Chapter 2
Victoria kept her eyes closed as her father navigated his way through Bel Air. She’d been given a shot of painkiller before
being discharged, but even with the drug coursing through her, she still felt every bump in the road. Her body ached worse
than it had, and the swelling had yet to hit its peak, so there was more pain to come. She really did have to spend some time
rethinking her career choice, she told herself, trying not to wince as the small SUV turned a corner and her body swayed with
the movement.
“We’re nearly there,” her father told her, his voice concerned.
“I’m fine.” A lie told in what she hoped was a cheerful tone.
“I wish that was true. All right, last turn.”
She knew better than to brace herself. Tightening her muscles would only make her ribs hurt more. So she relaxed and just
went with it, wishing she were already in her bed and drifting off to sleep. Of course that would mean being in the house
with her mother, so maybe the car ride wasn’t so bad after all.
“We’re here.”
She opened her eyes and saw the familiar three-story estate that was her parents’ house.
It was slightly pretentious, meticulously kept and befitting a senior executive at a major motion picture studio and his elegant and wealthy wife.
As this was Bel Air, no one worried about having “too much.” Not that her parents had been interested in keeping up with others or even impressing them.
Milton and Ava simply lived their lives.
Other people would gossip without anyone encouraging them, her mother had always said. So why worry about it?
When she’d been a kid, that gem of wisdom had usually been part of a conversation that included instructions for her to sit
up straight and do better in her classes. These days it was accompanied by a sigh as Ava struggled to reconcile what she’d
always wanted her daughter to be with who her daughter had become.
As if she had the ability to sense when things were going to happen before they actually did, Ava was already standing on
the wide front porch at the far side of the circular driveway.
“I can feel the disapproval from here,” Victoria murmured.
“Stop! Your mother’s been worried about you. We both have. No one likes to be told that their child is in the hospital.”
Something she could believe, Victoria thought as they drove up to the porch. But her mother would have a whole lot more than
concern on her mind.
Ava moved toward them, all tall, blonde and elegantly dressed. Had this been the 1940s, she would have been wearing pearls.
The expensive ones from Tahiti. She was the kind of woman who took charge of every situation, who always knew exactly what
to do, regardless of circumstances. She was polite, intelligent, emotionally contained and never, ever cried. Victoria wasn’t
sure the woman had ever once broken into a sweat. They had nothing in common.
Being adopted, she didn’t look like her father either, but somehow that didn’t bother her as much.
Around her mother she felt like a small, dark-haired anomaly.
Or possibly another species. She was petite, athletic and restless.
Rumor had it as a child, she’d literally been unable to sit still for more than thirty seconds.
In the second grade, one of her better teachers had insisted she run laps around the playground at the top of every hour.
Ava hadn’t appreciated the suggestion, but for Victoria, it had worked.
After her run, she was able to focus—at least better than she had.
It was a lesson she’d carried through her life. Even now, before she went to work on her screenplay, she took a run. Not anything
that she would be doing in the short-term, she thought as her mother moved to the SUV and opened the passenger door.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks, Mom. I feel terrible, and I know how much you like things to match.”
Up close her mother was beautiful. Wide blue eyes, perfect skin, almost no wrinkles. At some point Victoria was going to have
to ask her about her skin care regimen, because whatever she did, it was working. But probably not today. She doubted any
product would sit well on her black eyes.
“I tried to get a ramp put in,” Ava said, ignoring her daughter’s humor, “but there wasn’t time.”
A ramp for . . . ? Ah. Vitoria eyed the three stairs leading up to the front door.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re on crutches and you have a broken leg. That’s no one’s definition of fine.”
“It’s an incomplete fracture of the fibula. Hardly worth mentioning.”
A faint frown pulled Ava’s eyebrows toward each other. “And bruised ribs, a sprained wrist and black eyes, not to mention
whatever other bruises you have. I suppose they’re nothing either?”
Victoria managed a smile before bracing herself to turn toward the door so she could get out of the SUV. “You should see the
other guy.”
“Victoria.”
“I know, I know. I’m incorrigible. That time you and Dad nearly put me in juvie? You should have done it for my own good.”
