Page 88 of Rush

And the quieter moments. Before life got complicated. Before divorce and distance and everything else tore us apart. Philippa sitting behind me, patiently braiding my hair because I couldn’t get it to behave—her fingers gentle, her voice soft as she told me stories about what life would be like when we were grown.

I swallow, glancing down at the empty page in front of me.

Maybe that’s what I need to say. Not about the version of Philippa everyone else sees—but the one who chased wombats, braided my hair, and snuck vodka even though she swore she’d never do anything unladylike.

The real Philippa. My sister.

And just like that, the words—and the tears—pour out. By the time I’m done, it feels…healing.

Maybe—for once—I can stop being a whiny bitch and just enjoy this for what it is: a celebration of something that means so much to her.

Successful in my task, I take my time readying myself for the evening, choosing a black silk dress that Philippa and I picked out together. I style my hair in neat, ironed curls; a jewel barrette fastened to one side.

There’s a soft knock at the door.Probably Riley.

“Come in,” I call, leaning toward the mirror to swipe a final gloss over my lips.

The door creaks open, and when I glance behind my shoulder—my father is standing there.

Mortimer Montgomery, in all his perfectly pressed, uptight glory. His blue eyes glinting.

“Elena,” he says, stepping inside like he’s not entirely sure he’s welcome.

I straighten, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress.

“Father.”

He hovers by the entrance for a moment before closing the door behind him, glancing around the room as though he’s inspecting it. I brace for some comment about the accommodations—but he keeps it to himself, surprisingly.

“I wanted to speak to you before all the…festivities begin.” His voice is quieter than usual, and when I meet his gaze, there’s something almost…soft?

I raise a brow but keep my face neutral. “Alright.”

He clears his throat, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “I wanted to say—I’m proud of you, Elena. I know I don’t say it enough.”

This is unexpected.

“I’ve been following everything—the album, the tour. I’m glad to see it’s going well.”

He gives a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Although it would’ve been nice to get an invitation to the show.”

Guilt rises in my throat, sharp and unwelcome.

He’d never supported my music before—so why now?

“I wasn’t really sure it was your scene,” I say with a shrug.

Something flickers behind his eyes—hurt, maybe. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. You can never tell with Mortimer. He’s not exactly an open book.

He’s my father only in blood. In truth, I know little about him beyond his empire and his affairs.

“Maybe next time,” I offer, half-heartedly.

“I hope so,” he says softly, fiddling with his cufflinks—his usual tell when he’s nervous or treading lightly. “So, what’s this I hear about you and Cooper Witney?”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. He comes from a good family.”