Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(2)

She just didn’t want me to go with Regan because her mom—an interior decorator—had called our house out of touch. Which was why Mom had acted on a sudden “whim” to redecorate. We’d been dealing with her own interior decorator coming in and out of our house for the last two months with painters and flooring specialists and construction people in tow.

“Logan gets to go to Washington, D.C. later this year,” I reminded her. “And you let Aubrey fly across the country to Seattle, like, a month ago.”

“Logan is almost eighteen and going to DC for his senior-class trip. Aubrey went to Seattle for a Future Business Leaders of America national conference. Fashion week for an eleven-year-old is a bit different, don’t you think?”

“Whatever,” I mumbled. “Maybe fashion is what I want to do when I grow up.”

Logan and Aubrey were already poised to take over the Kendrick family empire. Dad had plans for them both. And me? I could do whatever I wanted, just like he’d always told me.

What I wanted was to go to fashion week in Paris with my friend so we could come back home and brag about it at school.

“You’re not going.”

I hunched my shoulders forward, casting my eyes down to my lap. Then I let out a deep breath and lowered my voice. This pout was something I’d been practicing lately. It worked on Daddy like a charm, but so far, my luck with Mom had been hit or miss.

“Okay, fine. But would you take me shopping?” I asked. “Regan told me that she overheard Louisa Harty in the bathroom call my clothes old lady. I was hoping to pick up some tips from fashion week so she wouldn’t make fun of me anymore.”

“What?” Mom gaped, turning in her seat next to me.

I held back a smile that my fib had worked.

“Your clothes are not old lady,” she said. “Everything you wear is this season and on trend.”

I shrugged. “I thought so too, but . . .”

“We’ll go together.” Mom dug into her purse for her phone. “Besides, you’re right. If this is what you want to do for your career, then you might as well get started early.”

Before we made it home, she’d planned a trip for the two of us to Paris and gotten front-row seats along one of the most exclusive runways at the event, something Regan’s mom would never have been able to secure.

As we pulled into the courtyard in front of our estate, a pang of regret poked my side for tricking Mom. Fashion wasn’t all that interesting and certainly not something I wanted to do as a job.

Logan was the smart Kendrick child, the golden boy who would become a business tycoon like our father, Thomas. Daddy was always taking time to mentor him. Aubrey too. She constantly earned praise for how bright she was. She’d be right behind Logan, going to work with Daddy in the city every day.

My role in the Kendrick family was different. I wasn’t going to get a job and miss out on the fun stuff. I wasn’t going to spend more time in my office than exploring the world. I wasn’t going to just let my money pile up in the bank when I could use it for an adventure.

Logan could be the future leader of the Kendrick family and Dad’s right-hand man. Aubrey could be the gifted daughter Mom bragged about in her weekly society club meetings.

I had my own path in mind.

I was going to be the princess.





“Sofia, you’re gorgeous.” Malcom kept the camera pressed to his face as he moved behind me to shoot at a different angle.

I held my pose, keeping the pensive look frozen on my face, though I was smiling on the inside. Malcom didn’t need to tell me how beautiful I looked today. I felt it.

My hair was pinned up in a billowing crown of espresso curls that had taken my stylist nearly two hours to perfect. My makeup had been applied by two artists who’d contoured and highlighted me so expertly I wouldn’t need Photoshop touch-ups. And the outfit the magazine had chosen for me was straight off the runway.

My dress was a white strapless piece that fit snuggly to my chest. The sweetheart neckline plunged deep, giving me the illusion of cleavage. The A-line, tulle skirt poofed wide at my hips, making my waist look impossibly tiny.

It was freezing now that the sun was setting on this deserted corner of Central Park. We’d gotten an early snowfall this November, and the trees around us glittered with ice crystals and tufts of snow.

But I was surprisingly warm thanks to the white fur wrap looped over my arms and strung across the middle of my back. My bare shoulders were still exposed to the cold, but excitement and anticipation kept the chill from soaking in.

I was going to be in a magazine. Me. Sofia Kendrick.

I’d made the society columns countless times. My name graced their pages whenever my family made a sizeable donation to a local charity or whenever one of my relationships failed. The press had spent weeks speculating why both of my marriages had ended. But this magazine article wasn’t about my family or my failures. It was a feature about me and four other New York socialites, showcasing our unique lifestyle.

The reporter had already interviewed me for the piece, and after the photo shoot was complete, I’d only have to wait six short weeks until I could show off my magazine.

“Tilt your head down and to the left just slightly.”

I did as Malcom ordered, the clicks from his camera telling me I’d gotten it right.