Chapter 7
MICHELLE: TERMS OF ENDEARMENT
I woke the next morning to sunlight slipping through the blinds—and then I remembered.
I squeaked, covering my face as I laughed at myself.
I couldn’t believe how far I’d let it go.
Worse, I hadn’t slapped his hand away because I didn’t like it.
I’d slapped it away because I did. If I hadn’t rallied for my virtue, I’d have lost it right there to a metalhead surfer with a wicked grin.
“Ugh, stop,” I scolded myself, rolling out of bed, my pulse still skipping. What was it about Scott? Around him, I didn’t recognize myself. I was fun, spontaneous. Reckless enough to make out with a man I barely knew.
My eye lingered on the vest draped over a chair. I’d forgotten I was even wearing it when we parted ways last night. Of course I’d have to return it—to the resort where he worked. Maybe I’d stay a while and watch him surf. I smiled, caught myself, and did it again.
A light rap at the door mercifully stopped the cycle.
“Miss Carver?” a voice said through the crack in the door.
“Yes?” I called out.
“Your mother is requesting a visit from you.”
And there went my good mood.
I loitered in the doorway of my mother’s parlor, waiting for her to notice me.
She was perched on a velvet settee, with her eyes trained on the latest edition of Town she did icicles. I’d always feared her. Always. And now more than ever.
A letter sitting on the corner of my mother’s ornate side table caught my eye. The ivory envelope was sliced open. Juilliard’s crest glared back at me like a scarlet letter.
“You… you opened it?”
“Of course I did. I don’t have time for mysteries.” She looked back down at her magazine, turning the page. “I’ve already spoken with the Dean. Everything is handled. You’ll return in the fall.”
“No. You don’t understand. I—”
She lifted one slender hand, silencing me like a dog. “I understand perfectly. You’ve had your tantrum, and now it’s over.”
“It wasn’t a tantrum,” I said, words rushing out before courage abandoned me.
“I’m not good enough, Mother. Everyone knows it.
The professors, the students. You don’t know the way they look at me.
They resent me for even being there because they know you and Daddy bought me a spot with your endowment. They don’t respect me. No one does.”
For a flicker of a second, I thought she might soften. But her eyes rose from the glossy page and were as sharp as ever.
“Then work harder.”
I blinked. “What?”
Her tone sharpened, each syllable clipped. “If you’re not good enough, practice until you are. Until your fingers bleed. Until the sound of the piano is carved into your bones. Do you think talent is all it takes? Discipline, Michelle. Discipline is what separates the great from the forgettable.”
I tensed. “But I don’t want this.”
“Wanting is irrelevant. You were born into privilege, and you will not squander it with excuses. Not while I am alive.”
Her eyes flicked back to the magazine. “You’ll thank me someday.”
Normally, this was the point in the conversation where I dropped my head and shuffled out of the room.
My mother’s will had a way of pressing down on me until I couldn’t breathe.
But not today. Not after Scott reminded me that no one had the right to dictate my life. For once, I didn’t drop my gaze.
“No.”
Mother’s head tilted, the faintest wrinkle marring her perfect brow. “Excuse me?”
“I said no.” My steady voice surprised me. “I’m not going back. Not to Juilliard. Not to be humiliated in front of people who despise me. I won’t do it.”
Her magazine slid closed with a soft thunk and she placed it on the table beside her. When her eyes met mine, they were stripped of even the pretense of warmth. “I see. And what do you plan to do instead?”
“I was thinking of enrolling in the nursing program at NYU.”
“Nursing?” she scoffed. “How very working-class of you.”
“I know this might come as a shock to you, Mother, but it’s my life.”
She gave a cool, dismissive laugh. “Your life? Don’t be ridiculous.
No daughter of mine will be a nurse. You’re a Carver, Michelle.
Your life isn’t yours. It belongs to the family; to the name.
And if you won’t do what’s expected of you at Juilliard”—her eyes sharpened, and her mouth curved in a smile—“then we’ll pursue other avenues.
Donald Lavelle seems a fine match, wouldn’t you agree? ”
My breath caught. “Prince?”
“Better a respectable marriage than a wasted education. Either way, Michelle, you will serve your purpose.”
Her threat leveled me. I’d always assumed I’d marry well for the family legacy, but I’d never believed I wouldn’t get a say, or that my mother would force me into a marriage of convenience with a man I couldn’t stand.
Even she had a beating heart under that double-breasted leather blazer… or so I’d thought.
Now I understood I was on my own, and if I didn’t stand up for myself, no one would. “Then I guess I’ll have to disappoint you.”
Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes burned cold. “Oh, darling. You’ve been disappointing me since the day you were born.”