Not My Romeo (The Game Changers 1)

Family is all I have, really. It’s been entrenched inside me since I was little. It’s why after Nana died, I stayed in Daisy. Christmases at Nana’s, Mama’s meddling, Aunt Clara’s love life. All those memories swirled in my head. I didn’t want to break us up or cause a rip in the fabric of our lives—and that kiss was definitely a tear.

I didn’t want it to ruin everything we’d had for years—over a stupid man.

So I composed myself and walked in and announced that I’d broken up with Preston, and it was over. I made sure all the old ladies heard. Then I texted Preston and Giselle and told them to do whatever the heck they wanted. I used a few curse words.

Now, Mama believes Giselle picked up right where I left off. She didn’t like it at first, always sending me anxious looks at Sunday lunches, but I played it off as best I could.

“Let’s see this ring,” I say, leaning over the counter, shoving books out of the way.

Giselle moves stiffly, placing her long elegant fingers on the desk.

“Wow. Princess cut. A full carat?” I ask, inspecting it like it’s a bug. Not my taste. I like emeralds or rubies. Color.

“Yes. I—I didn’t know he was going to propose, or I would have told you first, Elena.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve been busy this week. Sorry I haven’t gotten back with either of you.”

She swallows, her face tight. “I never wanted to hurt you . . .”

“Yet you kissed him anyway.” I smile.

She closes her eyes briefly. “Yes. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t.” Her throat moves, her voice cracking just a little, and I cock my head, not used to emotion from her. I’m the emotional one. That’s my thing. She’s the cold one. “You walked in on something I didn’t plan to even happen.”

A lone tear falls down her cheek, and I blink. This is not like her at all.

“Then why did you do it?” I ask curtly.

We should have had a heart-to-heart months ago, but she’s been busy, living in Nashville since she got back, studying at Vandy, while I’ve just buried my head in the sand and sewn my heart out.

“I swear, that was the first time in his office. He asked me to stop by to talk about your birthday in August. I . . . I . . . don’t know what happened. He just . . . kissed me . . . and . . .” She blows out a breath, hands wiping at her cheeks. I grab a box of tissues and hand one to her. She takes it and dabs at her eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it was growing up in your shadow? How the whole world gravitated to you when you walked in the room? Funny, sweet Elena with all the creativity.”

I sputter. “What on earth are you talking about? You’re the pretty one. You’re getting your PhD at twenty-three. I couldn’t even do medical school.”

She shakes her head at me. “You burn bright, Elena. Nana saw it. She loved you the most. I’d see it on her face when she showed you how to sew, when she taught you how to drive, when she gushed over your adventures in New York.” She pauses. “She left you her house! You have all her things: the clothes, her little knickknacks, the whiskey, the beautiful staircase we used to play on, the sofa where we took naps, the swing outside on the tree . . .” She bites her lip. “Even Aunt Clara. You’re so close to her.”

Oh.

Nana left me her house. Mama and Aunt Clara got shared ownership of the Cut ’N’ Curl as well as monetary gifts. Giselle was bequeathed farmland in Daisy.

“I am the oldest, Giselle. And that land is worth a lot of money. Close to Nashville, beautiful hills. It appraised at two hundred grand. I’m sure it will only increase.”

“It’s not about the money. You got the house because Nana wanted you to have it. She loved you more.” I hear the jealousy in her tone, and I start. She never acted like she cared at the reading of the will.

She sniffs. “I didn’t want to cause any rifts, so I never said anything.”

Ah, and that’s where we’re alike. Peacemakers.

Only we’ve been avoiding a real conversation for months.

And maybe Nana did love me more. I don’t know. She did gravitate toward me—and me to her. Two peas in a pod.

“You never wanted to learn to sew. Daddy taught you how to drive.” I pause, feeling silly for trying to contradict her feelings. People feel how they feel. You can’t change that. I sigh. “You’re welcome to any of her things, Giselle. I never meant for you to not have a personal item.” I glance over at Preston, who’s out of earshot. “Are you saying you were interested in Preston because you were . . . jealous?” There’s always been that little competition between us. While I came in second at the county spelling bee in middle school, she won her year three years later. While I got a partial scholarship to NYU, she got a full ride to the University of Memphis.