I spin around so fast I almost lose my balance.
Her father stands in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing a smile so smug it makes me want to put my fist through his perfect mahogany paneling.
“What?” I breathe.
“She left this morning,” he says, stepping into the room like he owns the entire universe and is bored with the view.
“Left?” The word hits like a punch.
He nods and laughs under his breath. “Didn’t she tell you?” He tilts his head. “Of course she didn’t. Why would she? You’re nothing. No one important. Just the help.”
My fists clench so tight my nails dig into my palms. “She wouldn’t—”
“Oh, but she did.” He smirks. “College, then after that . . . marriage to someone worthy. Actually, you must have seen him around. Grant Jameson. She will be marrying him once she gets her degree . . . You didn’t really think a girl like her would give up her future for someone like you?”
“Shut up.”
“She used you,” he continues. “That’s what girls like her do. Get bored. Play pretend. Then move on. You were a summer game. Nothing more.”
I storm past him before I do something stupid like murder him.
“I’d worry more about your job than your broken heart,” he calls after me.
I shove through the staff doors, ignoring the sting in my chest, and find my mom in the kitchen now.
“Where is she?” I demand, my voice cracking.
She doesn’t look up. “She’s gone, Lorenzo.”
“You knew.” The betrayal tastes bitter in my mouth.
“I saw her leave,” she continues to chop the vegetable in front of her. “But maybe it’s for the best.”
“The best?” I echo, stepping closer. “The best for who?”
She finally meets my eyes. “You’re from two different worlds,” she whispers. “You always have been. And we need this job. We have nowhere else to go.”
I step back as if she slapped me. “You don’t believe that,” I whisper.
“I do,” she says softly. “And one day, so will you.”
Before I can respond, I hear soft footsteps echo behind me.
I turn.
Victoria’s mother stands in the doorway.
Her expression is . . . unreadable. Not cruel. Not kind. Just composed in that expensive way, only money teaches.
“I thought you might want this,” she says, holding out an envelope. My pulse stops.
My throat closes.
I wipe my palms on my jeans and take the envelope from her fingers. She gives me a small, practiced smile.
“Take care of yourself, Lorenzo.” She turns and walks away, heels clicking on the wood floors.
My hands shake as I break the seal.
