It’s her. It's mom.
My why.
I slip into a sweater dress in muted blue that feels like something I’d choose even if Julian North didn’t exist. Heels and earrings I’ve worn a hundred times for events. The only luxury on me is the coat Julian sent, because it’s Chicago and it’s fall and I’m not going to freeze out of principle.
Emily watches from the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’re not dressing up,” she says, surprised.
“I can’t,” I answer, smoothing the fabric at my waist. “If I put on a costume, I’ll start acting. And I don’t want to act.”
Emily’s mouth twitches. “Good. Because if he’s marrying you, he getsyou. Not some polished version he can parade around.”
I glance at her. “You’re really okay with this?”
Her eyes sharpen. “No.”
Then gentler. “But I understand why. And I trust you. And I trust that if he ever makes you feel less than you, I will personally end him.”
A laugh escapes me, sudden and wet.
Emily leans in and presses her forehead to mine. “Text me the second you’re done.”
“I will.”
“And Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice drops. “I love you if you do this and I love you if you don't.”
My stomach twists.
I nod. “I know.”
I stop at the inpatient facility on my way downtown.
Mom is resting, the nurse says. She is stable and had a good morning. The words are cautious, careful, not promises.
I sit beside her bed and take her hand. She opens her eyes slowly and smiles like she’s trying to give me something.
“You look pretty,” she whispers.
The tears I have been holding back beg to be released. “Hey, Mom. How are you feeling?”
She watches me. Really watches me, not the dress, not my hair. My face. My eyes.
“Are you going to see Julian?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
She gives a contented hum. “He’s… been around.”
I can’t say it. I cannot ever let my mom know the truth. She would be hurt and furious, she would try to fight it and I...
So I lie the way I’ve been lying for weeks, gentle, protective, desperate.
“We’ve been… seeing each other,” I say. “Just quietly.”
