Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stella
T o keep my mind off the flight and obsessing over meeting my mom and dad, Banks tells me little things about the investigations and asks me more questions that have come up since Ash’s gala at the governor’s mansion. He types my answers into a laptop he brought onto the plane.
Zane didn’t want Zarah exposed to the gory details of what happened and we haven’t been watching the news at the penthouse. Banks’ information is a welcome distraction.
There were quite a few prominent businessmen in King’s Crossing charged with solicitation, and someone leaked the complete list of Ash’s clients to the press. The names don’t mean much to me, but I remember a couple Zane linked to the descriptions Zarah could remember, and I’m glad they’ll be punished for what they did to her.
The FBI disassembled the whole operation, and more than two hundred girls were released from Ash’s services. The agents who found us on the cargo ship also raided the apartment building where Nathalie lived and cleaned it out, and they shut down the Black Cat Motel where she and I met Vance Huxley. It turns out that Ash owned that motel, too, and hidden cameras filmed the activity in every room. Banks says Ash turned the footage into raunchy adult movies and sold them on the dark web for thousands of dollars.
Ash knew I was with Nathalie the night she met Huxley. He knew for quite some time I wasn’t dead, maybe even from the exact moment Paulo pretended to shoot me. He thought he could play the game and win, but in his glee to put his hands on Quinn and me, he slipped up and didn’t realize Douglas had driven Nathalie to the club. The mistake cost him.
“Cocky criminals usually fuck up,” Banks says, nodding in satisfaction. “They think they’re God and can get away with anything. A lot of the time all we have to do is sit back and wait for it to happen.”
The FBI and the district attorney’s office are looking through the Blacks’ foundations, and they’re comparing missing child reports to the records Clayton and Ash kept of the “adoptions” they facilitated. I was one of the first, but like Zane said, rarely did they kidnap children who were born in King’s Crossing. Still, the FBI has matched ten missing children plus me, and it gives me a little consolation to know I’m not the only one going through this.
The pilot announces we’ll be descending into Orlando soon, and I press a hand to my queasy stomach.
“Have you ever reunited a child and her parents like this?” I ask Banks who’s busy tapping information into his laptop before he’s asked to put it away.
“Not like this,” he admits. “Not after so long. I’ve worked on kidnappings, ransom drops, situations where they don’t turn out so well. I’ve read up on cases like yours, and after being abducted, there are children who can never adjust to the idea they were kidnapped. They bonded with the people who bought them, and they don’t want to meet their biological parents. If, by some chance, Stella, this doesn’t pan out, it’s okay . You have more than five minutes to decide if this will work, and you can fly back to King’s Crossing whenever you feel like something isn’t right. You have control. Remember that.”
His words relax me. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. I don’t have to get to know Brad and Monica if I don’t want to. I don’t have to stay in St. Petersburg if I don’t want to. Zane will help me do anything I want. He gave me the resources to do whatever I need to do. I can fly to New York and visit Quinn. I can fly to California and work in Mel’s office. I can fly back to the city and marry Zane.
I’m an adult, and I’m in control of my own life.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll stay in St. Pete until you settle in. I can work on a few things at the hotel.”
More knots loosen. “I’d appreciate that.”
He cuts me a glance. “And if you decide not to stay, I’ll put you on a plane back to King’s Crossing and Zane will pick you up. No harm done, okay?”
I sigh. “Okay.”
We stop talking as we start to descend over Orlando. Curiously, I look over the sprawling city. I’ve never been to Florida before, have never seen a palm tree in person. We land and deplane, and I find a bathroom and freshen up. We have to ride a rail train to a different part of the airport, and I’m glad Banks is here to help me figure out where to go. There are so many people, tourists on their way to Walt Disney World, and the crush triggers my anxiety.
My heart is beating so fast I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack, but I’m wide-eyed, too. Disney paraphernalia is everywhere, and there are huge souvenir shops within the airport.
I walk with Banks past enormous Disney princess posters hanging on the walls to a set of escalators. They’ll take us down to the corridor that leads to the luggage claim where my parents said they would meet us.
As we round the musty hallway corner, a couple huddled into each other comes into view. She’s blonde, like me, and the man is a taller, beefier version of Zane. I blink. That’s what we’ll look like in twenty years.
She spots me and leans away from him. Straightens. Steps tentatively forward. Her eyes are the same blue as mine, and surprisingly, our hair is cut into a similar style. She covers her mouth, but even from my place in the middle of the corridor, I can see it doesn’t stop her from crying.