As her rebellions had all been against her mother rather than the world, she’d never had a life of crime, and juvenile detention had never been an issue, but she had to admit she kind of liked riling up Ava. Her mother instinctively took a step back and looked to her husband for guidance.
“Do something,” her mother murmured.
He briefly touched Ava’s shoulder before looking at Victoria. “You couldn’t wait five minutes to start being a brat?”
She eyed the stairs she was going to have to take to get in the house. “In five minutes, I’m going to want to throw up, so
being funny then won’t be an option.”
He stepped toward her. “Tell me how to help.”
“I don’t think you can.” She slid out of the vehicle, gently landing on her good leg. Her father handed her the crutches.
Three stairs, she told herself. She could do it.
She took a single hop-step and nearly moaned as pain ripped through her, despite the shot. Both her parents instinctively
moved closer.
“Don’t,” she said, not looking at them. “And whatever you do, if you ever loved me, don’t put your arms around my waist to
help.”
Because that would squeeze her ribs, and she honest to God didn’t think she could get through that without vomiting or passing
out.
“How about if we support you under your elbows,” her mother said. “You’re strong enough to hold the position, and we can take
most of your weight.”
Victoria considered the suggestion, then nodded. She put her crutches on the first step and bent her arms, bracing herself.
Her father took one side and her mom the other.
“On three,” Ava said. “One, two, three.”
They lifted and Victoria pushed off the ground at the same time. The world blurred as pain exploded, sweat broke out on her
back and that fairly light breakfast she’d eaten rose in her throat.
She ignored it all. Two more steps, she told herself as she gritted her teeth. Then she was done.
It only took seconds, but she was close to fainting when she reached the actual porch. Her parents watched her, their concern
obvious.
“The hospital shouldn’t have released you,” her mother fumed. “I’m going to make a call.”
“I’m here, Mom, and I’m fine.”
At least she would be. And once she was a little more healed, she would head to her own place. Thankfully her incomplete fracture
of the fibula was in her left leg, so technically she could drive. But she had to admit that right now the thrill of independence
wasn’t very appealing.
She made her slow way into the house. The large, gracious entry was normally a favorite of hers—as a kid she’d roller-skated
through it on rare rainy days. But now the vastness seemed overwhelming, although nothing when compared with the wide, sweeping
staircase that acted as an unconquerable barrier between her and sweet sleep.
She hesitated, knowing there was a solution, but not one she liked.
“I had it serviced last month,” her mother told her, as if able to read her mind. Which she probably could. Ava could do anything.
“I’m fine,” Victoria lied, forcing herself to hobble toward the rear hallway and the elevator that would whisk her to the
second floor.
With each hop-step, her dread increased. The nausea returned, along with the cold sweat and some weird sweet-sick smell that
was probably just nerves.
When she’d been maybe four or five, she’d gone into the elevator by herself—a clear violation of house rules, not that she’d ever been much of a rule-follower.
For reasons the tech hadn’t been able to explain, the elevator had gotten jammed between floors, trapping her inside.
She’d started screaming and hadn’t stopped for the nearly two hours it took to get her out.
Since then, she tended to avoid small spaces in general and elevators in particular. Especially this one.
“I’ll ride with you,” her father said. “We just signed one of the Hemsworth brothers to a new movie. There’s going to be a
nude scene.”
Victoria looked at him. “You’re trying to distract with conversation about Hemsworth-brother porn? I genuinely can’t decide
if that’s really sweet or kind of twisted.”
The elevator doors opened. Victoria sucked in a breath, then forced herself to move inside. Her dad followed and pushed the
button for the second floor. As the doors closed, he moved in front of her.
“One potato.”
She groaned. “Dad, please.”
He ignored her. “One potato.”
“This is so stupid,” she muttered. “But you’re old, so I’ll indulge you. Two potato.”
“Three potato.”
“Four,” she grumbled.
The elevator shuddered to a stop, and the door opened. Usually it took a full five potatoes to make it up to the second floor,
but their witty banter had obviously taken time. She hurried out as quickly as she could, leaving the elevator behind, turned
in the hallway and headed for her room.
She only had to go about halfway down the hall, but the journey felt endless. She was shaking by the time she crossed the
threshold. In front of her, her mother stood by the bed.