feel sorry that you ever thought that you would always be able to get all the pussy you want.”
I roll my eyes. “For the longest time, Pippa and I have been facing questions about our friendship. The fact that we’ve managed to keep close but separate is honestly a miracle.”
He gives me a look and shakes his head. “I guess it is whatever makes you happy.”
My lips curve upward. “Exactly. Pippa isn’t your average girl. She is exceptional in every way. And that includes the fact that I’m not interested in her in that way.”
He arches a brow. “So you don’t think Pippa is hot?”
I shoot him a little smile. “All my friends are hot.”
He shakes his head again. “You’re crazy.” He stands up, quaffing the rest of his drink. “I think I need some fries to go with this beer. You want anything?”
“Hah. The RAF has some of the worst food on the planet. So I’ll stick to their watery beer for now.”
He nods a little as he heads to the canteen counter. I watch him go, sighing. He’s told me a hundred times before that he doesn’t understand my relationship with Pippa.
She’s right there. You’re both attractive. You like each other enough. Just go for it.
Each and every time he brings it up, I rebuff him. It’s a tale as old as time, to be perfectly frank. And not to mention that it’s boring as fuck, feeling like I have to explain to Erik and everyone else.
Why won’t people just mind their own business?
Taking a sip of my beer, I mull it over again in my head.
Pippa is wonderful. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She’s playful. She knows my history.
Hell, she’s been there for a lot of it.
Plus there is the fact that she’s absolutely fucking smoking hot.
But there is an edge to her. There is a point at which she grows uncomfortable with closeness, pushes everyone away, including me. I have the vague sense that there is just more to her that I can’t quite touch. She is a lake whose depths are yet-unknown to anyone. And as you delve deeper, the water gets cold as ice.
I don’t know for sure, but I get the feeling that at the bottom is a solid, frozen wall.
So yes, I may have a thing for her.
But there is definitely no way that I’m about to take it further. Even if I could, I’m not sure I would want to.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I have Pippa’s friendship. Asking for more than that seems… greedy, somehow. It’s better to have the closest friendship than to have no Pippa at all.
I stare down at my empty glass, trying to reassure myself.
5
Pippa
Sylvie Martin. That was the name that I was born with.
Sitting on my couch in my tiny apartment, I open my laptop and type the name in. Swallowing quickly, I hit return.
A million results are returned in my search box. I guess Sylvie Martin is a pretty common name. But I keep scrolling down, looking for old mentions of myself. Clicking next on every page of links that don't have anything to do with me, I finally find a link to an old newspaper article on the sixth page.
The old newspaper article is in French, though it's only the work of a minute to translate it with Google. It reads, Ansel Martin sentenced to six hundred life sentences this week. The terrorist that bombed French Parliament is survived by his daughters Sylvie and Stella. The two girls have gone to live with a close family friend, although authorities will not release that guardian’s name. It is believed that they will be placed in witness protection and start new lives under new name…
I swallow, closing the page. I want more than anything to know exactly what happened to my little sister Stella. She disappeared from my life around the same time that I went to a Swiss boarding school and changed my name to Pippa Welch.
That’s my biggest regret: I have no real idea what happened to Stella. By the time that I reached out to the family friend who got me accepted to St. Matthew’s boarding school, she and my little sister had disappeared without a trace.
In retrospect, I should've asked a lot more questions. But at the time, it seemed like I just had to get away from my old life. I let Stella go as part of the deal.