Chapter One #4
‘Then it’s a good thing I care about my work, first and foremost, and about gossip…never.’
‘Fine. Then we’re agreed?’
‘You’re not the only one with…conditions,’ I say. ‘I have a single one for you, which is this—insult my work again and you’re off this project. Without second chances.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘You did,’ I say, not unkindly. ‘You implied I create flashy buildings purely for magazine covers. I build things that outlast me. If I wanted fame, I’d have stayed in London pretending glass is a personality.’
A muscle moves in her jaw. She nods once. ‘Fine.’
‘Oh, and one more thing…’ I say taking satisfaction in watching her turn even stiffer, stunning in the coiled springiness of her fiery temperament.
‘If you change your mind about the past, about wanting a conversation—ever—you tell me. You don’t swallow it like poison and then spit it at me when it’s too late to treat. ’
Silence reigns again. The air conditioner hums and a palm tree bows its head outside as if the heat insists on respect.
Her mouth opens, then closes. When she speaks, the words are precise and clear. ‘That will never happen. I told you everything I needed to say that morning in the hotel room.’
‘Without knowing all the facts. But I’ll wait until you get to the point where you can’t help yourself.’
She studies me. For what, I don’t know. Mercy? Weakness? Subterfuge?
I take it all out of her hands by rising, strolling to the window. ‘Eight a.m. Don’t be late.’
When she’s gone, my body unclenches from a position I didn’t know it had assumed. I exhale and the room feels too big for the breath I have.
My phone sits on the table like a sulking child. I pick it up and for a second, the reflex to check it bites without warning. I don’t. The phantom buzz that used to belong to Tamara is still coded into my nerves.
It’s urgent, meet me. I’m—
No. I was an idiot who mistook manipulation for a demand that meant something.
And while it set a whole cascade of unwanted events into motion, I will never be caught out like that again.
The door opens without a knock, and even without turning from the window, I know who it is.
Nana—my living nightmare in the flesh wearing a three-piece suit.
It sticks in my craw that we can’t fully divest ourselves of our tyrant of a grandfather, but sadly he still holds enough clout in this city to stall any progress Ashon and I wish to make on this project.
And, damn it, the need to respect one’s elders is too ingrained in me to reject him outright.
I watch his reflection in the glass.
His hair is more silver now, his skin a touch paler on his cheeks, but his eyes are the same shade of ruthless.
‘I see that, like Ashon, you too are dallying with another Rockson girl.’
A shard of heat slides through my throat. ‘Tessa is not a girl.’
‘She is a Rockson,’ he says, as if he’s diagnosing a defect. ‘That in itself is liability enough.’
I turn from the window but stay standing because I know he wants me seated.
‘Need I remind you that one of those liabilities is the mother of your first great-grandchild and is expecting your second?’ I hold my hand up before he answers.
‘If you came here to provoke me, you’ve picked a poor day. I’m busy.’
‘You’ll be busier if you give me one more reason to make Ashon my only heir.’
There it is.
The familiar threat summoned, the promise of exclusion held like a garnishment of tough love. I feel the old resistance begin to rise. The boy in me who threw perfect designs into the bin just to watch his face flinch. I let the boy stand beside me and then I make him sit.
‘You keep offering me keys to a kingdom I never asked for. Fine. Come tomorrow. But if you insult Tessa, you leave.’
Something almost like amusement moves in his eyes. ‘You’re protecting her? After knowing her for what…five minutes?’
I look away because if anyone can read every second of what passed between Tessa Rockson and me four years ago, it’s my too-shrewd grandfather. ‘Again, Nana, that is not your concern,’ I say softly.
He considers me for a long three seconds, then simply says, ‘Tomorrow. I look forward to seeing this visionary architectural masterpiece your cousin won’t shut up about.’ He leaves, taking the temperature with him.
I stand very still until the room forgets him. Then I sit and pull the plan back up on the wall monitor.
Break the spine, she said. Interrupt the procession. Invite quiet.
My hand moves. The corridor bends where a wind rose tells me it wants to bend anyway. The plaza loosens, the axis becomes a path with a heartbeat instead of a runway. I drag a shade of green over the corner of the library, plant a grove in pixels.
I don’t realise I’m smiling until I feel it on my face.
By the time I leave the room, the city has turned gold. The air tastes like the moment before rain. Downstairs, in the war room Ashon assigned us, the wall is blank and waiting, pins and string and ink laid out with industrious optimism.
A glass door with our names on the schedule like a dare.