“It’s not that bad. I let it build up, but I know that after August I’ll be fine. It’s not that I’m unhappy—”
“Enough!”
His sudden command shakes me to my core. My dad never raises his voice. He’s level-headed and calm most of the time. Or he was before. In France, we’ve all been under a lot of stress.
When he speaks, he’s managed to regain some patience. “I spoke with Lita last night and she told me everything. I know you don’t like your work at De Vere, know you’ve stayed in California with us out of a sense of obligation.”
My bottom lip trembles. “I’m your only daughter, the only person left—”
“Yes, exactly,” he says emphatically. Then he squeezes his eyes closed for a moment like he’s in physical pain. “Don’t you see, Isabel? You’re all I have left. You’re my only daughter and I want you to be happy. It’s so simple. Wherever that is. Whatever it looks like.”
“And what about you and Mom?”
The question makes him take a step back and frown.“Me and Mom?”He shakes his head emphatically. “We’re not your responsibility.”
The revelation surprises me, and maybe my dad notices, because he repeats it, ensuring it sticks.
“We have our own lives outside of you, Isabel.” He chuckles when my brows lift. “Mom has started writing a book. Did you know? A mystery novel. She’s joined a group of aspiring authors who meet at a coffee shop every Monday morning to plot together, and I’m right where I want to be. De Vere is my life, not yours. I’m not sure how I failed to convey that.”
“I thought you wanted me there,” I say weakly.
“If youwantedto be there, of course. Otherwise, I don’t want to see you.” His face turns solemn. Then he continues, “Having to go into work every day, knowing you’re there only because you feel you have to be, knowing you’re going through life making yourself miserable only to make other people happy… I can’t stand the thought of it.”
I stay quiet as he sighs. Upstairs, a door shuts quietly, and then I hear my mom rolling her suitcase down the hall.
“Your mom and I came down hard on you this week. I regret it. I regretted it even as I was doing it. Lita’s older than I realize, and it scared me when I got that phone call from her doctor. It scared me even more to realize I had no idea where you were. I handled it poorly,” he admits sheepishly.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad look so humbled. “So did I,” I rush, desperate to make things better between us. “I should have just told you and Mom my plan from the beginning.”
He nods in agreement. Then he takes a hesitant step toward me and I rush forward, squeezing him around the middle. My mom finds us like that, and she hugs me from the side.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispers into my hair. “It’ll all be okay.”
Two days pass, and the house is quieter without my parents. Jean and Lita and I take long walks around the property, roving through the garden and deciding what to plant. Jean teaches me to play piquet on the back terrace in the afternoons, hiding from the sun beneath a thick canopy of vines. I visit the farmers’ market near Lita’s house and pick up toasted baguettes and cheese, fresh vegetables, and fruit. I make pasta salad for us all, and I convince myself I’m happy even while I’m not. Alone, at night, I barely sleep from missing Cristiano. I want to call him, but I don’t know what to say. It would have been easier if I’d answered his calls in the beginning, when I first came to France. As the days continue to pass, memories of our time together start to feel less real and more like a fever dream.
Tuesday morning, I’m at the sink cleaning dishes, mentally planning out the rest of my day to keep my thoughts from straying, when Lita walks into the kitchen. Jean helped her into a pale blue sundress. Her white hair is twisted up in a neat chignon. She’s applied makeup and she’s as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her. You could almost forget how she looked in the hospital.
She eyes my pajamas with disapproval. “You should get dressed. We’re having company today.”
“Company?” My curiosity is piqued. Other than Jean, we’ve been isolated here since my parents left. “Who?”
“Friends,” Lita says with a devious wink before I rush through the rest of the dishes and hurry upstairs to my room. There’s awhite minidress hanging in my closet that I never wore for Cristiano. I shower and dry my hair, taking forever with it, wanting it to be perfect. I apply my makeup and go back and forth with my lipstick shade for a ridiculous amount of time. My hands are shaking with nerves, and when a car pulls up after lunch, I don’t wait. I fling open the front door and hurry down the stone steps onto the gravel drive.
The back door of the sleek black car opens, and Simone and Annika step out, their eyes wide at the sight of Lita’s house sprawled out behind me. It’s huge, I know. It takes some getting used to.
I hate that I look around them, trying to see into the vehicle. There’s no one else besides the driver.
Cristiano didn’t come.
Disappointed, I look down at the ground, swallowing, blinking, burying my hurt. When I look up again, it’s with a wide smile for my two friends. I wanted to see him, but I’m still so happy they came to see me even though I left Ibiza so suddenly.
“I can’t believe you two are here.How?”
“Oh, simple,” Simone says with a sarcastic flick of her hand. “We were whisked onto theprivate planeCristiano arranged for us, and then a car service brought us here from the airport. We didn’t have to lift a finger, did we, Annika?” Without waiting for her reply, she rushes on to say, “You should have seen the food options on the plane. You would have died, though actually… maybe not, seeing as you’re ungodly wealthy. You probably fly private all the time…”
My smile drops as I glance between them, waiting for the accusations and anger.
Annika’s still staring at my grandmother’s house, her blue eyes wide with wonder. When she glances at me, she frowns. “You are. Aren’t you?”
