I tensed. “But I don’t want this.”
“Wanting is irrelevant. You were born into privilege, and you will not squander it with excuses. Not while I am alive.”
Her eyes flicked back to the magazine. “You’ll thank me someday.”
Normally, this was the point in the conversation where I dropped my head and shuffled out of the room. My mother’s will had a way of pressing down on me until I couldn’t breathe. But not today. Not after Scott reminded me that no one had the right to dictate my life. For once, I didn’t drop my gaze.
“No.”
Mother’s head tilted, the faintest wrinkle marring her perfect brow. “Excuse me?”
“I said no.” My steady voice surprised me. “I’m not going back. Not to Juilliard. Not to be humiliated in front of people who despise me. I won’t do it.”
Her magazine slid closed with a softthunkand she placed it on the table beside her. When her eyes met mine, they were stripped of even the pretense of warmth. “I see. And what do you plan to do instead?”
“I was thinking of enrolling in the nursing program at NYU.”
“Nursing?” she scoffed. “How very working-class of you.”
“I know this might come as a shock to you, Mother, but it’s my life.”
She gave a cool, dismissive laugh. “Your life? Don’t be ridiculous. No daughter of mine will be a nurse. You’re a Carver, Michelle. Your life isn’t yours. It belongs to the family; to the name. And if you won’t do what’s expected of you at Juilliard”—her eyes sharpened, and her mouth curved in a smile—“then we’ll pursue other avenues. Donald Lavelle seems a fine match, wouldn’t you agree?”
My breath caught. “Prince?”
“Better a respectable marriage than a wasted education. Either way, Michelle, you will serve your purpose.”
Her threat leveled me. I’d always assumed I’d marry well for the family legacy, but I’d never believed I wouldn’t get a say, orthat my mother would force me into a marriage of convenience with a man I couldn’t stand. Even she had a beating heart under that double-breasted leather blazer… or so I’d thought.
Now I understood I was on my own, and if I didn’t stand up for myself, no one would. “Then I guess I’ll have to disappoint you.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes burned cold. “Oh, darling. You’ve been disappointing me since the day you were born.”
8
SCOTT: SWEET CHILD O’ MINE
I spent my whole shift scanning the beach, half convinced Michelle would show up for lessons. She didn’t, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Yeah, the two of us made no sense—but last night had felt like… something. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were more than one night.
But Michelle had known where to find me and had chosen not to, so maybe I’d read more into last night than she had. It was a strange place to be—me, waiting on her. I’d always been the one in control. Now I was stuck on the other side, restless and hoping for a sign. It really sucked being the chick.
I swung by to pick up Johnny after my shift and drove us both back to my place. It was Saturday night, and if Michelle was going to leave me hanging, then I’d find my own fun.
Or not.
April—my ex—was waiting in the driveway, looking simply murderous with her squared-off shoulder pads and sky-high teased hair.
“Dude, I’m scared,” Johnny said, gripping my arm.
“Imagine how I feel.”
April stomped to my side of the truck and passed a fourteen-month-old baby through the open window.
“Uh, what’s this?” I juggled Mitchell Graham McKallister—or as I liked to call him, MGM—into an upright position and kissed him on the cheek.
“Your son,” she replied with enough contempt to burn a hole straight through me.
I sighed. Yep. This was exactly what I’d tried to warn Michelle about. I came with baggage. As in, I was a father. Living in the apartment over a garage with an opossum as a roommate. And the kicker? The garage belonged to my ex’s mother, which made bringing potential lady friends over a no-go.
