by T. K. Leigh
I swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes. I still hadn’t seen Brock in a while, which had begun to unnerve me, especially since he’d flown halfway around the world to track me down. I couldn’t quite explain it, but something about his lack of contact didn’t sit right with me. I wondered if he knew what I found in his office back in June. More pressing was why he had all that stuff. It looked like he was investigating my father. It was possible, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Brock’s involvement went beyond that. He and my father had routinely worked together to get certain bills passed in both the House and Senate. I wondered if their relationship went beyond the halls of Congress.
“It’s kind of difficult to make babies when we live thousands of miles away from each other.”
Mila opened her mouth to respond, but I quickly cut her off, knowing exactly what she was about to say.
“Maybe we’re just doomed to be apart until we’re old and gray. Then they’ll find our Instagram posts and publish them. They’ll bury our bodies together, and people will flock to our graves, just like Hèloïse and Abelard.”
“I don’t understand why you haven’t gone to him,” she stated in a quiet voice.
I kept my eyes trained forward, trying to pretend I didn’t know what she was referring to as I signaled the bartender for another glass of wine. “I haven’t exactly been able to afford a trip to Rome, Mila. I’m finally making my own way, but after rent, utilities, and chipping away at the credit card balance I racked up during my months of unemployment, not to mention the expense of my previous trip to the Eternal City, there’s not much left over.”
“That’s not what I mean. Even it if were, I told you I’d let you borrow—”
“No,” I shot back immediately, my voice rising in pitch as I glowered at her. Then I softened my expression, bringing my fresh wine to my lips and taking a sip. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I truly do. But it’s important that I stand on my own two feet.”
“Which you’ve proven you can do. You have a job. An apartment. A…car, I suppose,” she said, grimacing. “Although car is putting it loosely.”
I laughed politely at her jab. I doubted I’d ever hear the end of it. It wasn’t a bad car, but it certainly wasn’t even close to the luxury vehicles I’d driven since getting my license.
“It’s okay to ask for help when you need it, to accept it when it’s freely given.”
I vehemently shook my head. “No. Not me. I just… I can’t. I need to do this on my own so I can figure out who I am.”
“Says who?” she shot back quickly. “You think you need to suffer and be unhappy just to figure out who you are?”
“Yes!” I insisted, tears welling in my eyes. I drew in a deep breath, meeting her concerned gaze. “That’s got to be what this is all about, why we’re still apart. I thought once I had a job and a place of my own, we’d find each other again. Maybe that’s what fate’s waiting for before we can be together.”
She placed her hand over mine, squeezing. “I love you, Ellie, but you need to stop depriving yourself of being happy because of some idea you have in your head that you don’t know who you are as a person. I’ll tell you a secret. I’m still trying to figure that out for myself. You don’t just wake up one day and miraculously have your shit together. Life doesn’t work that way. Life is a path we take, with ebbs and flows, ups and downs. It’s better when you can take that path with someone who supports you, who loves you, who makes you a better person.”
“It’s not that easy. Not for me.”
“I get it, Ellie. Your mother ingrained this notion into your head that being happy makes you selfish. Well, fuck that and fuck her.” She lowered her voice. “You still love him, so why are you punishing yourself like this? Why are you having a drink with me, then planning to go to your parents’ house when you know damn well you should be somewhere else?”
My eyes narrowed at her, my lips formed into a tight line. “I told you—”
“I know. What’s meant to be will be,” she bit back in a mocking tone. “Did you ever stop to think maybe you’re doing everything in your power to work against fate? Dante is in town for a particular award show this weekend. I know he also has an appearance scheduled at USC tonight. And I know you know that, too.” She raised her glass of wine to her lips, leaning back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “Sometimes, my darling friend, fate needs a little push.”
Chapter Eleven
Mila’s words seemed to play on repeat in my mind as I headed up the walkway toward my parents’ house. About to knock on the front door, I hesitated, glancing back at my car, wondering if she was right, if maybe fate needed a little push, if I’d simply been depriving myself of being happy. Before I had the chance to leave, the door flew open, my mother standing there.
“What is that?” she asked, a look of disgust on her face as she gestured to the car sitting in her driveway. I was certain she was horrified enough when I’d been driving Steven’s car, considering it was a Ford and not some luxury brand. Now that I was driving a Subaru that was over ten years old, it was even worse.
“It’s my new car,” I replied with a passive-aggressive smile. “Do you like it? Got a great deal on it. I bought it over a month ago. I’m surprised you’re now just noticing.”
“I’ve been too busy with all my charity work to concern myself with what car you’re driving, Ellie.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a sarcastic retort at the notion of my mother doing anything for charity.
“I do hope they paid you to take it off their hands, not the other way around,” she continued when I remained silent.
“No, Mother. I paid for it.” I pushed past her and stepped into the house, then spun around to face her. “With money from a job I got on my merits.”
“Oh, really?” She lifted a brow. “You think that’s the case?”
