More Than Anything

She went back into the kitchen and returned with a tray and sweet-smelling scones, then coffee. I looked at the spread on the table: Allie’s favorite breakfasts, mine, and realized Colleen knew precisely what she was doing.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Allie walking into the room. She was still wearing the robe from last night, and it fell open to reveal the creamy silk cami and shorts she had on underneath.

She yawned then saw me and frowned. “I thought you were leaving first thing in the morning,” she sniped.

One minute my body was hardening at the sight of her beautiful body and her fresh face washed clean of makeup, the next I was so pissed I wanted to walk as far away as possible—or kiss her until we were both out of breath.

“Am I allowed to have breakfast at least?”

“Suit yourself,” she fired back.

“The weather channel is predicting a snowstorm,” Colleen observed quietly.

I glared at her, but she didn’t even flinch.

“I think I’ll have breakfast in my room,” Allie declared.

“My room,” I corrected.

She gave me a withering look. “Whatever.”

“I’ll make you a tray,” Colleen said indulgently as Allie flounced away.

I gritted my teeth but went to the table and sat, pouring myself a coffee before making up a plate.

Colleen hovered.

“You obviously want to say something,” I snapped, “and I hope it’s an apology.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m hoping you might take it easy on her.”

“Why?” I demanded, “She…” I stopped. She broke my heart was what I’d been about to say. My cell rang, saving me from pouring my heart out to my housekeeper. I grabbed it, almost relieved to hear from my mother.

“Hello, darling.”

“Mot

her.” I tried to smile and watched as Colleen started making up Allie’s tray. “How are you?”

“Tired of my guests. I want them out of my house.”

I laughed. Her sister and her husband were spending Christmas with her in the Park Avenue apartment she had lived in since she’d dragged my father back into the city from Westchester County, where they’d raised me. I didn’t blame her for her exhaustion with her guests. My mother’s twin, Corinne, was everything my mother was not: snobbish, humorless, and incapable of happiness.

I listened as she laughed, pleased. She’d hadn’t quite recovered from losing my father, so it was a relief to hear her enjoying herself.

“Have you spoken to Allison?” she asked.

I frowned. “Were you a part of this?”

“Of what?”

She sounded like she had no idea what I meant, so I let it go. “She’s here, in my house. Was I supposed to speak to her about something?”

“Oh…that makes sense. It’s the last place anybody would think of to look for her.”

“Anybody who?” I asked, wondering why she needed a hiding place now after being in the spotlight for so long.

“You know, the press—they were all in a frenzy after what happened.”