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My best friend.
Someone who doesn’t have an Asian billionaire brother-in-law who worships the ground his sister walks on.
I dig my fingers into the tote and nod resolutely.
It has to be me.
I have to do this on my own.
The tell-tale fragrance of bacon lures me downstairs in a hurry. Mom is at the stove, her hair hidden in a golden bonnet. It looks like a crown on her head. When she turns and smiles at me, the light hits her pretty brown eyes.
My eyes.
Deej is the one who inherited most of mom’s dainty facial features—her finely arched eyebrows and perfect, Cupid’s bow lips, but I got mom’s eyes. I call that a win.
Mom drops the spoon so she can sign. “Where are you going this early?”
“It’s a secret.” I finish signing with a smirk and grab an apple.
Mom places a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. I inhale all the fragrances of the bacon and keep chomping on an apple. I have a few casting calls, so I can’t afford to gain weight.
Someone stomps the floor. I recognize that vibration immediately.
I turn and greet my father with a wave.
He grins at me, chubby cheeks bunching under his eyes. His gaze holds a world of affection when he signs, “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you in town for a while this time?”
I begin to shake my head and then freeze. If my meeting with Mr. Rolls Royce goes south, I may be spending a lot of time doing community service or working at Sazuki’s foundation to pay back my debt.
A big grin spreads on dad’s face. He signs excitedly. “Seems like you might.”
I give him a nervous smile in return.
Mom waves to get my attention. “How was the wedding?”
I lift my hands and then let them sink back to the counter. How do I tell my parents what happened last night?
The wedding? It was great. Beautiful. At the end, Henry destroyed someone’s car. Ended things on a high note.
I slip a hand into the pocket of my pretty-in-pink skirt and trace the indented card I received from the car owner.
Richard Sullivan.
Mr. Rolls Royce.
Mom leans forward, a furrow in her brows. She recognizes the guilt in my silence.
She’s always been like that.
Intuitive.
“It was… fine,” I sign, not looking at either of them.
Mom’s eyes narrow.
