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“You’re about to hate me again,” I murmur, hiding my face behind my hands, not daring to look at her.
“Why?”
“Because”––I inhale sharply––“that’s my family’s company. My last name is Reyes.”
Robin is silent.
I prepare myself for accusations, for her to kick me out and tell me she’ll plan the funeral by herself. I wouldn’t blame her. I actually cannot believe this is happening. I’m filled with a newfound sense of hatred toward my dad. Of course he’d want to get rid of a cute house with a single tenant and replace it with something that earns him triple the rent. He’s never cared about preserving anything in this town. I shouldn’t be surprised; he owns half of Cottondale, after all.
After the silence stretches for too long, I brave a peek in her direction. “I’m so sorry,” I say, my heart breaking at the sad expression on her face.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you’re losing your home because of my dad.”
“Again, why are you apologizing?” She sits up and crosses her legs.
I push myself up to a seated position as well. “Because my family––”
“Your family, Hayden. Not you. It’s not your fault, so don’t apologize. You’re not involved. You didn’t even know this was happening. Hell, you didn’t even know your family owned this house.” She huffs out a laugh.
“I know. I’m still sorry. My father tends to ruin people’s lives,” I say darkly.
I think back to my childhood and how disinterested my dad was in me. He was always too demanding, his expectations miles high. I used to be able to shove it all into the back of my mind. Until I couldn’t, because I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. And things were never the same.
“When do you have to be out?” Guilt laces my insides, and I feel a desperate need to fix it all somehow.
“A few weeks after the funeral.”
“Shit, that’s soon. Do you have somewhere to go?”
She shakes her head, and my heart sinks even further. “Not yet. I’ve been looking at apartments, but I haven’t found anything I like yet. But I’ll have to pick something soon.”
“I’ll help you.”
She shakes her head again. “That’s kind of you, but it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure it out.”
I look around her charming living room. Everything from her soft rug to her green velvet couch and the wooden bookcase in the corner is artfully arranged. There’s a mismatch of colorful art prints around the TV, and a variety of leafy green plants in the left corner next to a huge antique mirror. Somehow everything fits, all the colors blending beautifully, and although she’s definitely not a minimalist, nothing feels cluttered.
“You’re really good at decorating,” I point out.
“You don’t think it’s too much?” she asks, her gaze roaming around the room.
“Not at all, actually.”
She gives me a bright smile. “Thank you.”
As she sits crossed-legged on her rug, looking sad but adorable at the same time, an idea forms in my head. I don’t like it, but she’s worth it.
“How do you feel about galas?”
Her face scrunches up in confusion. “Um, what?”
“A gala. A fancy one, that is. Well, I guess they’re always fancy. Would you want to go to one with me?”
She looks rightfully bewildered. “Sorry, I’m confused. You want to go to a gala with me?” Then she quickly looks me up and down and adds, “You want to go to a gala?”
“I can’t think of anything worse, so no. But my family invited me to their annual gala. I wasn’t going to go, but we could try to talk to my father. Ask him to reconsider?”
