Aspen reaches for my hand briefly, squeezes once, then lets go. "But it doesn't hurt to eat. Or to sit in the sun."
I nod, jaw tight, because arguing would be useless and rude. So I take a bite of eggs and agree, "These are really good."
Aspen beams. "Glad you like them."
"They are delicious. Everything is," Red adds.
Small talk resumes, as it did the night before. We're halfway through breakfast when the security panel near the balcony door chirps softly.
Maksim's gaze lifts immediately. He rises and puts his napkin on the table. "I'll let her in." He disappears.
"Let who in?" I ask.
Aspen's shoulders tense. She relays, "Your mom wants to talk to you, Blue."
The warmth drains out of me all at once.
Red's hand closes over mine, firm and solid.
"You knew she was coming over?" I accuse.
"Yes. She wanted to yesterday, and I told her she had to wait until today," Aspen admits.
I snap, "Why didn't you tell me she was coming over?"
Red starts, "Blue?—"
"No. Some warning would have been nice," I add.
Aspen winces. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be better for you if you ate breakfast. I know you won't eat when you're worrying."
I look away, facing Lake Michigan, staring at the gentle waves and blinking hard. Rage and hurt mix, aimed at Mom, Dad, and now Aspen for hiding this from me.
"I'm sorry if I upset you," she offers.
Red rubs my thigh.
I release a breath and look at him.
"You have to deal with your parents. Better now than later," Red suggests.
"Fine," I reply, standing up and scooting the chair back. I open the patio door and storm through the penthouse, as if movement can outrun emotion, as if I keep my feet moving, my heart won't catch up and split me open. My skin is suddenly too tight, and my lungs are too small.
I hear the low murmur of voices before I see them.
Maksim stands near the entry, posture calm, expression carved from stone. My mother is in front of him, wringing her hands so hard her knuckles go pale. Her eyes are red-rimmed, mascara smudged like she's been crying for hours, and the moment she sees me, she looks relieved. She steps forward, reaching for me. "Blue!"
I step out of her reach, afraid if she touches me, I might crumble. And I can't risk that. So I warn, "Don't."
Her hands falter midair. "Honey?—"
"I said don't." My throat tightens. My pulse is loud in my ears. "Youdon't get to walk in here and—" I gesture vaguely at her tears and trembling hands. "—and act like you're the victim."
Her face collapses. "I didn't know. I swear to you I didn't know your father would?—"
"Do what? Hurt Red? Kidnap him? Put his hands on him like he's an enemy and not the man I love?" My voice rises with each word, anger burning clean and bright through the fear. "You didn't know he would do that? Mom…when has he ever not done whatever he wanted?"
She flinches like I slapped her.
