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Despite my current frustrations with writing, there was something so special about creating and getting lost in new worlds. Books have been my escape for years, and Iwillpublish one eventually. I wasn’t giving up that dream so I could become an office automaton.
“The same way you wanted to be a dancer, a travel agent, and a daytime talk show host?” The disapproval edged out Gabriel’s exasperation. “You’re not a fresh college grad anymore. You’re twenty-eight. You need direction.”
The bitterness thickened into a dry, sour sludge.
You need direction.
That was easy for Gabriel to say. He’d known what he wanted since high school.Allmy brothers had. I was the only Valencia bobbing aimlessly in the post-school waters while the rest of my family settled into their respective careers.
The businessman, the artist, the professor, the engineer, and me, the flake.
I was sick of being the failure, and I was especially sick of Gabriel being right.
“I have direction. In fact…”Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t—“I’m almost done with the book.” The lie darted out before I could snatch it back.
“Really?” Only he could soak a word with so much skepticism it morphed into something else.
Are you lying?
The real, unspoken question snaked over the line, poking and prodding for holes in my declaration.
There were plenty of them, of course. The entire freaking thing was one giant hole because I was closer to setting up a colony on Mars than finishing my book. But it was too late. I’d backed myself into a corner, and the only way out was through.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I had a big breakthrough at Vivian’s wedding. It’s the Italian air. It was so, um, inspiring.”
The only things it’d inspired were too many glasses of champagne and a massive hangover, but I kept that to myself.
“Wonderful,” Gabriel said. “In that case, we’d love to read it. Mom’s birthday is in four months. Why don’t you bring it when you’re home for the party?”
Rocks pitched off the side of a cliff and plummeted into my stomach. “Absolutely not. I’m writing an erotic thriller, Gabe. As in, there’ssexin it.”
“I’m aware of what erotic thrillers entail. We’re your family. We want to support you.”
“But it’s—”
“Isabella.” Gabriel adopted the same tone he’d used to boss me around when we were younger. “I insist.”
I squeezed my phone so hard it cracked in protest.
This was a test. He knew it, I knew it, and neither of us was willing to back down.
“Fine.” I injected a dose of false pep into my voice. “Don’t blame me if you’re so traumatized you can’t look me in the eye for atleastthe next five years.”
“I’ll chance it.” A warning note slid into his voice. “But if, for some reason, you’re unable to produce the book by then, we’re going to sit down and have a serious chat.”
After our father died, Gabriel assumed unofficial head of household status next to our mother. He took care of my brothers and me while she worked—picking us up from school, making our doctor’s appointments, cooking us dinner. We were all adults now, but his bossy tendencies were getting worse as our mother entrusted more and more of the family responsibilities to him.
I gritted my teeth. “You can’t—”
“I have to go or I’ll be late for my meeting. We’ll talk soon. See you in February.” He hung up, leaving the echo of his thinly veiled threat behind.
Panic twisted my chest into a tight knot. I tossed my phone to the side and tried to breathe through the ballooning pressure.
Damn Gabriel. Knowing him, he was telling our entire family about the book right that second. If I showed up empty-handed, I’d have to face their collective displeasure. My mom’s dismay, my lola’s disapproval and, worst of all, Gabriel’s smug, know-it-all attitude.
I knew you couldn’t do it.
You need direction.