My expression faltered briefly. While it had crossed my mind that Quinn may have hired me just to say he had the daughter of a political powerhouse working at his small firm in order to increase his credibility, I wanted to think he wasn’t so shallow, that he brought me on because of my talent and tenacity to fight for my clients. I needed to believe that was why he hired me.
“Yes, I do.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, holding my chin high.
She leaned into me, her lips formed in a tight line. “You can believe that all you want, but the only reason anyone would ever hire you is because of your name, Ellie. The only reason you got the job at Sullivan was because of me. And I guarantee the only reason you were hired at your current…job,” she said with mild distaste, “was because of me. You’d be nothing without me. Don’t you ever forget that.” She glowered at me for a moment longer, then stepped back, plastering a fake smile on her face. “Now, let’s go greet our guests. There are a few potential donors to your father’s campaign present this evening. Even though he’s busy, we still need to do our part and show them the mother-daughter bond they believe exists.”
She headed toward the formal sitting room, expecting me to follow her, but my feet remained rooted to the floor. It wasn’t until she almost disappeared around the corner that she realized I was no longer beside her. She spun around, her fierce eyes narrowed on me, indignation covering the lines of her face. She opened her mouth, about to berate me, but I interrupted her.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“Don’t be absurd,” she scoffed. “I’m tired of this behavior. I’ve let it slide the past few months, but it’s getting old. Now, come. Let’s not keep our guests waiting.”
“No, Mother.” I narrowed my eyes at her, remaining firmly in place.
Regardless of the amount of jabs and insults this woman had flung at me over the past twenty-eight years, I continued to do what she wanted, even after returning from
Italy. I had accomplished everything on my list, apart from truly separating myself from my mother’s overbearing shadow. I still showed up here every Friday night because she demanded it. Yes, I told myself the reason for my presence was to get more information out of my father, but was that really it? I knew my father wouldn’t even be here tonight. He was in San Francisco to prepare for a campaign rally there tomorrow morning. The fact I still came here was the slap in the face I needed. I was still under this woman’s thumb. It was time I freed myself from her hold once and for all.
“Why. Do. You. Hate. Me? Why this animosity toward me?” I simply stared at her, waiting for an answer.
She took several steps toward me, keeping her voice low so no one could overhear our conversation, not wanting anyone to think we were anything but the perfect family. “How could you even say such a thing?” Her expression softened, but I knew it was just an act. I doubted this woman had ever uttered a sincere word in her life. “I took care of you. I fed you. Bathed you. Soothed your cries when you woke up at two in the morning.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. If you loved me, why would you tell me there was no Santa?”
She straightened her spine, taken aback by my question, her brows furrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” The vein in my forehead throbbed, my jaw tightening. “I couldn’t have been more than three years old. I rushed down the stairs Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought me, only to find out he hadn’t come.” I stepped toward her, struggling to keep my composure, the memory of that morning still raw. I lost more than the childhood hope Santa represented. I lost the hope of having the love of a family. “When I asked you why, you told me he wasn’t real. I was three. Three! How could you be so cruel and heartless to a little girl?”
She blinked repeatedly before straightening, her expression resolute, unwavering. “Because, Ellie. The sooner you realized how the world worked the better. Life isn’t all fairy tales and dreams. It’s hard. It’s painful. Apparently, you still want to live up in the clouds somewhere.”
“I’d rather be in the clouds and happy than down here on earth and miserable…like you.” I glared at her, my hardened stare slowly softening.
Stepping back, I took stock of my surroundings. Vaulted entryway. Marble tile. Pristine floral arrangements. The sound of polite chatter coming from the sitting room. This was what my life had always consisted of. The image of perfection. Putting on an act. Not letting anyone see what hid behind the mask we all wore, disguising who we truly were. I left Italy to figure out who I was. Maybe I had known all along.
“What am I doing here?” I murmured to myself.
“You’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing,” my mother replied in a clipped tone. “You’re here to show the donors to your father’s campaign that we’re the picture of a happy family. It’s taken a lot of convincing on my part after your little…wedding fiasco. But people are finally starting to forget about that, as evidenced by Brock finally being ahead in the polls again. So, come into the sitting room, tone down the snide comments for one night, and show these people we’re the typical American family with the values they want to see in Congress, then perhaps the White House.”
I backed away, slowly shaking my head. “No.”
My mother stopped, taken by surprise, her wide eyes narrowing at me. “No?”
“That’s right.”
Smiling, an excitement I hadn’t felt since waiting for Dante in front of the Spanish Steps sparked in my veins. I immediately knew the path I was supposed to be on, and this was not it. Mila was right. Sometimes fate did need a push.
“I have to go.” I spun around, heading toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” my mother demanded, stalking after me.
“Back to the clouds,” I replied, rushing out of the house.
