Siren by Tricia Rayburn Page A

fireplace, which was where our flat screen hung at home, was a wide mirror with an antique ivory frame. The room's decorative touches were turquoise throw pillows, lacy lampshades perched above crystal stands, and an ivory shag rug that almost took up the entire room.
    "It's my grandmother's stuff," Paige said, noticing me look around. "This is her house. Zara, my mom, and I have all lived here forever. Three generations of Marchands all under one roof, which, once you've met Raina, will be really hard to imagine."
    As we headed across the room, I watched the view through the tall windows lining the far wall. It didn't change. The house sat so high up that, at least from the living room, the only thing you could see was sky.
    "Vanessa," Paige said dramatically, spinning toward me just before passing through a wide doorway, "meet Raina. Queen of the castle, and of my heart."
    I stopped just outside the kitchen. My head throbbed once, the pain so great I grabbed the doorway to keep from doubling over.
    "Hello, Vanessa."
    I blinked. The pain was gone.
    "I didn't know we were having company today."
    I blinked again, thinking the fleeting attack had affected my vision. Most moms I met resembled my own, who had two looks: professional and preppy. When Mom wasn't wearing black business suits, she was wearing khakis and button-down shirts. When
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    her hair wasn't in a tight bun, it was in a neat ponytail. She was always put together, polished. But standing next to Raina in her best suit and heels, she'd be something else.
    Invisible. Which was exactly how I felt now.
    "We wouldn't have had company today if Z had shown up to work," Paige said, standing across the counter from her mother. "Vanessa gave me a ride."
    "It's nice to meet you," I said, trying to smile.
    Raina held a wooden spoon above a pink plastic mixing bowl and stared at me, her silver-blue eyes flashing. As she sized me up, I tried to get a better look without being obvious. She had to be just under six feet tall, with dark, wavy hair that fell to her waist. She wore a soft, sleeveless white sundress, and a dozen silver bangle bracelets that clinked together as she resumed stirring. She wore no makeup, but she didn't need to--her complexion was clear, her skin smooth. She was striking and looked more like Paige's other older sister than her mother.
    "Your sister's upstairs," Raina said finally. "But she doesn't feel well."
    Paige nodded toward the kitchen window. "Have you looked outside today? Do you know what's happening only a few miles away?"
    "She'll be back as soon as she's able," Raina said evenly.
    "No one's going to feel well if we're short staffed," Paige pointed out. "Our customers will be hungry. Louis will be cranky. And all because Z's PMS-ing? I don't think so."
    Raina turned on an electric mixer and lowered it into the
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    pink mixing bowl. "You can try talking to her," she said over the whirring. "But don't expect her to be happy about it."
    "I never do." Paige whirled around. She grabbed me gently by the sleeve when she reached the doorway and pulled me with her out of the kitchen.
    "Pleased to meet you, Vanessa," Raina called after us, sounding indifferent at best.
    "See?" Paige said once we crossed the living room and entered a narrow stairwell. "I'd love it if my biggest issue with my mother was that she bought me a dress I didn't want to wear to go to a party I didn't want to go to."
    "Is that why you call her by her first name?" I asked, ignoring the thudding in my chest. "Because she's not as warm and fuzzy as other mothers?"
    "That--and because she wanted us to. She says she doesn't feel old enough to have two teenage daughters." She reached the landing and turned to me. "By the way, I meant to ask--why aren't your parents here? You said your mom wanted you to come home?"
    "Right." I focused on a lit wall sconce. "Mom's a workaholic, and Dad's a momaholic, so they went back to Boston for a few days."
    "Awesome," Paige said, stepping into