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Granted, he had other reasons.
I waited with bated breath for Mom’s response.
Let me live my life the way I want. Be happy for me.
She lowered her chin into her neck. “What will it take for you not to cut me out?”
On cue, the beeps from the heart rate monitor drummed faster, picking up speed.
I answered immediately. “Accept the end of my engagement.”
“Done.”
“Accept Farrow.” This time, I collected her hand in mine, setting it on my palm. “And eventually, love her like your own daughter. She’s never had a family, Mom.” I looped my fingers with hers. “She’s never held a mother’s hand. I promise, when you get to know her,reallyget to know her, you’ll love her as much as I do.”
With her free hand, Mom traced the seam where our palms touched, almost transfixed. “Do you really love her?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Just the easy truth. “I am utterly deranged when she’s not here.”
Mom squeezed my hand after a moment, dragging her eyes up to mine. “Deal.”
“Also…”
She leaned her head back on the pillow, lips forming around a groan. “There’s more?”
“Last thing. Promise.”And the thing you might resist most.“I want you to seek help. For your anxiety.”
“I don’t have anxiety.”
“You do.”
“I refuse to take pills.”
“There are other methods, but if a doctor recommends them and pills are the best option, I need to know you’ll do everything to get better. At the very least, I want you to speak to someone qualified to help you.”
The heart rate monitor went wild.
She shook her head. “But?—”
“I need all or nothing, Mom.”
“Fine.” She heaved out a breath, staring off to the side for a moment. Finally, she returned her gaze to me. “I see you staring at your watch every ten seconds. Take the jet. Go get your wife, Zachary.”
T-MINUS 1 DAY.
This will be where I die.
In the sacred, never-before-seen art gallery no one was ever allowed to enter. Splayed across the lifeless epoxy floor. Surrounded by priceless art. Blood splatters camouflaged by the creepy black-and-red Jackson Pollock.
At the very least, I couldn’t find a single alternate explanation for why Zachary Sun had sent me down to his creepy subterranean garage.
Over the weeks, I’d cataloged every item Romeo and Oliver brought to my studio. Nothing went missing, and I didn’t own anything else.
No way did he just want me here to show me all the things I’d never own.
I crept out of the elevator, half-expecting something to jump out at me. The electronic key spat back out from a slot on the other side, eliciting a startled yelp from me.
“Welcome, Miss Ballantine.”
