"He calls it protecting me," I answer quickly, then add, "He's involved."
"Involved how?"
I roll my eyes. "Background checks on friends. Making sure I don't do certain things."
"Like what things?"
I count the seconds between breaths, then lose track somewhere in the middle. I answer, "There are rules when you're an Ivanov. It's not just my father. My uncles are the same. Nothing is written down, but you learn the family rules fast."
"What are the rules?" Red prods.
"Don't ask questions. Don't contradict him in public. Don't make waves."
"And if you do?"
My lips press together. "You feel it."
"In what way?" he asks.
I shrug again, but this one is smaller. "Disapproval. Distance. Silence."
"Withdrawal," he says.
My chest feels tight, like something old is being tugged loose. I nod. "Yeah."
"And your mother?" he asks.
I snort. "Skylar Ivanov doesn't have time for withdrawal."
"She's successful," he says.
"She's iconic," I correct, the bitterness surprising even me. "Award-winning. Revered. Everything I do gets measured against her."
"How does that make you feel?"
"Invisible," I say instantly, then wince at how fast it came out. "Or worse. Like a disappointment in couture."
Red nods slowly. "So your father values control. Your mother values perfection."
"Pretty much."
"And where does that leave you?" he asks.
I swallow. "Trying not to fuck up."
The words hang between us, raw and honest.
"That's a lot of pressure," he says.
I laugh again, but this time it cracks. "You have no idea."
He leans back slightly, giving me space without disengaging. "Has there ever been anyone you looked up to besides your mother in your career?"
My chest tightens again, this time with sharp grief. "Yes. Fiona O'Malley. Well, she's a Petrov now."
His eyes flicker. He tries to hide it, but it's too late. He knows the O'Malley and Petrov names, but something about it makes me feel safer with him. He orders, "Tell me about Fiona."
"She's different."
