Chapter 19 #2
“We’re not—” I stop myself, forcing my voice to stay steady even as rage builds in my chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We’re not sleeping together.”
“But you want to.” It’s not a question. “I’m not stupid, River. I can see what’s happening here. Some provincial island girl with pink hair and no prospects has caught your attention, and suddenly you don’t want to leave. How convenient.”
Something inside me snaps.
“Her name is Kiera,” I say, and my voice is low and dangerous. “Not ‘that girl’ or ‘the help’ or ‘some provincial island girl.’ Her name is Kiera Emmerson, and she’s more talented, more hardworking, and more genuine than anyone in your social circle has ever been.”
Mother’s eyebrows rise. “My goodness. You’re quite defensive of her.”
“Because you’re treating her like she’s nothing when she’s—” I stop, taking a breath.
“She’s been through things you can’t even imagine.
She survived being homeless. She’s working two jobs while preparing for a culinary competition that could change her life.
She’s kind and funny and she doesn’t judge people based on their bank accounts or their family names. ”
“How noble.” Mother’s tone drips with condescension. “And I’m sure she has absolutely no interest in your money or your connections. She’s just a pure-hearted working girl who happened to catch the eye of a wealthy young man.”
“She doesn’t care about my money.” My hands clench into fists under the table. “She tried to turn down the job when I offered to pay her what she’s actually worth. She lives in a tiny studio apartment and saves every penny for her future. She’s not using me, Mother. She’s just—she’s amazing.”
“She’s a floosy with pink hair who saw an opportunity and took it.” Mother dabs at her lips again with her napkin. “And you’re too infatuated to see it clearly. This is exactly why you need to come home, darling. Before you make a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
The restaurant feels too quiet suddenly. I’m aware of the other diners, the classical music, the server hovering nearby—all of it feels surreal, like I’m watching this scene play out from somewhere outside my body.
“Don’t,” I say, and my voice is steady now. Controlled. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“I’m simply being realistic—”
“You’re being cruel.” I meet her eyes, holding her gaze.
“And judgmental. And everything that’s wrong with the way you see the world.
You look at someone like Kiera and all you see is pink hair and a working-class background.
You don’t see her talent or her strength or the fact that she’s one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. ”
Mother opens her mouth to respond, but I’m not finished.
“And for the record, my love life isn’t any of your business. I’m an adult. I make my own choices. And those choices include who I spend time with and how I live my life.”
“River, darling, you’re making a scene—”
“I don’t care.” I lean forward, keeping my voice low but letting the intensity show.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Mother. You’re welcome to stay in my house for the rest of the week if—and only if—you stop asking me to go to Stanford or move back to Los Angeles.
You stop making comments about my documentary or my life choices.
And you stop treating Kiera or anyone else on this island like they’re beneath you. ”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re issuing me an ultimatum?”
“I’m setting boundaries.” I stand up, pulling my wallet from my pocket and dropping enough cash on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip. “Those are your options. Accept them or leave. But I’m done with this conversation.”
I turn and walk out of The Portico before she can respond, before I can see the shock or anger or whatever expression crosses her face. My hands are shaking slightly as I push through the heavy wooden door out into the bright sunshine of the town square.
The warm air hits my face, carrying the scent of salt water and summer, and I take my first deep breath since sitting down at that table. My heart is racing, adrenaline flooding my system in the aftermath of standing up to her so completely.
I did it. I actually did it.
I told my mother no. Not just no, but drew a line in the sand and dared her to cross it. And instead of feeling guilty or scared or like I’ve made a terrible mistake, I feel—
Free.
For the first time in my entire life, I feel completely, utterly free.
I pull off the tie she made me wear and shove it in my pocket, then unbutton the top button of my shirt.
The tension in my shoulders starts to ease as I walk down Main Street, away from The Portico and its pressed linens and hushed conversations.
I won’t leave her there, I’m not cruel. But I do need to breathe for a minute before we get in my car.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Mother.
You’re making a terrible mistake.
I almost laugh. Because if choosing happiness over her approval is a mistake, then I need to make more of them.