Maybe it’s Rhett.
But when the passenger door opens and I get a glimpse of white, I know it’s not Rhett. It’s definitely not Pane.
It’s Sylvia, my mother.
She steps out wearing her signature white pantsuit. Her dark hair is secured at the nape of her neck, and the one gray stripe that’s woven into her otherwise ebony locks is whiter than it was last time I saw her.
She takes a look at the resort, drinking it in, and for a moment, I stand there wondering whether I should go into the trailer or greet her.
Decision made, I cross the red clay while Hercules runs alongside me. My mother sees me and smiles stiffly, as if she’s had to train her face how to do this trick.
I frown and her lips slowly dip into a frown.
“Stone,” she murmurs.
“Sylvia,” I spit.
Her green eyes—eyes that match mine—linger on me for a moment before they swish to the resort. “It looks good. I knew you boys had the skill to build on your own. Of course, you could have done it within the company. You didn’t have to ...”
“Leave?” I finish when she can’t.
She nods, mouth tight. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
I want to tell her no, we can’t talk. We cannevertalk. But she’s come all this way, and it’s loud, and I don’t like scandals or spectacles.
“You can come inside. Pane isn’t here.”
“I didn’t come for Pane. I came to speak to you.”
Something about that makes my stomach coil tight.
I lead her into the trailer, and when we’re inside, I point to a chair. “You’re welcome to sit.”
“Thank you.”
I take a seat behind my desk. “You thirsty?”
“No, I can’t stay long. I’m on my way to Palm Beach.”
“Building a new hotel?”
“Yes. It would have been a good one for you to oversee.”
“I’m tied up for the foreseeable future.” I pick up a pencil and twist it between my fingers. But the stupid pencil reminds me of Coco, how she would stick them in her hair, so I drop it on my desk.
My mother sits ramrod-straight in the chair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her relaxed in my entire life.
“Stone, there are things I didn’t get a chance to say before you left. The competition with Pane—you were both so close to becoming president I couldn’t decide.”
“So you pitted me against my brother head-on? This is how you nurture friendly competition?”
Her voice hardens. “What was I supposed to do? Pick one of you to become the next CEO?”
“Yes, Sylvia.” My nostrils flare in anger. “You were supposed to pickoneof us to lead the company. We shouldn’t have competed against one another.” I exhale and lean back in the chair. “Pane won fair and square. I don’t have hard feelings about that.”
Her shoulders sag slightly. “But you have hard feelings about other things.”
“You mean about the fact that you kept my father from me for my entire life? Yeah, I’ve got some feelings about that.”