The woman knows I’m her daughter.
Just like I know with all my heart, she’s my mom.
I stumble forward, and Banks says, “I guess no introductions are needed.”
Monica, my mom, takes another step but stops.
We stare at each other, and finally, she opens her arms in welcome.
I run to her, and I never think to count the minutes she hugs me.
There isn’t a place to sit and talk near the baggage claim, cutting our hellos short. We walk through the parking ramp, and Banks says he booked a hotel room in St. Pete and we can visit there or at their condo.
They agree their condo will suffice, and my dad, Brad, leads us to a silver minivan parked on one of the upper floors of the ramp.
The air is hot, thick, and wet, so unlike the weather in King’s Crossing, and in seconds, perspiration drenches my skin. There’s a stickiness to everything, and the ramp smells dirty and dank.
Monica’s silent, but she doesn’t let me go, even going so far as to sit in the backseat with me, letting Banks have the passenger seat in front next to my dad.
Using the GPS on his phone, he navigates the twisty roads leading out of the airport, and Banks starts texting.
I lean into my mom, and it’s peculiar to call her that. She’s a stranger, by every definition of the word, but there’s a connection I can’t describe as she clutches my hand, cuddling me into her side. A hint of the same vanilla scent I like to wear catches my nose, and it calms me. I didn’t know what to expect, meeting my mom and dad. I didn’t think to do any research on them. I don’t know what my dad does for a living, or how my mom spends her days. I wonder where my sister is, if she hates me and that’s why she’s not here to meet me.
My mom’s not slim, but she’s not chubby either. She’s dressed in a sundress and sandals, her skin tanned and her toenails painted a bright red. She looks like a mom, and that soothes me in a way I hadn’t considered whenever I thought about meeting her.
We sit, our fingers laced together, and she taps my cast, her eyebrows raised. I shrug uneasily and she tilts her head in a classic “mom” move I can already interpret. In a way, it reminds me of Maryanne and when I would try to lie to her. My mom won’t let me get out of explaining what happened. She occasionally presses a kiss to my temple, the way Zane does when he wants to touch me but not bother me. I miss him, but Banks looks over his shoulder and winks, and it brings me back to now, when the most important thing I should be doing is reconnecting with the family I lost so long ago.
The road leading away from the airport opens into a four-lane interstate. The toll booths fascinate me, and my dad zips through a lane that’s designated for drivers who have a toll pass.
“How was your flight? Do you want to stop and get something to eat? We have about two hours on the road,” my dad says, looking in the rearview mirror and meeting Monica’s eyes. He has an easy way about him, natural and comfortable behind the wheel.
“If it’s all the same, I’d like to get this sorted as quickly as possible. I’ve arranged to spend a day or two in St. Pete, but as soon as Stella’s comfortable, I need to head back to DC,” Banks reminds him. “Not that things like this can be rushed, but I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” my dad agrees and focuses on the road.
“That’s a lovely name,” Monica says, her voice low. “It fits you.”
I stare at our hands, a tangle of fingers in her lap. “Thank you. I was afraid...”
She rests her cheek on the top of my head. “I know. I was, too.”
They live near the ocean on one of the higher floors of their building, and they have a beautiful view of the water. A large pool glitters beneath their balcony. It couldn’t be cheap living this close to the beach, and I’m glad that despite my abduction they still did well for themselves. Monica shows me the guest room where I’ll be sleeping while I stay here. A pretty rose-colored comforter covers the queen bed, still creased from the packaging, and a dresser sits along one wall wafting a new-wood scent into the air. The floors are blonde hardwood and a pastel rug here and there are quiet accents against all the cream.
“It’s easier to sweep up the sand,” Monica explains. “I hope you’ll spend a lot of time on the beach with me.”
“I would love to. I’ve never seen the ocean before.” I set my suitcase near the dresser.
She watches me, tension pulling at her eyes. “I hope you’ll stay for a while. I want you to like it here. I want to tell you I love you, and that I missed you...but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” She smiles. “I guess we’ll figure this out as we go, huh?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Brad makes coffee in a cheerful and spacious kitchen. The appliances look brand new, and an island that has stools pushed under it invite someone to sit and talk.
When the coffee’s done, we settle in the living room that’s decorated with a subtle ocean and mermaid motif. Shells fill glass bowls, and a gorgeous painting of a mermaid hangs on the wall by the balcony doors.
