“No, you don’t,” she dismissed my schedule with a flick of her hand. “Cancel them.”
“I can’t just?—”
“I said cancel them.”
“She actually can’t,” my father tried. “Madeline is handling the Hollis water rights merger.”
“And the Vance trade routes,” I added.
She waved that away like lower-tier gossip. “All of that can wait. You’re spending the day with me.”
“Mother—”
“Marco,” she said sweetly, turning just enough to wield him like ammunition, “are you saying you care more about trade meetings than the health of our daughter?”
He dropped like she’d punched him.
“That’s not…” He sighed. “Fine.”
I stared at both of them. My plans, my carefully-structured day, my fourteen-hundred slot, snipped away like a thread.
Mother smiled at me. “We’ll leave in an hour.”
She glided out of the foyer, already calling instructions to staff about cars and afternoon tea and which boutiques to open early. The house hummed around her commands.
I stayed frozen where she’d left me.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You know how she gets.”
Yes. I knew. I also knew I had one minute before she returned and confiscated my phone “to keep me present.” I pulled it out with shaking hands and opened my messages.
Me: My mother just hijacked my entire day.
His reply landed almost instantly.
Vince: Okay.
Just that. Four letters, full stop, nothing else. No baby, angel, or teasing. My stomach dropped.
Me: Are you mad?
Ten seconds.
Vince: No, baby. Why would you think that?
Thatbabyhelped. A little. Not enough.
Me: Just tell me if you are. I can stand reading it. Silence makes me feel sick.
The screen flashed.
Incoming call: VINCENT.
I ducked into the alcove beneath the staircase, and answered.
“Hi,”
“How’s my girl?”
