smile, loving Beth all the more for thinking of her on her birthday when Beth was knee-deep in bridal crap.
Ava pulled the tiny card out of its envelope, and her smile slipped.
The flowers weren’t from Beth.
Joey, ingrained with reporter nosiness, craned his neck to read the card.
“Who’s Luc?”
Ava couldn’t stop the smile that burst over her face any more than she could the happy dance taking place in her stomach.
Luc Moretti had remembered her birthday.
CHAPTER TWELVE
If I let you liv
e here, the least you can do is pick up your stupid bells.”
“Dumbbells, Nonna,” Luc said, not taking his eyes off the Yankees game. “They’re called dumbbells. And they’re Anthony’s, not mine.”
“Well they don’t belong in my living room,” his grandmother muttered. “I need room for my yoga mat.”
That got his attention.
He turned to see his eighty-two-year-old grandmother unsuccessfully try to lift his older brother’s makeshift gym out of the way. Luc set his beer aside and went to help, depositing the free weights and jump rope in his brother’s room.
Retrieving his beer, he watched as his tall, thin-as-a-rail grandmother very carefully unrolled a pink yoga mat on the floor.
This was new.
“Um, what’s goin’ on?” he asked as she pulled her chin-length white hair into a stubby ponytail.
“Gotta get my chi on.”
“Sorry?”
“Maybe that’s not right,” she mused. “Zen? Going to get my Zen on?”
But instead of actually moving onto the mat, she scowled down at it. “Maybe I should make some carbonara.”
“Thought you just ate with your latest boy toy.”
“Don’t you sass me, Luca Moretti. We’re Italian. Celebrating food’s a part of the culture.”
Luc smiled. It said a lot about his nonna that she scolded him for daring to question food, not for the boy toy comment. When it came to her love life and metabolism, she was eighty-two going on seventeen.
Plus, she wasn’t even Italian. Not by blood. But she insisted that fifty years of marriage made her Italian and dared anyone to say otherwise.
Nobody ever tried.
Carbonara wasn’t even a classic Italian dish, as Luc’s mother pointed out every chance she got. It was Nonna’s favorite only because she’d discovered it at one of the trendy new Italian restaurants that opened on the Upper West Side. Luc’s mom had a conniption fit every time Nonna tried to sneak it onto the family dinner menu. Though Luc would never take sides against his mother, when his mother wasn’t around, Luc really liked his grandma’s carbonara.
“We’ve missed you this past week,” he said, meaning it.
She sniffed as she went to the fridge and pulled out eggs and pancetta, apparently planning to make good on her carbonara threats. No complaints on his end.
