you can’t hear me out on this, we have no deal.”
I rest my back against the chair, appraising her. She’s serious. I guess I can give her an inch, but I’ll be damned if she takes that mile. Toying with material of the napkin opened up before me, I assess her, the clear look of panic in her eyes. She needs me to agree to this. That’s how desperate she is.
“All right. I can respect that.”
Surprise flits across her features and her eyes widen, like she truly can’t believe I agreed to it. I’m sure there was a part of her that was hoping I wouldn’t agree, so she wouldn’t have to go through with whatever the hell her plan is. “Good. That’s good.” She fidgets in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. Suddenly trapped here with no other way out.
I smirk. “You’ll beg me for it, anyway. I’m not too worried.”
This time she scoffs. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“What can I say, I know my assets. And I know you.”
Her lips thin into a grim line, and for a second, it looks like she wants to say more but, eventually, decides not to. She changes the subject instead.
“So, you met my parents. I’m sure that was fun.” She glances up at me as she asks the question, and our gazes lock. Everything she wants to ask is written on her face. All the things she wants to say are there in her eyes.
“Not particularly, no. Monica and Michael are…curious people. Much different than I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?” she asks, truly curious.
Something warmer.
Parents who are just like you. The real you.
“Everything and nothing,” I respond, keeping it vague.
She smiles sadly. “I think I can read between the lines here. They got rid of everything that reminds them of me, didn’t they?” So much emotion reflects back at me in her eyes. She knows the truth, without me even needing to give her an answer.
“I didn’t pay much attention. I was there for one thing. Didn’t care much for the details.”
She scoffs. “Right. And you say I’m the only liar here?”
I inhale a deep breath, leaning forward, crowding her personal space. “What do you want me to say, Mackenzie? That they erased you from their lives? That they praise the life of your sister instead of the daughter they still have alive?”
Her chin wobbles, and I curse under my breath, shaking my head. Too far, asshole.
As if remembering we’re in public, she nods, sniffing back her emotions. “Are we done here? I need to pack.”
I sigh and nod begrudgingly, because there is nothing left to say.
Mackenzie is a lot more broken inside than she’s ever let on, and after my visit with her parents, I’m starting to understand why. I’m slowly understanding her more, and I plan to strip her of all those layers until she’s laid bare.
I feel Kat’s disapproving glare drilling into my back as I finish packing. She’s been giving me that silent glare since I walked back inside after dinner. Heaving a deep sigh, I turn to face her, already feeling weighted down by my decisions.
“Just say it.”
“I think this is a huge mistake.” I’ve never heard her sound more sure of anything, and that frightens me to no end.
“I know you do, but I don’t really have any other choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Mackenzie. And I’m afraid for you. We can’t trust him.”
“I know. But he can’t trust me either.”
She frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Keep your enemies close. That’s why I’m doing this. He gets my body, and I get everything else. I’ve drawn the line in the sand. I know where my limits are and so does he.”
“I’m not stupid. And neither are you. I know you love him. This is a disaster in the making.”
“I know. But there’s no turning back now.”
She drops her head back, looking up at ceiling for strength, but then she nods, coming to terms with this. Kat opens her arms, and on instinct, I fall into her, squeezing her like she’s a lifeline.
“I’m only a call away if you need me.”
“I love you,” I breathe into the comfort of her arms.
After I finish gathering my stuff, I say another round of goodbyes to Kat and Vera, before I get into the black Town Car Baz has sent for me. We’re chartering his private jet back to Los Angeles, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid Kat is right—this is a mistake.
But deep down, I’m even more excited. Sanity