King (Alliance #2)

Cici’s snickers follow me down the hallway as I head to the studio. If King’s gonna be gone all day, I might as well get things organized.

* * *

I’m sittingon the floor, back against a wall of windows, soaking in some afternoon sun, when someone knocks on the studio door.

“Come in!” I holler from the far corner, assuming it’s Cici again with yet more food.

Seriously, that woman’s snack game is on point.

I stretch my neck out as her shoes tap across the tiled floor.

I spent the past several hours arranging every piece of furniture to maximize the lighting and functionality of the space. And I’m beat.

Most of my pieces for the next show are already done, but I have a few left to work on, and those are currently taking up space on each of the easels.

It’s not until I can see the feet approaching from under one of the easels that I realize it isn’t Cici approaching.

No, this person is wearing strappy wedge sandals, and I can see a bright red skirt flitting around her calves.

Who is…

The woman starts to round the large canvas, and the second I spot the tell-tale Vass hair color I start to scramble to my feet.

My bare thighs peel off the floor with a wince.

I’m burning these damn jean shorts the first chance I get. They’re cursed!

My hand slips as I use the wall to push myself the rest of the way up and I almost fall, but I catch myself at the last possible second.

My new bestie, panic, settles behind my ribcage as I dart in the opposite direction of the intruder, ducking low to try and hide myself behind the big table in the center of the room where I put all my paints.

At least last time, when I encountered my biggest hater, I had King at my side and I looked somewhat put together. This time I’ll just end up dying in a stained t-shirt and no makeup.Goodie.

“Oh, um, hi there!” A sweet voice, that’s definitely not Aspen, calls after my fleeing form.

I stop, hunched over, then slowly straighten and turn to find a pretty girl, probably in her twenties, smiling at me.

“Hello.” I lift my hand in a weird wave then shrug a shoulder. “Sorry, I uh, saw your hair and thought you were someone else.”

The girl’s face shows delighted surprise. “Aspen?” she laughs. “Sure, I can see the similarities. If she gained forty pounds and took about a thousand chill pills.”

I can’t help but smile at that description. I think the girl might be exaggerating the weight difference for dramatics, but she is a shorter, curvier version of my current worst nightmare.

“I’m Val, King’s and Aspen’s half-sister.” The girl lifts her shoulder, drawing my eye to the canvas bag hanging there. “And I brought margaritas.”

My eyebrows raise. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Val. I’m Savannah, your new sister-in-law.” I pretend to hold the edges of a skirt as I give her a little curtsey. “And I think tequila sounds wonderful.”

She grins. “Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t be one of those anti-margarita types.”

I lift three fingers. “Scouts honor, have never, would never.”

Val sets her bag on the empty corner of the large table between us and starts to pluck things out.

I watch as she sets down a bottle of tequila, two insulated metal cups, a bottle of mixer, a Tupperware with lime wedges, a round metal container of rimming salt, and lastly, a thermos that sounds like it’s full of ice.

“Wow, you don’t mess around.” I’m instantly impressed with this woman.

Val snickers. “When I heard what happened, I figured I should bring the full spread.”