Page 29 of Motion to Dismiss

Her face flushes red, and she takes a tentative step closer.

“I should’ve never done that, Scarlett. I’m so sorry.” Her voice softens. “I still haven’t forgiven myself.”

“That makes two of us.”

An ache blooms in my chest as she closes the remaining distance between us and reaches up, gently pressing her palm against my healed skin.

“I love you, Scarlett,” she says. “I know I haven’t always shown it, and you don’t have to believe me right now, but I’d like to spend whatever time I have left making things right with you.”

Her hand trembles slightly against my cheek.

“I’ve obviously failed with your brothers,” she says, her voice cracking, “and now I’ve failed with your father, too. But…I need to make amends with you. Even if you hate me. Even if you turn me away for years.” She pauses. “I’m going to keep trying.”

Slowly, she lowers her hand and takes a step back.

“I booked a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel for the next eleven months—or until you leave this city.” She swallows. “It’s only a few blocks from here, and I have standing brunch and dinner reservations at noon and six every day. If you ever want to stop by, I’ll be there.”

I don’t know what to say.

For once, she doesn’t seem to expect me to.

She takes one last look at me.

“You look very beautiful,” she whispers. “And your dinner monologue was quite entertaining.”

Then she turns and walks away.

I close the door and lean against it, my heart sinking a little more with every second that passes.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

I don’t even make it to seven.

Before I know it, I’m grabbing my purse and jacket and rushing back into the hallway.

“Wait!”

She stops halfway down the hall and turns around.

“Give me two minutes,” I say. “I’ll come with you.”

RESTITUTION (N.):

THE ACT OF RETURNING A PROPERTY, ASSET, OR ECOSYSTEM TO ITS ORIGINAL OR FORMER CONDITION AFTER IT HAS BEEN DAMAGED, DESTROYED, OR WRONGFULLY TAKEN.

SCARLETT

The faint crackle of the flames in the restaurant’s hearth is the only sound sifting between my mother and me.

She’s staring at me from across the table, crossing and uncrossing her legs while I’m silently wondering which one of us is supposed to break the ice.

“Can I interest you ladies in a glass of wine?” A waiter suddenly appears beside our table, holding up a bottle. “The chef sent this over.”

“Yes, please.”