Diamond Fire (Hidden Legacy, #3.5)(7)

Unfortunately, while Rogan and his mother treated us with perfect courtesy, the rest of his family wasn’t quite sure about our status. Both Arabella and I were registered as Primes, but our records were sealed. Also, our family wasn’t wealthy, and Rogan was a billionaire. With me being eighteen and Arabella turning sixteen, they didn’t feel we had any authority. I had a feeling we ranked as “poor relatives who run errands,” somewhere just above hired help. Apparently, I was the go girl. I didn’t even want to know what Arabella was.

Just what I needed. I already felt like a clumsy trespasser in all of this beautiful luxury. This wasn’t my home. My home was in the loft of the warehouse. If there was any way to not be here, I would’ve taken it. But I loved my sister.

It would be a lot easier if we could do all this in Rogan’s house, but Rogan and Nevada declared Rogan’s home a wedding-free zone and hid there whenever they could.

I turned the corner and walked into a room where Nevada stood on a dais, wearing high-heeled shoes and the in-progress wedding dress, which currently was muslin marked with blue pencil lines. Two people crawled around her, pinning the hem.

Arabella stood in front of her, her arms crossed over her chest. Both Nevada and Arabella were blond, but Nevada’s hair was closer to clover honey, while Arabella’s resembled gold corn silk. I was the only brunette in the family, besides Mom. Right now the similarities between my two sisters were really apparent, and if you didn’t look at their faces, Arabella seemed like a shorter smaller copy of Nevada.

Ooo, I should tell her that next time we fought. She would hate that.

“What is it?” I asked.

“She wants lilacs in her wedding bouquet.”

“Okay . . .” Nevada had said she wanted carnations, but we could stuff some pretty pink lilacs in there. I didn’t see the problem.

“Blue,” Arabella squeezed out. “She wants blue lilacs.”

No and also no. “Nevada . . .”

“I had to hide in a bush of French lilacs yesterday and they were very pretty and smelled nice. The card on the tree said, ‘Wonder Blue: prolific in bloom and lush in perfume.’”

I googled French lilac, Wonder Blue. It was blue. Like in your face blue. “Why were you hiding in a bush?”

“She was being shot at,” Arabella said with a sour face.

“So you stopped to smell the lilacs while people were shooting at you?” I couldn’t even.

“Mmm. I was in a greenhouse and they made a lovely hiding spot.”

I decided to go with logic. My sister was a logical person. “You asked for a spring wedding. You chose pink, white, and very light sage green as your colors. There is no blue anywhere in the wedding.”

“Now there is.”

“Your bouquet has pink carnations, pink sweet pea flowers, white roses, and baby breath.” Three varieties of pink carnations, because she couldn’t pick one. And Nevada would never know the panic in the floral designer’s eyes when we told her it had to be a carnation bouquet. Apparently, carnations weren’t upscale enough for Mad Rogan’s wedding. Poor woman kept trying to suggest orchids.

“And blue lilacs,” Nevada said.

“It will clash,” Arabella growled.

I googled sage bridesmaid dress, held the tablet toward Nevada, and scrolled through images. “Look at the flowers. Pink and white. Pink. Pink. White. Pink and white.”

“I don’t care,” Nevada said. “I want blue lilacs.”

And I want to fly away from here, but that wouldn’t happen anytime soon, would it?

“Anyway, I have to get back to the office,” Nevada said. “Text me if anything.”

“The queen has dismissed us,” Arabella announced.

I dropped into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

“I hate you guys.”

“We hate you back,” Arabella told her.

“We hated you before the wedding.”

“Before it was cool to hate you.”

“Get out!” Nevada growled.

I walked out of the room.

Arabella caught up with me. “We can’t do lilacs. It ruins the theme.”

“I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Sleep on it,” I told her. “Let’s go home.”

“Catalina,” a woman called.

I turned toward the sound. Arrosa Rogan, Nevada’s future mother-in-law waved at me from the doorway, from her wheelchair.

“May I speak to you in private, dear?”

Oh-oh. This couldn’t be good. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Arabella said.





Chapter 2




I followed Mrs. Rogan deeper into the room. The large office spread before me, walls and walls of bookshelves filled with books of every age, thickness, and color. Daylight spilled from the large arched windows on the right, and the polished floor of cream marble gleamed where sun rays touched it. Each window came with a reading bench equipped with turquoise cushions and ornate pillows. Mexican blankets, white, black, and lavender, were folded on each bench. Delicate Moroccan lanterns hung from the ornate ceiling that was painted with an intricate geometric pattern of pink, white, and blue.