“Why should I solve your problems? Again.” Ari sat back, trying to keep her expression cool and challenging instead of furious.
Phaedre bit her lip, a singe tear trailing from one eye. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You never do. And you never learn. It’s past time you grew up.”
“But…”
Ari stood. “No. I told you last time. That was the last time. If you want someone else to clean up your messes, go and talk to Gregory, or Astor. Or Mother, saints know she’s had enough practice in affairs and their aftermath.”
Her sister dabbed her flawless eye makeup with a napkin, not enough to smudge anything, just enough to draw sympathetic glances. “But I can’t. They’ll be horrible.”
“Then sort it out yourself. You’re an adult now, as you like to remind me so often. You have a university degree and everything.”
“But…”
“Goats butt, how about you get off yours and deal with the consequences of your actions for the first time in your life? And for the record, I drink flat whites not madly over-sugared black Americanos.”
Ari glared at the inoffensive mug of coffee in front of where she’d been sitting, transferred the glare to Paedre and said loudly enough for interested ears to hear. “You’re the one who chose to cheat on your husband, with my boyfriend. I’m done.”
She swept out, the shocked whispers following warming the deep pool of hurt inside.
The DNA of Stories 