13. Amara
AMARA
June's curls spring back the moment I smooth them down. I work more coconut oil between my palms, section another piece, twist it gently until it forms a defined spiral.
"Hold still, baby."
"I am holding still."
She's not. She wiggles on the kitchen stool, swinging her legs, humming that ocean documentary theme that's apparently embedded itself permanently in her brain.
"We're going to be late for school if you keep moving."
"Sorry." She stills for approximately three seconds before her legs start swinging again. "Mama, do squids go to school?"
"I don't think so, honey."
"Then where do they learn things?"
"From their parents, probably. Or they figure it out on their own."
"That sounds lonely."
My hands pause mid-twist. I look down at her face, those hazel eyes staring up at me with concern for hypothetical squid education.
"Yeah," I murmur. "It does sound lonely."
I finish her hair, secure the last section with a clip shaped like a starfish. She reaches up to touch it, fingers careful not to disturb the curls I just spent twenty minutes perfecting.
"There. Beautiful."
"Can I see?"
I grab my phone, flip to the camera, and show her the screen. She grins at her reflection, turning her head side to side to admire the work.
"I like it."
"Good. Now go brush your teeth."
She hops off the stool and disappears down the hallway. I lean against the counter, close my eyes, and try to slow my breathing.
The meeting with Black Lake is in three days. Three days until I sit across a conference table from Cassian and his father and pretend this is normal. That we don't have a daughter together and that my hands don't shake when I think about the older Griffin discovering the truth about June.
Maria shoots me a text that jolts me out of my thoughts.
"Still good for pickup today? My class got moved to 2."
"Yes, thank you. I'll be back by 5."
June reappears, toothbrush jutting out of her mouth at an angle, foamy pink toothpaste dribbling down her chin.
"June, baby, you're supposed to keep that in the bathroom."
"But you're out here."
"Go spit. Then we're leaving."
She trudges back down the hall. I grab my jacket from the hook by the door, check my bag for keys and wallet, and try to ignore the nausea building in my stomach.
The walk to June's school takes fifteen minutes. She holds my hand the whole way, pointing out dogs and interesting cracks in the sidewalk and a pigeon that's missing half its tail feathers.
"Do you think it got in a fight?"
"The pigeon?"
"Yeah. With another pigeon."
"Maybe. Or maybe it just had an accident."
"That's sad."
"Yeah, sweet girl. Sometimes things like that happen."
We reach the school entrance. Bright yellow doors, murals painted by previous classes covering the brick exterior. June's kindergarten teacher, Ms. Patty, stands near the entrance greeting kids as they arrive.
I crouch down to June's level, straighten her jacket, smooth one curl that's already trying to escape.
"You have your lunch?"
"In my backpack."
"And your water bottle?"
"Yep."
"Alright. Be good today, okay?"
"I'm always good, Mama."
She's not wrong. June's never been a difficult kid. No tantrums, no defiance, just endless curiosity and a sweetness that makes my heart sing.
I pull her into a hug, breathe in the coconut oil.
"Love you, baby."
"Love you too, Mama." She pulls back, frowning slightly. "Why are you squeezing so hard?"
Because I'm terrified, and my baby girl perceives that. She's the most important thing in my life and the thought of sharing her with anyone—even her biological father—makes me feel like I'm drowning.
I sniff loudly, doing my best to keep myself composed. "Just love you a lot."
She accepts this, kisses my cheek, and skips toward Ms. Patty. I watch her disappear through those yellow doors, curls bouncing with each step.
Then I stand there on the sidewalk, frozen, while other parents move past me toward their own mornings.
What if Cassian fights for custody? What if he decides that June's better off with him and uses his money and resources to prove it?
The Griffins have lawyers on retainer, connections in every level of government, the ability to make problems disappear or create them depending on what serves their interests.
I left without telling him I was pregnant, kept his daughter from him for five years. A judge might see that as parental alienation and might decide that June needs stability, structure, the advantages that come with being a Griffin heir.
Hell… they might even decide that I'm the problem.
My hands shake. I shove them in my pockets and start walking.
The subway rattles downtown. I stand near the doors, gripping the pole, watching Brooklyn blur past through scratched windows.
A man next to me is eating something that smells like old fish.
A teenager blasts music through headphones that aren't doing their job.
Someone's grocery bag tears, spilling apples across the floor.
Normal chaos. The city moving around me while my life threatens to implode.
Eventually, the train stops and I stumble onto the platform on unsteady feet. Sapphire Studios emerges from the Tribeca streets. Katheryn's in her office when I arrive, coffee in one hand, phone pressed to her ear with the other. She waves me in, points to the chair across from her desk.
