Author's Note: Alas, my poor little story does not seem to be a crowd pleaser. But that's okay. At least the beginning of it has been stuck in my head for a little while and I like it. Thanks to all of you who reviewed!

"So your stepsister living with you just sort of happened?"

Like I said, I didn't plan any of this. I never intended to go all "House of Yes" on her. I just offered her a place to stay until she got back on her feet.

"Did she move in with you the day that you punched her boyfriend?"

Yeah, pretty much. By the time we got out of his condo and into the elevator, she had pretty much broken down. She was sobbing uncontrollably and was kind of hysterical. She kept saying that she'd thought he was the one and without him she had nothing. That she was "bereft" and "alone in the world." When she muttered something about going back or having to live in her office, I couldn't take it any more. I gripped her shoulders and told her to look me in the eye. I told her that she was better then this and that she could stay with me until she found her own place to live. She looked at me quietly for a second. Then she surprised me by throwing her arms around me and I felt her crying softly against me.

By the time the elevator doors opened again, she had started to calm down. Then she got angry. I practically had to hold her back from taking the elevator back up. I have a feeling that she would have hit him herself if I had let her go. So we got in a cab and went back to my place. I called her office and told them that she wouldn't be back for the rest of the day and made her a cup of tea. Chamomile. It was always her favorite.

The next day when he was at work, we went back and got her stuff.

"And you had room for her at your place?"

Yeah, it's actually a two bedroom. I was going to put a desk and some exercise equipment in the second room, but hadn't gotten around to buying any of that stuff yet. I put an air mattress in there for her and told her she could stay as long as she needed. I only expected it to be a couple weeks max. I mean, she didn't exactly like sharing a space with me when we were younger.

"And what happened?"

I don't even know. The second day that she was there she noticed that I hadn't unpacked any of my stuff yet. I went out somewhere to shoot some footage and when I came back she had unpacked and arranged everything. At first I was furious. We got into this huge screaming match about going through my things and personal space. It was like I was 15 again. Then I noticed the way she'd arranged everything. Everything was exactly where I would have put it. It was weird. I didn't thank her or apologize for yelling, but after a couple hours of not speaking, I begrudgingly told her it looked nice. The next day she went out and bought me curtains.

"So she sort of moved in without asking?"

No, not exactly. For the first few weeks she was actually looking for places. When I'd come home she'd be there looking on the internet or circling listings in the newspaper. A lot of the time she would have something cooking, although sometimes I would call ahead and let her know I was bringing Chinese. Sometimes I would bring home a movie. One time, to cheer her up, I bought tickets to this Broadway show and afterwards we went to eat at this greasy spoon. It was hard for me to admit at first, but I liked having her around.

"Was it sort of like living with Kate?"

God no. Living with Kate was . . . pleasant. I guess what I mean is that it was pretty much smooth sailing. Living with Casey is infuriating. Like I said, Kate was in my life but somehow not really a part of it. Casey permeates it. Everything I do, there she is. Butting heads with me and pushing me to be better. Hell, the other day the woman spell checked the narration for the film I'm working on. She's frustrating, maddening, and completely amazing. And sure, we bicker a lot, but we laugh a lot too. And her smile is just . . . But she's my sister. And all I'll ever be to her is family.

"So who actually decided that she would stay?"

I guess that would officially be me.

"You're smiling Mr. Venturi."

I guess I am. I know I shouldn't be, but I just can't help it. I sort of sealed my fate that day that I told her she could stay, but maybe it was already too late then. That day she was just so funny. Not haha funny, just . . .

"Just what?"

I don't know. Just . . . Casey. It was about three weeks after she came to stay with me and she'd been out apartment hunting all day. It was raining hard and I guess that she lost her umbrella somewhere because she blustered into the apartment looking like a wet dog. Her hair was absolutely soaked and bedraggled and her makeup had seen better days. And she came in the apartment and squeezed the water out of her hair into the sink. I smirked at her and tossed her a towel.

And then of course she started to go on and on about what a rat trap the last place she had seen had been and how the place before that was like a shoe box. And the whole time, I was standing there, giving her this amused look, because I sort of realized that she was waiting for me to invite her to stay.

So of course I didn't.

"You didn't?"

Well, not at first. Not until I'd teased her for a little while. Pretended like I didn't know what she was getting at. 'Gee, that's rough, Case, but what can you do? I mean, I can't think of any way around your problem.' That sort of thing.

And I could tell that she was getting a little bit exasperated with me. She was being quite obvious about it—sighing melodramatically and everything. So finally I caved. I told her that if she wanted, she could stop looking for apartments and just live with me.

Little did I know that was the beginning of my own private hell. And if she had had any idea of the sort of thoughts that would soon be running through my head she never would have wanted to stay in the first place.

"We can discuss that further at our next appointment."