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“She what?”
“She doesn’t want to show it, but
she suffers in silence. The image you see, the debates and smiles and social media goddess titles are just her way to appear strong.”
“Princess.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, appearing as shocked as I did back then. “You dealt with all of that on your own? Why haven’t you told me?”
“She wouldn’t let me. You know her; she’d rather die than show any type of weakness. During your divorce, she spoke high and mighty in front of the cameras, but she cried when she thought no one was there. She fought you every time she saw you, but she always worked on improving your plans for the party’s future when she was alone. It’s not that she doesn’t care, Papa, it’s that she doesn’t like to show it.” And I think I inherited that trait without even realising it.
“That loathsome habit of hers.” He sighs, stroking my back. “She’ll be okay. She loves you too much and would never leave you.”
“But she was so mad yesterday.” I sniffle. “What if she…what if…”
Papa’s brow furrows in concern. “She won’t.” Even as he speaks the words, he doesn’t seem to believe them. “She’ll stay, Princess. If not for anyone, then for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, Cynthia was always the type who didn’t want children, because she thought they’d get in the way of her ambitions and her plans. I tricked her into it, sort of, and the moment she knew she was pregnant with you, she said she loved you without even seeing you. When we first met you, she cried and thanked me for changing her mind.” He smiles with nostalgia and shakes his head. “Then she said she’d kill me if I told anyone she cried. Point is, Princess, you gave her life and mine a deeper meaning. For that, we would never leave you, even though we left each other.”
My arms drape around his waist and I fight my own tears. “I love you, Papa.”
People say you can’t choose your own parents, and many wish they never had their parents. Not me. I hated the fights and the divorce and everything that came with it, but I wouldn’t change my parents for the world. Flaws and fights be damned.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out faster than I’ve ever done in all my life. It’s not Mum. It’s Lucien.
I called him earlier but only got his voicemail.
“Hey, Lucien.”
“Hello, Silver.” He has a charming French accent that I can listen to for days.
“Is Mum with you?” My heart beats loud as I wait for his answer.
“Yes, she is.”
Oh, thank God. “Can I talk to her?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s asleep.”
Oh. “Can I come over?”
After Mum introduced us, we usually had meals either in his place or at her flat. He’s a very private man and doesn’t like eating in restaurants. Since I met him, I’ve always thought he’d be the one who would get Mum out of her funk.
She enjoys his company and hasn’t been quick to break things off with him. I never actually felt more than friendship between them, and I thought that was enough for Mum’s state of mind.
“Yes, of course,” Lucien says. “But we’re not in London.”
“Not in London?”
“Yes, we’re taking some time off in my mansion in Nice.”
“You’re in France?”
“Exactement.”
Oh, Mum. Couldn’t she let me know about that little detail? Though she’ll probably call me back when she wakes up.
Or maybe she won’t.
