The Girl Who Saved The SkySome people think Manhattan is made of steel and glass. I know better. It's held together by secrets, ambition, and the soft gold glow of gallery lights on a Thursday night.Which is why, on the first crisp spring evening of April, I found myself standing in the middle of the Verve Manhattan Gallery, clutching a flute of champagne, and praying the universe would grant my sister just one normal month.It wasn't looking good.Camille was dazzling as always, her honey-blonde hair twisted into a loose chignon, a single seaglass earring glinting at her temple like a drop of ocean light. Beside her, Julian —husband, genius painter, part-time egomaniac—was holding court, surrounded by critics and collectors hanging on his every word.To anyone else, Camille and Julian looked like the power couple of Manhattan's art world. The perfect pair. A match made in a very expensive, very color-coordinated heaven.But I've learned perfection is a frame job. Step close enough and you'll see the cracks in the canvas.And tonight, the crack's name was Isabel Rivera.She'd arrived in Manhattan a week ago, and already half the art scene was buzzing about her "e;transcendent seaglass sculptures."e; She was brilliant, beautiful, and—unfortunately—the ex-girlfriend of Lucas Ortega.Lucas, who just happened to be the man my sister Camille had very publicly not had an affair with.Except she had.And as if my night wasn't stressful enough, Lucas himself appeared across the gallery, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe. His linen shirt clung to a chest that looked carved out of marble, and when he crossed his arms, the motion pulled the fabric tight across his abs—perfectly sculpted like a Greek statue in the Met.I rolled my eyes. Camille's eyes, on the other hand, did not roll.Great. Just great.Because in my family, secrets don't stay buried. They shimmer under the gallery lights, waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the sky.And I had the distinct feeling that this was about to be one of those moments.
