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“That should be my decision.”
“Right now, it’s not. You keep forgetting that I got permission to handle your affairs because you can’t. I told you the other day that I need to be assured of your health. So, this is final. Fight me and I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.”
The warmth leaves my body and a deadly cold takes its place. My brain dulls, giving my mind the chance to roam, and I think of all the terrible things Dad could do to me.
“We’re done here. Don’t let me have this conversation with you again.”
I turn and find Mom standing in the doorway. