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How dare she.
How dare she interrupt my life like this. Try to reduce my family, the code we live by, our way of life, the things we hold sacred, to a page of salacious gossip on a pathetic website that calls themselves a news outlet. Not to mention, using my mother’s death to get close to me.
It’s despicable.
She didn’t even flinch when I called her out. She called herself a fraud, sure, but that was it.
You’d think she could at least issue an apology when I told her I knew what she was doing the entire time. Told me how ashamed she was. What a terrible idea it was, for her company to even try to pull this off in the first place.
It’s an insult. She abused me, my family, everything we stand for, just by stepping foot on that plane. Then she has the audacity to push me away. To leave my table, my dinner, leaving me sitting alone at my own table.
By the time I reach the top step, I’m furious.
I gave Caesar the night off since she’s stayed put so far. And we’re leaving tomorrow anyway.
I grab the doorknob to her room, turning it to throw the door open. Instead of flying open, announcing my arrival, the wood hits something hard, bouncing back at me. “God damn.” There’s no lock on the door—I had it removed. She’s blocked the door with something. I wedge open the door, glancing inside through the resulting crack. She’s pushed the massive mahogany armoire in front of the door. Impressive.
She’s stronger than she looks.
“Open this door. Right now.”
There’s no sound from inside the room.
God, I wish Caesar was here right now. Between the two of us, we’d already have this door open. I shove my shoulder against the wood, bracing my feet against the wood floor along the edges of the Persian runner. I push, hard, gaining some purchase as the armoire moves backward. It stops, possibly catching on the rug inside the room.
“Fuck.” I push against the door.
I’ve gained about seven inches, not enough to squeeze through. I peer inside. I can only see the right side of the room from here, the cold fireplace, the door to her attached bathroom slightly open.
“Lindy. Answer me.”
I listen for a moment. I hear a light scuffling sound. My heart beats harder, like a predator who’s heard his prey hiding in the bushes.
She’s in there.
The knowledge gives me the extra strength I need to shove my shoulder against that door. I give a grunt, finally moving the piece far enough to get through. I burst into the room, with no idea what to expect.
She’s sitting there. Demurely. Hands folded in her lap. Shoes kicked off. Legs crossed. The gold gown sparkling under the dim light of the crystal chandelier that hangs over her head. She stares straight at me.
“You could have knocked,” she says.
“Knocked? I—” I’m too angry to have this conversation. “How did you even block this door by yourself?”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she says, her words landing with more meaning than just the dresser. She’s daring me to challenge her.
“You can’t get up and walk away from me,” I say, storming across the room. “You can’t just leave.”
“I can,” she says. “And I did.”
I pace the floor, filled with anger. “I was going to tell you. Tonight is your last night here. With me. We have a flight leaving early in the morning. I only came up here to tell you to pack.”
She stares at me and I stare back, watching her face as she absorbs the information. Finally, she asks, “And what happens to me? When we return?”
“I was going to tell you all those details at dinner,” I say. “Then you left.”
“Tell me now.” She crosses her arms, staring me down.
She’s making me angrier. Making demands of me? When she’s the one who made this mess in the first place? “You can’t go back to your life. That’s obvious.”
