Dahlia POV
The photographer's assistant kept adjusting my shoulders like I was a mannequin.
"Chin up a little, Miss Peterson. Soft smiles. Perfect," he said to me before turning "Now, Mr. Sterling, a bit closer to your… new sister."
David's hand settled at a small spot behind my back. The touch was light, public-appropriate to anyone who was looking but it still sent a jolt of energy straight through me. I kept the soft smile fixed in place while the shitter clicked for the tenth time this evening and watched the late Newport light pour through the windows of the formal living room.
Stella on the other hand stood on my father's other side in a cream silk blouse, looking radiant as ever and slightly anxious. My father wore an expression that was reserved for campaign materials. It was like the only look her knew. The four of us formed the exact picture the public would soon see as blended, polished, sophisticated and new beginnings.
