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“That’s true.”[1]
“So yeah, if I’m to make a difference in this world, even a tiny one… Actually, even making a difference to one kid would be enough,” she goes on. “But in order to do that, I need Weston Spencer’s letter of recommendation in order to be considered for a scholarship.” My head snaps up. “Thus, this job. I’m not rich any more, as you know.”
Do I know? Well, I do now, because she told me. I wonder what happened to her dad’s millions. Four years ago, he used to own half of Massachusetts–the wealthy half. He had so much power it was unreal. That was how he managed to destroy my life so completely I had to change my name if I ever wanted to be allowed to set foot in a room with civilized people ever again.
“Sorry,” she says. And then she waits again.
God, I’m losing my mind.
‘Sorry’ for what?I don’t know what that ‘sorry’ is for. Did her mind go there too? To the utter destruction her dad rained down on my life? It freaking should.
“I’m sorry you’re not rich anymore,” I say carefully.
“I’m not sorry,” she replies quickly. Too quickly. “I don’t… I’m glad I’m free of all of it. I’m glad I’m free.”
And then she does it again. That thing where she looks at me like it’s my turn to speak. Except I don’t know the damn rules of this stupid game. I stay stupidly silent.
“I’m asking how come you’re here,” I say, “because it’s too much of a coincidence. I don’t…”
She interrupts me. “That’s because it’s not.”
“Come again?”
“It’s not a coincidence,” she repeats, and my heart straight-out stops. Jumps into my throat and completely stops working. My blood runs cold. What fresh hell is this? “I mean, Weston Spencer offering me a place in his program was a coincidence, but me accepting this job wasn’t one. I wanted this job because of you,” Eden says quietly.
A sudden gust of wind blows in from the window, almost snatching her words, but not quite. I hear them clearly enough. And here I thought I was about to finally catch my breath. I shift infinitesimally closer to her, our hands almost touching on the piano’s polished wood.
“You’re here for me?” I ask, my voice hollow with disbelief.
She nods.
I grip the piano’s edge so tightly my bones crunch.
What does that mean?
My head’s about to explode, and not in a good way.
“Why… Why would you–?”
“Your turn,” she interrupts me and, actually, thank God, because I had no idea how to finish that question. “What about you? What do you want to do?”
I turn to look at her sharply. That’s not a question I hear every day. Everyone assumes this is what I want to do, forever.
‘I’m here for you.’Her words are still ringing in my head.
“Well, this, obviously,” I say, nodding towards the piano.
“No,” she replies. Just that, no.
“I am kind of living the dream here, in case you didn’t notice,” I say, irritated.
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” she replies. “I’ve noticed that it seems like a nightmare for you most days.”
Dammit. I forgot that she knows me better than any other being on the planet. Correction: sheknewme. She does not anymore. I look away, my cheeks going hot. This is so not the conversation to be having right now. And not with her, of all people.
“How kind of you to notice,” I murmur behind clenched teeth. “So what should I do? Just let everything implode, leave all these hundreds of people hanging, with no jobs, abandon my friends and my family’s needs and just blow the tour? Is that what you think would be the best for me, Eden? Since you know me so well.”
I’m being an ass again. I know I am, but I can’t stop. I feel better and worse at the same time. The poison, while coming out of me, is hurting me as well.
