My mother's eyes flicker with pain. She whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you how you needed me."
"Then be there for me now. Make it clear to Dad," I say.
She hesitates like she wants to cling, to bargain, to keep me close while she figures out how to survive my father and his protective overbearingness.
I don't give her that and rise.
Finally, she stands, turns toward the door, and her shoulders shake.
Maksim appears like a shadow to escort her out, calm and controlled, a reminder that the rules of this space are not hers or mine.
As she leaves, she looks back one last time, eyes wrecked. "Blue…"
I don't move or soften.
Red's arms slide around me from behind, careful, steady.
She says to him, "I'm sorry for what Adrian did to you."
He nods.
Mom disappears through the doorway, and my chest aches with the clean pain of a decision made.
When the door closes, the penthouse feels quieter. It's the kind of quiet that comes after a storm when everything is changed, and you can't pretend it isn't.
Red presses his lips to my temple. "Are you okay?"
I swallow hard, leaning into him like he's the only solid thing on earth. "Yes."
And for the first time in my life, choosing him doesn't make me weak.
It makes me strong and fully alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Red
Blue's side of the bed is empty when I wake, but not cold. The sheets are rumpled, her pillow indented, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging to the air.
Bustling sounds come from the direction of the kitchen. I get out of bed and find her stirring creamer in her coffee.
She's dressed for work, hair pulled back, blouse buttoned, and nerves tucked carefully beneath her composure. It's the first day she's agreed to return. She still hasn't spoken to Adrian, but she and Skylar have agreed it's time for her to return to work.
She looks grounded and tired, but steady like someone who slept instead of fighting her own head all night. And that makes me happy.
I step behind her and slide my arm around her stomach. "Morning."
She turns and smiles. "Morning."
I kiss her forehead first, then her mouth. I don't rush, having learned that love, with her, lives in restraint as much as devotion.
She breathlessly claims, "I'll be late. It's inventory day."
"I'll make dinnertonight," I reply.
She arches a brow. "You don't cook very well. Well, unless you're grilling."
I grin. "I can learn."
