Silvia knew that even if Sanderson hadn’t spelled out what was going on between her and Shipley, Finn’s instincts were sharp enough—he’d pick up on it sooner or later.
She nodded, a faint smile softening her delicate features. “Yes. I just didn’t want you all to worry, so I kept it to myself,” she replied quietly.
But now, Silvia found herself at a loss for words.
How could she explain it? That she’d chased after Shipley for five years, letting go of her family for the sake of some elusive, intangible love? That she’d pushed herself to the limit, drinking far more than she could handle at social events just to make Shipley happy? Or that, in the end, all her devotion couldn’t compare to the girl who returned from abroad—the one Shipley truly loved—while she was just a stand-in, a substitute for someone else’s “perfect first love”?
The bitter taste of these thoughts crept into her smile, making it waver.
She shook her head, refusing to burden her brother with her pain, and quickly changed the subject. “I really learned a lot working at Shipley’s company,” she said, her voice light, “so I thought I’d come back and contribute something to the family business.”
As Silvia spoke, her gaze flitted away, unable to meet Finn’s eyes. She was terrified he’d see straight through her, that he’d catch a glimpse of the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.
Her brother, who was always so quick to laugh, so easygoing, suddenly looked as though he couldn’t muster a single smile. He stared at Silvia, piecing together all the little things he’d ignored before.
It made sense now.
He’d always thought it odd that Silvia, who used to talk about Shipley all the time, hadn’t so much as mentioned his name since coming back to the city.
Finn wasn’t a fool. Now that he thought about it, he could pretty much guess what had happened over the last five years.
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