I sit near my mom on a cozy couch, and Banks and my dad sit in chairs opposite us. A glass coffee table separates us, and we use an old newspaper in lieu of coasters under our mugs.
Banks sips his coffee and loosens his tie. He talks Brad and Monica through my kidnapping, the “adoption,” my time in foster care, how I was found, and a small part of my role in tearing down the Blacks’ empire. “Unfortunately, not everyone will have a happy ending. The Blacks made money off desperate people who wanted to start families. Some parents are finding their children, but others are losing them.”
“It’s a tough situation,” Brad says, hitching his ankle onto one of his knees.
We talk more about abducted children and how difficult it is to get reacquainted with biological parents. Banks doesn’t say anything about the other messed up crap the Blacks were into, and he doesn’t mention Zane. I guess he figures my relationship is private, and I’m grateful he doesn’t reveal I’m engaged to one of the richest men in the United States.
But Monica has an eagle eye and doesn’t miss the diamond ring on my left hand.
I’m engaged to someone.
“In my notes, it says Stella has a sister?” Banks asks to fill a pause in the conversation.
I was wondering about her and I perk up.
“Yes. Adelyn, her husband, and their daughter live in Miami. We didn’t want to overwhelm Stella, and Addie will visit when we tell her it’s okay. She’s beyond excited to meet you, sweetie,” Monica says, squeezing my arm.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her too,” I say, relieved I have time to acclimate and get to know Monica and Brad first and that my fears my sister hated me weren’t true.
Banks closes his laptop and stores it in his briefcase. Looking at his watch, he says, “I suppose I should get along to my hotel. I can come by in the morning, answer any questions that might pop up between now and then?” he asks, standing.
“That would be perfect. Please join us for breakfast,” Monica says, but instead of shaking his hand, she throws her arms around him. “Thank you for bringing our daughter back to us.”
Awkwardly, he pats her shoulder. “It was nothing we did.”
“Be that as it may, we’re extremely grateful,” Brad says, shaking Banks’ hand when my mom releases him. “I’ll drive you.”
“Appreciate it. Stella? Can you give me a second?”
We step onto the balcony and he closes the door. The humidity and heat hit me in the face, and the tangy scents of salt and sand fill my nose.
“They seem like nice people,” he says, resting his forearms on the rail and staring out over the ocean view.
“Yeah, I guess they are.” Nothing is wrong, but I feel like I know Banks better than the woman who gave birth to me.
“I won’t fly out tomorrow, but probably the day after,” he says, studying me out of the corners of his eyes.
“I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to keep you.” I resist the urge to ask him to bring me back to King’s Crossing. He’s not going to the city, anyway, and my parents would be disappointed if I bailed on them without giving them a chance. I would be disappointed in myself. Since when have I ever backed out of anything because I was scared?
“You’re not. Whatever you need, Stella. I mean that. We owe you a great deal.”
“I’ll be okay. I’m just a little unsteady.”
“That’s normal. You’ve been through a lot, and you need to slow down, relax, and enjoy yourself. Can’t think of a better place to do it,” he says, tilting his head toward the beach. “Your parents live where people pay to vacation. Take advantage.”
I can tell he wants me to smile, so I do.
He pats my shoulder, and after another round of teary thank-yous and goodbyes, my dad and Banks leave.
My mom and I stand in the kitchen, and she’s so much like me but a stranger, too. She feels it and bites her lip.
“I don’t know anything about you.” She starts to cry.
“Oh, Mom,” I say.
Hearing me call her that, she cries harder, and any apprehension I had left melts away.
Banks leaves a couple of days later. He contacted a family services center, and a therapist agreed to come to my mom and dad’s condo three times a week to help us adjust and get to know each other. We talk about the past and how to navigate that loss, expectations and how to let them go, and the future. I always fall silent—I can’t plan a future without Zane in it.
My sister, who looks more like our dad than our mom, embraces me and sobs. I feel the same connection I did when I met Mom for the first time, the familiarity of a stranger, and I’m awed when she shoves my niece into my arms without a second thought. She trusts me to hold her baby and I’m barely an acquaintance.
On the beach, as the water laps at our feet and seagulls fly above us in a gunmetal grey sky, Addie stops me and brushes the hair out of my eyes. “But you’re not. You’re family.”
I start to cry, and I push my face into Ariel’s soft, fluffy blonde curls.
Because of her job, she can’t stay long, but I don’t mind. I’m still getting used to being Mom and Dad’s daughter and meeting my sister and listening to her stories of growing up with my ghost threatens to overwhelm me. I’m glad she didn’t bring her husband, my brother-in-law. I think that would have been too much in too short amount of time.