Chapter Twelve
I tapped my fingernails on the steering wheel, glancing at the clock, then the GPS on my phone. It was currently 8:45 PM. Dante’s appearance at USC ended at ten. The GPS indicated I would get there at 10:04. All I could do was hope to catch him in time. I almost expected my car to be dead when I tried to start it up after running out of my parents’ house. Instead, it whirred to life, making me think perhaps fate was looking out for me after all. When I merged onto the freeway, I was somewhat surprised I wasn’t immediately met with red brake lights. Of course, that surprise was short-lived. Within a few miles, the notorious traffic on the 101 came to a slow crawl, then almost a dead stop.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I muttered under my breath, feeling the engine sputter a bit. “No, girl. You’ve got this.” I rubbed the dashboard. “Don’t give out on me now. Please. Just let me get to Dante, then you can keel over and die a spectacular death, but not now.”
The car made a few more noises, then miraculously evened out. I released a relieved breath as I tilted my head back, looking through the sunroof at the stars above me.
“Please, God,” I began. “I know we haven’t exactly been on a first-name basis most of my life, but if you could just find it in your heart to help me tonight, I promise I’ll never take your name in vain or violate any of those other amendments or commandments or whatever you call them. I’ll even try to go to church more than once a decade. Just let me get to him. Okay?”
I chewed on my bottom lip, as if waiting for someone to answer. When a horn blared, I snapped my eyes forward, seeing that the car in front of me had moved several yards. I stepped on the gas, inching along the freeway.
Nearly the entire way there, traffic was at a crawl. It picked up a little here and there, getting my hopes up, only to come to a standstill again. I always loved living in Southern California, but right now, I cursed the traffic that plagued this city.
As I slowly made my way closer to USC, I couldn’t take the freeway congestion anymore, my nerves and anxiety at an all-time high. I was so close, but the GPS now showed I wouldn’t get there until 10:15. I couldn’t risk it. I swerved onto the shoulder, zooming by all the cars honking at me as I passed, then took one of the exits for downtown LA. The instant I merged onto the city streets, my shoulders relaxed, relieved I was finally able to go faster than five miles an hour. I glanced at my clock again. 9:51. I almost wanted to pick up my phone and tag Dante in an Instagram post to tell him I was on my way. With my luck, though, fate would make sure a cop saw me, who would then pull me over for texting and driving. I didn’t want to tempt fate any more than I already was.
Just as I passed all the congestion that typically surrounded the Staples Center and thought I was in the clear, I slammed on the brakes, police barricades blocking anyone from driving any farther on Figueroa.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I screamed, gripping the steering wheel, my nostrils flaring. Anxious, I glanced at the clock on my dashboard again. 9:58. I craned my neck to determine how far the backup of cars went as a result of the detour. All I saw were red brake lights for several blocks, if not more. Refusing to let fate push back, I scanned the street for a parking spot. Of course, there weren’t any.
My car inched along, the tension in my body building. For every minute that ticked by, my hope this would be the night our separation ended faded even more. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe I still had unfinished business to take care of before we could be together. But I wasn’t willing to give up. Not yet. Not now.
After an excruciatingly long time, my patience non-existent, I finally reached a side street and was able to veer away from the traffic, taking a left, then a right, returning to Figueroa. It seemed a little too easy. I expected something else to happen to prevent me from getting to USC. Instead, the campus appeared in front of me, the brick pillars holding the sign a welcome sight. I checked the time again. 10:12. I couldn’t waste a second looking around
for a spot in one of the parking garages on campus. Instead, I pulled into a no parking zone on the street. At this point, I didn’t care if my car ended up being towed. The only thing I cared about was getting to Dante before he slipped from my grasp.
Grabbing my purse, I jumped out of my car and hurried toward campus, unsure of where his appearance was being held. Even if I knew what building, I wouldn’t have any clue where to find it. I’d never been here before. The way my luck had been going tonight, I was probably on the opposite end of campus from where I needed to be.
Walking at a quick pace, I pulled my phone from my purse, consulting Google to see if I could find out where he would be. Not looking where I was going, the heel of my shoe got stuck in a crack in the sidewalk and my ankle twisted.
“Dammit!” I exclaimed, gritting my teeth through the pain. After taking a moment, I yanked off my shoes, then continued limping through campus, doing my best not to pay any attention to the shooting ache radiating through my ankle. A voice in my head told me this was yet another sign it was too soon, that I should just forget about it. If this wasn’t fate telling me to back off, I didn’t know what it was. But I wasn’t going to let her win. Not when I was so close that I could almost see his smile. I could almost taste his lips. I could almost smell his aroma.
As I trekked through campus, I spied an advertisement taped to a lamppost, Dante’s brilliant smile beaming back at me. I hurried to the poster, reading it out loud. “Eight to ten PM. World-famous chef and journalist Dante Luciano. Bovard Auditorium.”
With absolutely no idea where that was, I spun in a circle, looking at the names of the buildings encircling me in the quad. A beehive of activity surrounded the steps of one of them, so I limped toward it. This had to be the place. There was no other reason for a building on a college campus to be so busy on a Friday night.
Approaching the front steps, I overheard several discussions about what country they’d want to visit most if money were no object, and knew I was in the right spot. I raced up the steps, pushing my way against the current of people coming out of the building, praying Dante was still here. I squeezed into the lobby and checked my watch. 10:22 PM.