Maybe I was, but I’ve never been that sad over a man.
“You’re stuck up here, alone, with only Ashton for company. And yes, he’s very good looking, and I’m sure he can be very charming if he puts his mind to it—”
I huff with frustration. I know Stella thinks she’s trying to help, but she’s not. I don’t know what she’s trying to do, but it’s not helping me. “I think you should stop now because you’re starting to offend me.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I know. But you’re not.”
My bare foot hovers over the towel. In theory, I’m supposed to scrunch my toes around the towel and pull it toward me.
“What are you doing?” Stellademands.
“My exercises. That,” I point to the towel. “Needs to come here.”
“So do it.”
Sounds like Stella’s sympathy is in short supply today. But that’s okay, because I don’t need a cheering squad. I try and curl my toes. A stab of pain, bright and electric, races through my foot like a charge.
“Have you ever broken any bones?” I demand because Stella still stares at the towel like I’m about to perform a magic trick.
“You know I haven’t. But I know you are one of the strongest people I know, so if you’re supposed to touch that towel, you’ll do it.”
That helps take the edge off the lack of sympathy.
I take a deep breath and try again. I keep the movement small, and this time, my toes curl just the slightest bit, enough to drag the towel a few centimeters closer.
“See?” Stella asks with a proud smile.
“Did it!” I call out to Ashton. My first instinct is to tell him, and the most natural.
Ashton pumps his arm. “Do it again.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile as I try again and succeed in moving the towel just a little more.
But when I look up at Stella, she’s no longer smiling. “Oh, Soph,” she whispers. “Just don’t.”
24
Ashton
Afewdayslater,myfather requests an in-person meeting.
It’s our mother’s birthday in two weeks, and because she happens to be passing through Toronto when Dad is there for business, Dad decides that Laandia isn’t too far to travel for a surprise family birthday dinner.
He clearly hasn’t checked his geography—Gunnar flies Fenella and me into St. John’s, Newfoundland, where we take a flight—commercial, because Dad won’t send the plane or let us charter one—into Toronto.
It takes about five hours to get there, a little different from driving across state lines back home. And all for a family dinner.
I’ve done worse, and for less than my mother, but the jolt I got when I said goodbye to Sophie this morning, and the realization I wouldn’t see her for a few days, makes me resentful about the whole idea.
Fen joins me to sit in business class. I try to watch a movie, but my sister has other things in mind.
“You’re still hanging out with Sophie,” she accuses before we even leave Maritime airspace.
I just look at her because the comment doesn’t deserve a response.
“So? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