Four weeks into my visit on a quiet afternoon when Dad has an errand and my mom’s reluctantly meeting a friend for coffee, I settle onto my bed and call Zane. I miss him like crazy, and I want to hear his voice. We FaceTime, and I can see his office in the background.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice warm and rough.
“Hey,” I return softly, wanting to touch the screen, wanting to feel his whiskers under my fingertips. His hair is mussed, and his tie is loose around his neck. My Zane’s been working hard. “How are you doing?”
He sighs, opens his mouth to answer, then stops, and he smiles. “Great! Things are going good. Crazy as shit around here. All of Clayton’s and Ash’s businesses are still shut down and we’re scrambling to fill some holes. I had to reopen the Crowne...I wanted to keep it empty so Zarah could visit, but the demand was just too high. The sleeping rooms are booked solid for the next three years, and we’ve had actual fist fights in Banquets for the ballroom.”
“That is crazy.” In a way, I’m glad I’m not there to watch the fallout of Clayton’s and Ash’s criminal activity, on the other hand, it would be nice to be Zane’s secretary again, help him in any way I can. Being locked up as Ash’s personal accountant was a horrible experience, but if it did anything, it kept my mind sharp. Where I fell behind in some things, pop culture, world news, I advanced in others. Ash always made sure I had the top software at my disposal and gave me the resources to learn how to use it. But Zane hired a more competent secretary, and he doesn’t need me now.
“We went to Max’s funeral,” he says. “Well, the memorial service. His brother and the rest of Max’s family weren’t kind. They blame us for his death, and we weren’t allowed to attend the church service. It hurt Zarah pretty badly.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.” I liked Max, and I wish I could have been there to tell him how sorry I am that he died for a cause that meant so little. He wouldn’t see it that way, but I can understand why the Cooks don’t want anything to do with Zane.
He smiles, and his eyes soften. “Don’t be. Tell me about your mom and dad.”
I talk to him about staying up late with Mom, watching movies that happen to be both our favorites, our long walks on the beach. My sister welcoming me into the family, no questions asked. My dad, hesitant at first, then talking to me more and more. They retired early, and they don’t work. My sister couldn’t stay long and had to go back to Miami, and the three of us have settled into a routine of enjoying spending time together. I help my mom cook—an experience that means a lot to me as I often helped Maryanne in the kitchen—but we go out sometimes, too.
“Have you told them about Ash?”
I know he means the time I spent at Black Enterprises, and I shake my head. “No. I could barely explain how I hurt my wrist. They already feel horrible I grew up in foster care when they were alive and well and were able to love and take care of me. I told them about Maryanne, and how she helped me. I don’t want to burden them with too much at once.”
“I’m happy for you, Stella.” He says it quietly, and through our screens, I can feel him withdraw. He’s not going to ask me to come home. “I have a meeting in ten minutes, so I better go. Your birthday and the holidays are coming up. Enjoy them with your family.”
My heart sinks. Zarah and I won’t celebrate our birthdays together. I won’t be spending Thanksgiving or Christmas with her and Zane, Lucille, and Douglas. It’s supposed to be a gift, having my parents back, but I’m homesick and I don’t know what to do. “I will. Tell Zarah I miss her. Zane—”
I stop because I’m not sure if he wants to hear it—that I love him, that I miss him. That sometimes pain jabs me so sharply I can barely breathe. Not when he’s working so hard to clean up the mess Clayton and Ash left behind, and not when he’s not sure if or when I’m ever coming back. Not when I don’t even know that for myself.
Zane grins. “Back at ya, sweetheart. Bye.”
He disconnects and my screen blanks out. I know he didn’t want a long, drawn-out goodbye, but the abruptness leaves an ache in my chest that won’t go away, no matter how hard I rub at my heart.
We celebrate my birthday at a seafood place, and the waitress serves me a chocolate cupcake, a single pink candle flickering in the middle of the mountain of frosting. Everyone tells me to close my eyes and make a wish, but I don’t know what to wish for. I have everything I ever wanted, but somehow it’s not enough and panic claws at my chest. My mom adds to it, saying both sets of grandparents want to meet me when I’m ready.
I swallow back the anxiety attack, and she sees it. She pats my hand and says, “It’s okay, Stella. We’ll go day by day. They understand this is tough for you, but it was hard on them, too. Remember, your abduction didn’t affect only you, it affected our entire family. We were all devastated, and they want to get to know you just as much as we do.”
