Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(9)

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“I’m here for moral support. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“You’re here for the release party. Let’s not get all sibling support system here.”

“You wound me.” Juliet rose from her chair, making her way slowly and methodically to the pile of clothing Margo had made. She picked up a slinky silver top. In a blink, she pulled off the siren red shirt she’d been wearing and wiggled into the silver. “I’m here to make sure you take advantage of this time. I don’t know how you landed the gig with Oblivion, but you’ll waste it on actually performing.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Ever the straight arrow.” Juliet sighed. “You have a Manhattan A-list club at your fingertips and you’re going to simply go there and do your job.”

Margo’s spine snapped straight.

“See. I can see it in your body language. And that hideous pair of stovepipe pants. So last year.” Juliet hauled Margo’s suitcase onto the bench at the end of the bed and popped it open. “Black pants, black skirt that goes to your freaking calves, black pants, more black pants. God, do you even have a clue about shopping?” She looked up and skimmed her gaze over the jacket.

“What?”

“Color. It’s a good thing. Makes you look not so stuck up.”

“I’m not stuck up.”

Juliet’s eyebrow rose and a slim copper hoop danced from the arch. “Please. Your picture is on the wiki page.” She yanked out a pair of tights and short wraparound skirt Margo only used as a cover up for when she used the pool. “Aha! This will do.”

The fact that it was exactly what the man from the store had advised her to wear only made her seethe—internally, of course. Letting Juliet see that she was getting to her was a surefire way for more abuse.

“I wear those for comfort, not for going out.”

“Look, I know you’re a bit thick in the leg, but it works for your whole hourglass thing.”

“Wow.”

Juliet rolled her eyes and tossed the tights at her. “You know you are. You just didn’t get the perfect metabolism. Only one sister gets that per family.”

She snatched the pants out of the air and kicked off her heels before locking herself into the bathroom. Even that had Juliet’s stamp. Cosmetics were strewn across the beautiful marble counter and powders from eyeshadow, bronzer, and something full of sparkles stained the sink.

Margo had left home to get away from this chaos and now it was following her to New York? She’d wanted this one thing to boost her visibility and now her sister would probably screw that up, too.

She gripped the edge of the counter and looked up. The deep pink of the jacket pushed her back a step. She’d seen herself in the mirror at the boutique, but it was still jarring. The black and white uniform had been her life for so long that any other color felt foreign.

Even off the stage, it was easier to use the monochrome palette to blend in. To stay unnoticed and safe.

There was nothing safe about a color like this. She shrugged off the jacket and drew in a deep breath. This was no better. She’d learned to hide her curves under the right clothes. Not to show them off.

The tailored slacks didn’t accentuate her hips, they were bought specifically to hide them. Sure, it made her look a size larger, but her mother had showed her how to dress for her problem areas.

And she always did what was best for her family.

Except when you lost your chair because you couldn’t concentrate.

Because she hated it.

She stood straighter, and threw back her shoulders until her breasts lifted. The camisole didn’t allow for the minimizers she usually wore to downplay her cup size. Before she could talk herself out of it, she unbuttoned the slacks and let them puddle at her feet.

Lush hips and a slim waist filled the mirror. No matter how many medicine ball exercises she did to strengthen her core, or resistance exercises she did to firm up her arms, or miles she ran on the treadmill, or the carefully honed diet she kept to—nothing would ever reduce her hips or the curve of her ass.

Your unfortunate shape can be concealed, Margo.

She shut her eyes against her mother’s voice in her head. Her perfect size two mother that had the elegant chill of England in her skin and her blood.

Margo got the bloom of pink under cream skin and the heart-shape face and rear end to match. One glass of wine and she was flushed. She couldn’t be more opposite from her mother if she tried. Juliet got all that tall, slim perfection.

If only she’d gotten the skill with the violin, she could have been the one aimed toward the stage. But no, Juliet had no love of the classical music that ruled their house. She had all the aptitude with instruments and dance, but she would rather die than let their mother know there was any true love for it in her heart.

Her sister was stronger than her in that regard. Juliet didn’t care what anyone thought. Margo cared too much.

What a pair they’d made in that mausoleum of a house.

Juliet pounded on the door. “It doesn’t take that long to change. Get out here, I have places to go.”

Oh, thank God. Did that mean she wasn’t going to push her way into an invite to the party?

Maybe she’d be able to enjoy herself with the anonymity of a crowd and the music she’d been dying to hear again. The studio album kept her demons at bay, but the live music sated the prickly feeling that was only growing with each successive night.