Sloane Sisters by Anna Carey Read Free Book Online Page B

the only one who remembered her.
    â€œNow, Emma, I have a surprise for you,” Winston said. “I spoke with Gloria Rubenstein—that wedding planner you loved. And she said there’s an opening at the boathouse in Central Park…next Sunday.”
    â€œSunday!” Emma let out a small, surprised laugh.
    Cate’s stomach lurched, like she was in a cab that had stopped short at a light. She turned to Stella, who was biting her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood.
    â€œI know it’s soon,” Winston explained, “but I can’t wait a year to marry you—I don’t even want to wait a month.” A waitress near the door was ignoring her tables, hugging a stainless steel water pitcher to her chest, waiting to hear Emma’s response. “What do you think?”
    Cate glanced at Lola, who was covering her mouth with her bony hand.
    â€œI think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Emma replied, wiping the tears from her face. The waitress set the steel pitcher down on a table and clapped until the manager, a thinman with an unusually large head, rushed over and whispered something in her ear.
    Emma wrapped her thin arms around Winston’s side, a tear falling down each cheek. Cate felt like she might cry too.
    â€œGirls,” Emma explained, looking around the table, “I know it might seem fast, but we’ve been thinking about this since we met. We both just sort of knew everything was right.”
    Stella pushed a bloated scallop around her plate with her fork, annoyed. If Winston and her mum “just knew” something, they certainly hadn’t bothered to tell anyone else.
    â€œAnd now here we all are.” Emma looked at Winston, a dreamy expression on her face that Cate wished she could Photoshop off.
    Winston matched Emma’s expression and Stella had to cough to keep from gagging. “We’re hiring a wedding planner, of course, but we’d love for you girls to get involved, too,” he said. “Stella, since you’re such a fashion guru, why don’t you pick out the bridesmaid dresses for you and the girls?”
    Cate felt like Winston had thrown his tumbler of ice-cold Pellegrino in her face. Stella was the fashion guru?
    Emma tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “Andie, maybe you could help me pick out the flowers for the tables, and Lola, you could help decide on the band.”
    Andie straightened up in her chair and offered Emma a small smile.
    Cate rolled her eyes. If Emma Childs had asked Andie to wash the kitchen floor with her tongue, she would have jumped at the opportunity.
    â€œAnd Cate,” Winston added, “you could do a tasting at Greene Street Bakery and pick out the perfect cake for us.”
    Cate gripped the seat of her chair, digging her manicured nails into the silk fabric. She hated desserts—and had ever since she ate her first chocolate chip cookie. Had her dad totally forgotten? She touched the Fendi pashmina again, a knot creeping up the back of her throat.
    â€œCate?” Winston prompted.
    â€œThat…sounds great.” Cate tried hard to smile. Lola was chewing nervously on a piece of her hair, and Stella was biting her nail. Andie had dissected her scallop into ten tiny pieces. Nobody was looking at anyone else.
    So it was official. Their parents were officially getting married. Stella and Lola Childs were officially residents of the Upper East Side. And Cate’s life…was officially over.

THE SISTERS GRIMM
    A t eight on Monday morning, Madison Avenue was already crowded with nannies pushing double-wide strollers and businessmen on their Bluetooths, muttering to themselves like they were insane. Andie followed Stella and Cate down the tree-lined sidewalk. She stared at the doughy doorman at the Excelsior, then at a parked yellow Volkswagen bug, then at a sweaty old man running shirtless down Eighty-ninth