There’s some small comfort in that he doesn’t say a word the entire ride back to my dorm. Just tucks the blanket over my thigh when it slips and turns the heat up. It’s enough. More than enough.
I move through the day like a machine. Clean. Pack. Drive to Gnarled Pine Hollow for winter break.
“I’m just tired,” I find myself saying to everyone. “Just…need a nap.”
When my bedroom door clicks shut, my legs give out. My eyes drag to the bathroom tiles next door, cold light bleeding under the frame.
I crawl to them. Press my cheek against the marble. Let the cold burn.
He fit in one of my hands. So small I was afraid I’d drop him. I wasn’t even thinking… I didn’t think—I just knew he deserved a place. A marker. Something that said he was real.
The rest comes in pieces.
“What the fuck are you doing out here so late?” Dad yelled from the back door. His steps hurried while I scrambled to toss dirt over the mound I’d created. Hiding what I’d done. All the mistakes I’d made.
If I couldn’t see him, maybe the pain would evaporate.
“Oh my god, baby. What did you do?” I heard his voice crack. “Ashlyn, baby? Ashlyn! Why didn’t you wake me up? Oh my god…”
I was in his arms before I understood what I was doing. His chest heaved with wails against my cheek.
But I couldn’t feel anything.
Because my heart was buried six feet deep.
“But I don’thaveto go, right?”
Dad’s blue eyes soften. “Firecracker? I…I think you should go, yeah.” His gaze darts over to Mom’s, who’s giving us both a stern look. “I mean, youhaveto go, yes. And that’s final.”
My mother’s the one in charge. Dad only makes a decision when it’s life or death. Otherwise, this entire house is ruled byArianna Donovan like it were her conquest. Everyone either underestimates her or is afraid of her. I understand why.
Because I’m the same way.
But I know when I have battles I can win, and those I cannot. And the glaring sharpness of her expression cuts me deep enough that I know I don’t have a choice.
The holiday has already been miserable enough, but at least I could hide in my room. Didn’t even have to respond to Moretti, and Mom accepted the news I’d broken up with him. Not well, but she accepted it.
Dad brushed it off. “Oh, bummer. You think he’ll be back around for Christmas festivities?”
“No. Never,” I told him firmly.
But Mom asked the staff to set him a place at the table, just in case.
Ignoring the daggers stabbing into my back, I head from the living room to the hall, but my mother’s patter catches up to me.
“You’re going,” Mom says. “Atelier Versace hand-stitched that gown for you. We don’t waste a commission like that.”
When I face her, to tell her that I don’t really care about dresses. About looking the part. That my soul is hollow, and I want to wallow in my room, beg her to let me, her face makes me pause. So much so that tears line my lower lashes.
Instead of brutal, conniving, and defensive, she looks…afraidof what my response will be. Like she’s holding out hope I’ll agree.
I’m quiet for so long, studying my mother, that she brushes the hair back off my shoulder, then grabs my waist. Her head only comes up to my neck, but I let her hug me.
“Okay? Please? You haven’t missed one yet. And you and Wyatt are the only ones still here.”
Dad’s pretending to be engrossed in his phone when I glance over at him. But I caught him looking.
“Yeah, I’ll go.” As soon as the agreement leaves my lips, my mom’s shoulders relax.