Seventeen #2
With everything he’s juggling, this might be the last time I see them. And if that’s true, I want the memory to be this. Calm. Loving. Not me clawing for something I can’t hold onto. I won’t be the reason Willow keeps him from his daughter.
A tear slips down my cheek as I step outside. Richard is already waiting.
“Wait—what?” Sophie shrieks, nearly dropping a silk blouse. “You left him there with that conniving bitch?”
We’re standing in the middle of Bloomingdale’s in Palo Alto, racks of structured blazers and overpriced handbags circling us. Sophie insists the buyers down here have better taste. Jury’s still out.
“My being there was only making it worse,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to scream at Willow, to fight for him.
But I know how this ends. “I had to leave. But I feel awful. He’s stuck dealing with her alone.
I just—” My throat tightens. I blow out a shaky breath.
“My parents had their moments, but I always felt caught in the middle. Like I had to choose a side. I don’t want that for Amelia. ”
“Doesn’t Matteo get a say in all of this?” Sophie challenges, arching a brow.
“Of course,” I say quickly. “But I’m not going to push him. Willow’s a mess. She’s hurting. Amelia doesn’t remember her. Of course that stings.”
Sophie slips into a silk jacket with a pink organza tie, turning toward the mirror with a skeptical eye.
“Why would she remember her? She ditched a baby with a man she barely knew after a club hookup, and that’s me being generous.
She didn’t know who he was, got lucky with genetics, and bailed when it got hard. ”
My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, sigh, and drop it back into my purse.
“Not Matteo?” Sophie asks.
“Nope. Heather.”
She groans loudly. “What does she want now?”
“No clue. Probably another overshare about their upcoming trip.” I cringe, lowering my voice. “She’s obsessed with telling me about their sex life. Like it’s supposed to be some weird bonding ritual.”
Sophie shudders theatrically. “Your dad’s sex life is none of anyone’s business. Especially yours.”
“Exactly,” I mutter. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s been celibate since the divorce.”
Sophie dumps the jacket and a pair of navy silk pants into the waiting arms of a sales associate. “And she’s still whispering in his ear about your rough diamond project?”
“Constantly. Like it’s coming out of her account.”
“You think she’s trying to get you pushed out?” Sophie asks, eyes narrowing.
I shake my head. “No. Day-to-day operations aren’t her thing. She’s in it for the image, the prestige of dating Olivier Matisse. The second they went public, she friended me on every platform and reposted every gossip piece that mentioned them. Total social climber.”
“Watch your back,” Sophie warns. “She’s not harmless.”
“Oh, I’m watching,” I assure her. “But honestly? If my dad sold the company tomorrow, I’d be okay. I’d find something else to pour myself into.”
“Are you sure about that?” she teases, her grin sharp. “You’re a shark with your vendors. A fashionable shark.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but real. “Speaking of which, Antoine and I are flying down tomorrow in the Marino’s private jet to tour their mine.”
Sophie raises a brow, impressed. “Well, damn.”
“The stones are unique,” I explain, my excitement slipping past the ache of the morning. “Two kimberlite pipes—I’ve read about them but never seen one in person.”
“Straight to nerd alley,” Sophie says with a grin.
“I live there,” I admit, smiling despite myself. “We’re getting our first shipment this week. Subtle earrings to match jacket buttons, some gorgeous cocktail rings, and a necklace I’m obsessed with. If this hits, it could be huge for Olivier.”
“I think it will be. When does the ad campaign start?”
“After the board approves the final designs. That’ll slow us down a bit, but I’ve got a photographer ready, and I’m working with Luster’s PR team on a joint launch.”
“And if the board says no?”
“I’ll throw a full-blown tantrum,” I deadpan.
Sophie grins. “Which you never do. So they’ll panic.”
“If they won’t let me modernize Olivier, maybe it’s time to let Dad retire and sell,” I admit, half-joking, half-serious. “The brand’s desirable. Luxury houses would line up to buy it.”
“And you’d do what, become an editor?”
“No,” I say, mock-serious. “I’d just stay home and read books all day.”
“I’d be the size of a house.”
“I’d need a personal trainer on call.”
“Or,” she says with a wicked smile, “you could be a full-time mom. I hear Amelia’s real mom is a little cuckoo.”
“Don’t,” I warn, sharper than I mean to. The humor drains. “Amelia needs both parents rooting for her.”
“Not if one’s using her as a pawn. That’s not parenting. That’s strategy.”
Her words land hard, because they’re true. My gaze drops to the floor, and my heart tightens until it hurts. “I can’t fight for Matteo. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I was the reason Willow lost her daughter.”
Sophie’s expression softens, all the sharpness gone. “You’re a better woman than me.”
A beat passes, heavy but somehow comforting.
“Wanna see that new rom-com tonight?” she asks, nudging me back toward lighter ground. “I heard it’s actually funny.”
I sigh. “Can’t. Day trip tomorrow. Beauty sleep required.”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. Then, with a wicked little grin: “But if that psycho shows up on your mine tour, I’m sending in backup.”
Her joke pulls a laugh from me, but inside, the ache lingers. Because I know Sophie’s right. Willow’s not harmless. And tomorrow…tomorrow could change everything.