We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,62

hesitation in his voice. “Nothing.”

A fissure erupts beneath my ribs, tearing through the fragile cartilage. Breaking me open, into fragments.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t bear to hear another word from his cruel, contemptuous mouth.

Tears blind me as I dodge into the dark. I don’t bother wiping them. Stumbling sightlessly through garden beds, I circle around to the front door, shove my key into the lock, and fall across the threshold. A pained sob chokes out of my throat as I hit the floor, echoing back at me in the vaulted atrium.

Lying there on the cold marble, the estate’s vastness presses in at me from all sides… it’s empty rooms a perfect reflection of the hollow panging inside my heart.

The following morning, I stagger into the kitchen after a sleepless night and stop cold at the sight that greets me. Surely, I must be hallucinating from sheer exhaustion. Because sitting at the island countertop, sipping mugs of coffee and swapping sections of The Boston Globe, are my parents.

They glance up when I walk in, matching smiles spreading across their faces.

“Good morning, Josephine,” Vincent says casually. As though he’s just come back from an hour-long trip to the grocery store, not a monthlong walkabout through Sub-Saharan Africa.

“You’re back early.”

“Are we not allowed to return to our home without advanced notice?” A light laugh titters out of Blair’s mouth. “We wanted to surprise you, so we moved up our flight plan by a few days.”

“Best part of having a private jet.” Vincent grins. “No airline fees for changing your itinerary.”

My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. “When did you arrive?”

“About an hour ago. We decided to let you sleep in. Though I must say, it doesn’t appear to have done much good. You look tired, Josephine. A wrinkle appears between my mother’s brows as she examines me. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’m fine.”

“There are circles under your eyes. Maybe I should make a call to my dermatologist. There’s a wonderful cream he could give you to—”

“Mom.” My teeth grind together. “I said I’m fine.”

“Well, then get over here and give us a hug. It’s been two weeks since we’ve seen you!”

“Three,” I murmur under my breath, crossing the room to them.

Neither stands up. From their stools, they half-turn and extend their arms out for an embrace. I step forward like a good soldier and allow them to enfold me in a group hug. In my head, I count out exactly five seconds before they disengage.

“Have you lost weight?” Blair asks, leaning back to examine me with a critical eye. “You look thinner.”

I take a deep breath and swallow down the useless words that claw at the back of my throat. Walking around to the other side of the island, I sit on a stool and try not to slouch beneath the weight of their stares.

“You know, darling…” My mother folds her hands on the countertop — a practiced move I recognize from press junkets and publicity tours. “You don’t seem very happy to see us.”

“Of course I’m happy to see you.” I pause. “It’s just… June 5th isn’t for another week. Remember?”

They trade a bewildered glance.

A fissure of concern shoots through me. “You are planning to be home for my birthday, aren’t you?”

“Ah! Right. Your birthday.” Vincent nods. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Blair is giving me her most soothing smile — the one she uses on frazzled employees. “Things have just been so busy at VALENT lately, we wanted to make sure we got a chance to see you before your graduation. Can you believe, in just three short weeks, you’ll be done with high school?”

“Two weeks, actually. The ceremony is June 10th. I already reserved your tickets.”

“Of course, of course. That’s what I meant to say.” She presses a hand apologetically to her temple. “Jetlag.”

“Mmm.”

“How are your classes going?” Vincent steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. “GPA still holding strong?”

My lips tug up at the corners. “Strong enough to make me the Valedictorian of my class.”

“With the intelligence we passed down to you, I’d expect nothing less.” My father grins. “You were predisposed to brilliance.”

My lips flatten.

Blair’s expression turns quizzical. “That means you’ll give a speech, doesn’t it, darling? At the commencement?”

“Yes.”

“Have you finished writing it yet?” She tucks a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. “I’d be happy to run my eyes over it for you. Offer some constructive critique. I’ve given my fair share of speeches over the years.”

“Your mother truly is a