I nod, my heart easing back into a slower rhythm as we step out of the restaurant. I’m grateful they won’t force me to do anything, but I understand they aren’t going to give me all the time in the world. I have grandparents who missed me. Who probably looked at every woman my age, looked into her face, studied her features, and wondered if I belonged to them.
In the weeks following Thanksgiving, Mom and I spend a lot of time together. We talk about all the years we missed, our likes and dislikes. I tell her about Quinn, but I don’t mention Zane, and she doesn’t ask. She muses that after the dust settles, they’ll sue the Blacks for damages. She says it will give me a good financial foundation to help me plan the rest of my life. I could have told her then, if I marry Zane money won’t be an issue, but I want her to sue anyway, for all the pain and suffering. I hope every parent of every child, every woman forced to serve Ash on her back, sues for restitution. I hope the Blacks don’t have a penny left after everyone is given their due.
I don’t spend all my time with Mom. My dad teaches me how to play golf. He’s a man of few words, and we play a few agonizing games before I realize this is how he’s comfortable getting to know me.
We chat between him teaching me the rules, how to grip a club properly, and how to swing. He asks about how I grew up, my experiences in the various foster homes, where they were located in the city. The Christiansons were always well off, and Zane had a better chance of running into them than my foster families did. I know why my dad is wondering, though. Did they ever pass me or my foster parents at the store? At the mall? Had they ever passed a woman pushing a blonde-haired baby in a stroller downtown and not known it was me?
While he teases me if my ball plops into a pond or is wedged into a sand trap, he asks my favorite color, my favorite food. We talk about politics and the state of the world, and his eyes gleam with pride when I tell him about my job at Maddox Industries and renting my own apartment after I aged out of Maryanne’s house. He’s proud of my accomplishments, and he parades me around the country club, showing me off to his friends.
Those golf games turn into one of my favorite activities. A close second to the time I spend with my mom, walking on the beach, having similar conversations. She likes to ask about my foster moms, if they were kind to me—I always skim over the ones who weren’t—the boys I dated, how I lost my virginity. She’s soaking up the “mom’s stuff” and it’s a perfect complement to the time I spend with my dad. In the evenings, we hang out together, playing board games after dinner, sipping wine or coffee while the ocean waves kiss the shore.
We go shopping, and my mom and I favor similar styles and colors. She loves to buy me clothes, and jewelry too, always eyeing the ring on my left hand, but never asking. We swim and go biking along the paths near the beach. I’ve never had such carefree days.
Or such lonely nights.
I want to call Zane every day, but even if I let myself call just a fraction of the times I want, it would still be too much, and I don’t call at all.
Every once in a while he’ll text, a line here and there, hoping I’m still having fun or that he misses me, but I’m waiting for something that’s not going to happen. He won’t ask when I’m going back to the city, and he won’t ask if I’m staying here. Every choice is mine, and he’s determined not to influence them.
He messaged me a few weeks into the New Year and asked if I got my period. Before I left, we made love so many times without condoms it was almost a surprise I didn’t turn up pregnant, but I called to tell him that I wasn’t and the silence on the other end while I waited for his reply weighed me down. I don’t know if he was happy or not, he only thanked me for calling and wished me a Happy New Year.
I’d been gone three months by then, and it felt like three years.
And I’m beginning to think he doesn’t want me to go back.
Summer is around the corner, and I’ve been with Mom and Dad in St. Pete for seven months.
I try to enjoy my time with them, and I do, but missing Zane is always in the back of my mind, like a chronic pain a doctor says will never go away. Some days I can tolerate it, others I cry myself to sleep because I miss him so much and I have no idea what I should do.
My cast came off, and there isn’t one speck of evidence on my body to give away all that happened to me the previous year. It’s not lost on me I’d be preparing to have our baby if Zane and I had made one during our lovemaking. Maybe I’d be in King’s Crossing shopping for strollers and baby clothes instead of walking the beach like I started doing trying to find peace in the distant horizon.
One late afternoon, my mom finds me a good distance away from their condo sitting on the sand. If Mom and I aren’t hanging out or if Dad and I aren’t playing golf, I spend most, if not all, of my free time on the beach or sitting at the edge of the pool, my feet in the water, the way Zarah had taken to at the Crowne. My parents are careful not to crowd me and I appreciate that, but Monica is still my mother. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t raise me—her mother’s intuition knows something’s off.
