Lydia's hands trembled against the supple leather of her designer bag, her knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. She drew a sharp, shallow breath, desperately trying to pull the mask of the innocent, long-suffering older sister back over her face.
Her gaze swept across the crew members, whose eyes now darted between the two sisters like spectators at a particularly vicious tennis match. She could feel her carefully constructed world beginning to tilt on its axis.
"Nina, what are you even talking about?" Lydia's voice trembled with a carefully manufactured layer of hurt, each word precisely calibrated for maximum effect. The performance came naturally after years of practice.
