He leans back, legs spread, eyes smoky, shirt open down to his navel, multiple piercings, sexy grin. A proper rock star.
“So, here’s the deal,” I begin. “It’s my parents.”
“Wait, let me guess.” He pinches his chin theatrically. “Hmm… I’m still a singer. Still no Chinese ancestry, no money, and no job. My bet is, they still think you can do better than me.”
My voice falters but I push on. “They’ve given me an ultimatum.”
“What kind?”
“Either I leave you or they’ll cut me off.”
His mouth twists. “Such a charming bunch!”
“They want what’s best for me.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Are you here to tell me we’re done?”
“No!” I cry out. “I’m pickingyouover them.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, Laura. I really like you, but I can’t deal with your family drama right now.”
“You don’t have to,” I say quickly.
“I mean, come on,” he continues, ignoring my objection. “Your mom has offered me money to leave you. Your dad has threatened to send Kung Fu Panda from the Chinese mob to rough me up!”
I speak through his bitter laughter, “Like I said before, he was bluffing. He doesn’t know any mobsters.”
“Thing is, babe…” He shakes his head woefully. “At this point, I’m not even sure why we’re still doing this.”
The words sting. “You’re not sure?”
“I don’t know, OK?”
I pray silently as we stare into each other’s eyes.Please, don’t let your frustration with my family make you say things you’ll regret!
He huffs. “Maybe we should take a break.”
Nooo!
He peers at me. “Seb’s dad is sponsoring a monthlong tour around France for our band. The timing is perfect. Why don’t we hit pause and figure things out?”
Wow. He’s thought this through.
Heat rises up my neck and cheeks as the implications sink in. My boyfriend of over a year is low-key dumping me. And he’s announcing it right after I told him I was choosing him over my parents.
Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.Need to get out of here.
I grab my heavy bag and spring to my feet. “Fine. Do your tour and figure it out, Mike. Let me know when you do.”
At that, I turn my back to him and stride to the exit. The door slams behind me. I’m out on the street, but the sticky air of the garage won’t leave my lungs, no matter how deeply I breathe. On the train back to Paris, I slouch in my seat, crushed by the weight of today’s double betrayal: first Dad, then Mike. There’s a huge lump in my throat. The reason I’m not melting down and crying in public is that I’ve worked up some righteous wrath.
You just wait, all of you!
Laura Yang may be a gentle, understanding, accommodating soul—a pushover, if you ask my friend Denise—but even she has her limits.
And I’ve reached them.
CHAPTER TWO