"—yes, I understand the timeline. We'll make it work. Tuesday at ten. Yes. Thank you." She ends the call, sets the phone down. "That was Lucian Griffin's assistant. Confirming details for the meeting."
"Great."
She leans back in her chair, tilting her head at me. "You don't sound enthusiastic."
I clear my throat. The room gets hot all of a sudden. "I… I'm enthusiastic about the opportunity, just nervous about the execution."
She studies me over the rim of her coffee cup. "Want to talk about what's really going on with you and Cassian Griffin?"
"…Plead the fifth."
"Amara."
I sink into the chair, close my eyes briefly. "It's complicated."
"You've said that before."
"Well, it's true. This is... I don't even have words for what this is."
"Try."
I open my eyes, meet her gaze. Katheryn's sharp, and certainly not someone who accepts surface-level answers when depth is available.
She brought me into Sapphire because she believed in my work and gave me opportunities I wouldn't have had otherwise.
I owe her honesty, even when it's uncomfortable.
"We have a daughter together."
Katheryn sets her coffee down slowly. "A daughter? With Cassian Griffin?"
"Yes."
"How old?"
"Five."
"Does he know?"
"He does now. He showed up at my apartment unexpectedly and June answered the door." The memory makes my stomach churn. "He figured it out immediately. Those eyes are hard to miss."
Katheryn nods. "And you never told him."
"I found out I was pregnant two weeks after I left him. By then I'd convinced myself he'd chosen Raylin Hart over me. I thought he didn't want me, so I assumed he wouldn't want our baby either."
"But you didn't know that for certain."
"No," I admit. "I didn't. I made assumptions and ran before getting answers. Now he's using this collaboration as an excuse to stay in my orbit. He wants access to June. He wants to be her father." My voice cracks slightly. "And I'm terrified that if I let him in, he'll take her from me."
Katheryn's quiet for a long moment. Then she stands, moves to the window overlooking the street below.
"You know I don't do personal drama in my galleries, right?"
"I know."
"But this..." She turns back to face me. "This isn't drama. This is a child. And from what you've told me, a man who just found out he has a daughter he didn't know existed."
"I'm aware."
"So what do you want to do?"
"I want to protect June. It means everything to me. I want to keep her safe, keep our life stable. I built something good for us in Barcelona, and I'm trying to maintain that here. Letting Cassian in feels like inviting chaos."
"Or maybe it's a chance to know her father." Katheryn's voice is gentle. "I'm not saying you have to trust him immediately. But completely shutting him out might not be fair to June. Or to him, honestly. It's hard to acknowledge that, but it's true."
I look away, focus on a painting hanging on her wall. Abstract shapes in blues and greens. There's a soothing component about the color palette.
"What if he fights for custody?"
"Then you get a lawyer and you fight back. But I don't think it's right to assume the worst without giving him a fair shot."
She's right. I know she's right. But knowing doesn't make the terror any less real.
"This meeting on Tuesday," Katheryn continues. "It's business. Black Lake wants to partner with us, with you specifically. Your work is exactly what they need. Don't sabotage that opportunity because you're scared of facing Cassian."
"I'm not sabotaging anything."
"Oh, honey." She moves back to her desk, picks up her coffee. "You're already planning exit strategies instead of thinking about how to make this collaboration successful. That's sabotage, Amara. A slow, subtle version, but sabotage nonetheless."
I wring my hands together over and over until my skin is raw. I've been so focused on protecting myself and June that I haven't considered what this partnership could actually mean for my career. For our future.
"Tuesday," I breathe out as I grip the armrests of my seat.. "I'll be strong. I'll focus on the work."
"Good. Bring examples of your recent pieces. And for God's sake, don't let Cassian's presence throw you off balance."
"Easier said than done."
"Most things are." She smiles slightly. "You've got this, Amara. You're one of the most talented artists I've worked with. Don't let personal complications make you forget that."
I stand, smoothing my hands over my jeans. "Thank you for believing in me, Kathy."
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until after the meeting and until we've secured a seven-figure contract for you," she says, winking.
I leave her office, walk back toward my studio space. The sculpture with the white peonies waits, half-finished, torn canvas and mixed media creating something that's starting to resemble coherence.
I only have a few days until I sit across from Cassian and pretend my heart isn't trying to claw its way out of my chest. But there's no use fixating on that when there's work to be done. I grab my materials and go back to what I do best: creating beauty out of chaos, meaning out of wreckage.
Even when the wreckage has hazel eyes and won't stop haunting me.