Page 56 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

From hero to villain.

My heart ached from the loss, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Father was never going to change.

We pulled into the long, scenic driveway of the country club. It looked the same as it always had. White stone façade. Manicured hedges clipped to perfection. Grass so emerald and lush it looked artificial. Expensive vehicles lined the parking lot.

We rolled up to the valet stand. One of them opened our door and held out his hand to help me exit. They knew me on sight. Every employee was required to memorize the members.

This place was designed to make problems feel small, distant, and manageable. As if sitting beneath its chandeliers changed the world, and nothing truly bad could reach you.

I smoothed down the pale blue midi dress I had borrowed from Savannah. It had a high neckline, short sleeves, and looked fabulous paired with low heels. It was what I liked to call structured, tasteful, and expensive in a way that didn’t beg for attention.

Mom walked beside me as we were led to our favorite table outside, overlooking the gardens and part of the golf course.

Perfect, no one else was out here yet.

Once our mimosas arrived, Mom turned to me and studied my face as only a mother could. Searching, not for flaws, but for truths not offered freely.

“Not that I mind having brunch with my daughter, but I know something is bothering you. And not just the impromptu dating game your father thought was a brilliant idea.” She picked up her mimosa and took a sip. “I told him it was a terrible decision, but the man is as stubborn as an old ox.”

Taking a deep breath, I looked out over the green grass. The sun shone down on us as I decided how much I dared tell her. I hated keeping my relationship with Goran from my mother, but confiding in her came with huge risks.

I spotted the server approaching with our food. He placed everything on the table in a smooth, practiced motion. Fresh fruit arranged like art. Eggs poached perfectly. Bacon crisp. Coffee poured.

Mom stirred milk into her cup and waited for me to answer.

“You’re right. I want to talk to you,” I said finally.

Her eyes lifted to mine. The words felt thick today, as if saying them wrong would ruin everything.

“I feel like I’m…drifting.”

She nodded once and picked up her toast, spreading fresh strawberry jam across it.

“That happens. Especially when you are standing between who you were and who you are becoming. All women go through it,” she said before taking a bite.

I looked down at my plate and pushed my eggs around with my fork.

“I don’t feel like I’m being reckless, but I don’t feel centered either. It’s like I’m doing things just to prove I can. To announce that I can’t be controlled.”

“Prove to whom?”

The question landed hard.

“Father,” I admitted. “Maybe myself.”

“Kaylani,” she said, lowering her voice. “Attention is not the same thing as freedom.”

My fingers curled around my napkin. “I know.”

“Do you? Because sometimes when people feel watched their whole lives, they mistake being seen for being alive.”

I lifted my gaze to hers. “This is so hard to explain. I just thought you could help me sort through things. You always make it sound simple.”

Her smile was sad in a way I did not like. “Some things are not simple. Especially when men are involved.”

“Tell me about it.” The words hung between us, loaded with meaning.

“Mom…I don’t want to marry someone that I don’t love,” I blurted, peering around to make sure no one was in earshot. “The contracts, the money exchanging hands, the moving in a cage. I don’t want anything to do with it, but Dad seems determined to sell me to the highest bidder.”