We sit near the water, close enough the waves brush over our toes. The sky is a brilliant blue and there isn’t one cloud to mar the perfection. Seagulls squawk, begging for food, and families who have chosen St. Pete as their vacation getaway swarm the beach. I don’t mind the people or the kids running around clutching their buckets full of shells.
They help me feel not so alone.
And I do feel alone. It doesn’t matter how often my mom, dad, and my sister, who has visited quite a few times since I met her last fall, say they love me. I miss Zane and Zarah, I miss the life I could have had with them had I stayed in King’s Crossing.
“Are you ready to talk?” Monica asks. She’s wearing a swimsuit, but she also has on a sheer black coverup that won’t take long to dry if it gets wet. Her blonde hair flutters in the breeze, the grey streaks catching in the sunlight. They turn her hair an ashy blonde, and it suits her. She’s beautiful, and I hope I age half as gracefully as she is.
I feel selfish and horrible, looking into her eyes that are so much like mine, that finding her and Dad isn’t enough to make me happy. I dreamed about having a family for so long, or more accurately, living with the pain of knowing I’d never have a mom and dad, that now that I do, it should be enough.
Mom twists the engagement ring on my finger, encouraging me to talk. “Maybe it has something to do with this?”
Miserable, I nod, tears clogging my throat.
“Are you engaged, Stella? Why haven’t you mentioned him? Have you two spoken since you moved here?”
I look away. Is that what I did? Moved to St. Pete? I still consider my room their guest room. My suitcase, though unpacked, sits in the closet. I still feel like a guest, like this is temporary.
All of my things are at Zane’s, if I claim them. Clothes Zarah bought for me, or Mel, whom I also miss, but have lost touch with in the shuffle of my new life. If Zane did what he said he was going to do while I’m gone, my apartment is cleaned out, too. Maybe he sold the building.
Finding my parents didn’t give me the stability I thought it would. I still feel homeless. Like an important part of my life is missing.
“Yeah, I’m engaged. We’ve spoken a little, texting mostly.”
“What’s his name, sweetheart? Does he want to come visit you?”
“I’m engaged to Zane, Mom, and I don’t think so. He’s too busy.”
Her eyes widen despite the bright sunlight. “How did you meet him? At work?”
She knows I worked in the payroll department at Maddox Industries, and I nod. I explain how Zane and I started seeing each other and all the crazy things that happened after that because Ash recognized my name. I tell her about meeting Zarah, and how I found out Ash was selling her. That leads to letting Ash take me in exchange for Zarah’s freedom that fateful night at Zane’s party. I quickly skim over Sergio Cardello and how Zane hated me because he believed the lies. It all seems so long ago, and irrelevant. Instead, I admit how uncomfortable his money makes me and his penthouse that doesn’t feel like home, but how I don’t feel like I belong here, either. I cry into her shoulder and she holds me and rubs my back in the way I always wished a mother would.
I wipe my eyes and sniffle. “I’m sorry. I must sound ungrateful.”
“You sound confused, hurt, and overwhelmed. Stella, you’re dealing with so much right now, you’re hardly ungrateful.”
Her understanding eases my heart as does her embrace. The last thing I want to be is ungrateful when all I’ve ever done is try to appreciate the things I have instead of focusing on the things I’ve had to live without.
“Do you want to go back to King’s Crossing? Zane must be just as miserable as you are.”
I let sand drift through my fingers. “It doesn’t seem like he is. He works hard—he’s helping clean up the Blacks’ mess in every way he can. He’s hiring their employees who have lost their jobs, helping the girls who were working for Ash. He probably doesn’t even think about me.”
“I don’t believe that,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “If he loves you as much as you sound like you love him, these past seven months have been excruciating.”
I shrug, unsure of what to say. If he’s unhappy I’ve been in Florida for so long, he hasn’t told me.
“Come on, things have a way of working out. Maybe all he’s waiting for is a sign that you want to go back. He’s very understanding, isn’t he?” she asks, standing. She holds out a hand to pull me to my feet. “To give you so much time after he’s had to live so long without you.”
It sounds so romantic when she says it like that, but I don’t know if my story has a happy ending. I gave up on one a long time ago.
We walk back to the condo, the wind whipping my hair into my face.
Mom and I go see a movie that night, and I try to enjoy it, but as we watch the romantic comedy, I let tears run down my cheeks. I wish someone would tell me what to do, though the only person who can make any decisions for me is me.