But then she added, “Just remember, my son sees everything.”
That part made me laugh.
Because, of course, it came with strings.
Everything in Ares’ world did.
Still, I took the phone.
Still, I used it.
I kept it close tonight in my bag while the four of us sat at a private dinner tucked into the hills, where the lights were low, and the city below looked too far away to hurt us.
It was one of those rich dinners that tried to feel intimate.
Candlelight.
Soft music.
Chef in the kitchen somewhere, making everything too beautiful to eat.
Ares sat at the head, naturally. My brother was across from him, one arm slung over the back of Emily’s chair, looking calm in that way that never really meant calm. Emily sat beside him, glowing soft and warm, one hand around her glass, the other resting in Zay’s lap.
I was sipping some sparkling non-alcoholic cherry mess in a crystal glass, playing the role.
I’d gotten good at that.
Playing the role.
Playing sober.
Playing stable.
Playing the woman who belonged in luxury instead of the one who once nearly drowned herself in drugs, trying to outrun her own mind.
The truth was, I was tired now.
Not of sobriety.
Not of Ares.
Not even of the rules.
I was tired of California already.
Calabasas was too close to the girl I used to be.
Too close to old habits, old streets, old energy. Too close to the kind of life that whispered my name when things got quiet. I hadn’t had a drink. Hadn’t craved drugs in the way I used to. That part still surprised me some days. Turns out being cared for right could do more for a woman than any high ever had.
Ares and my brother had built something around me that was better than drugs.
And I hated that I ever let drugs convince me otherwise.
I set my glass down.
“I know you said we were staying here a while longer for business,” I looked at Ares. “But I’m going back to France.”
The words came out flat and easy, like I’d been saying them in my head for days and finally got tired of hearing myself think.
