Where She Belongs (The Forever Collection Book 1) Read Free Page A

much like Mom it’s spooky. I mean, I don’t remember Mom that well, but from what I do remember–and from the scrap book pictures I’ve worn out over the years–it’s almost like looking at my Mom’s face when I see my sister.
    “No, you’re the one that’s going to get in trouble.” She lowers her voice to an agitated whisper and inches her wheelchair forward in an attempt to intimidate me.
    It doesn’t work, I’m determined.
    “No one is coming to check on us. Besides, they are out for the night.”
    You would think it would make me mad that my fiancé is out almost every night without me, but ours is not a match made in any sort of heaven. Couple that with the fact that he’s the son of our guardian, who hasn’t been the most nurturing soul over the last twelve years, and the weirdness factor is off the charts.
    “This will never work.” Leah presses her palms down and rubs the tops of her thighs with a wince. They get sore during the day and by evening she is in the chair, which I know she loathes.
    “It will work.” The tenacity in my voice is as much to convince myself as her. “It might work.” I temper my bravado and slip my feet into a pair of sparkly, pink and purple, patent leather ballet flats. I pop up from the edge of the bed and grab my favorite sweater, which I picked out just for tonight.
    “You are not wearing that.” Leah groans.
    “What? I love this sweater.” I pick up the lime green, polka-dot cardigan and hold it out, regarding it. “It’s fun.”
    “Like we would know what fun is?” Leah snorts and spins in a slow circle in her chair.
    “Like you would know what style is? For all we know, striped kimonos and chef’s aprons are what girls our age are wearing.” I look at the sweater again. “Dad would have liked it.” I push one hand into the cashmere sleeve and pull it up over my shoulders and the opposite arm. Before I start to button it, I walk over to the enormous mirror which stands above the antique dresser, flanking the door to the ensuite bathroom. I’ve got on a white bra and panties. At least they match. And they are as fancy as anything I have. But they do not say ‘stripper.’
    I do my best not to focus on the way my collarbones don’t stick out or there isn’t a rib in sight. I realize I may not be the pinnacle of every man’s desire, but maybe there is some demand for the novelty, dancing chubby girl.
    This is as sexy as I’m going to get, so I hope it’s enough.
    “Dad liked everything you did.” Leah’s voice is softer.
    I snap my head around and see her bright smile. She’s beautiful, like magazine cover beautiful.
    I always wished I could look like her. If we were in a movie, she would be the glamorous leading lady and I would be the plain Jane sidekick with my too-round center and my inability to keep wild, inappropriate things from tumbling out of my mouth at the worst possible moments.
    “He loved everything about everything. Especially us.” The melancholy hangs like a mist for a moment before I finish buttoning my sweater to the top button and clutch my arms around myself, running them upward over my upper arms to my shoulders.
    “How are you going to get there? If you take a car they will know.”
    “I’m taking the bus.” I stand up, stretching every inch of my five feet, grinning as I drop my arms and face my older sister. She’s still giving me that protective stare.
    “The bus? How do you even know there is a bus?” She’s mocking me now.
    “It’s called the internet .” I roll my eyes, turning back toward the mirror and grabbing a hair band from the top of the dresser.
    How would a stripper wear her hair to a stripper interview?
    “The internet ? When were you on the internet ?” Leah’s eyes widen.
    I tip my head back and forth like a metronome before I squint my eyes and tell the truth. “I grabbed a bus schedule out of Mariana’s purse.”
    Mariana is one of the kitchen staff here at the estate.
    I see Leah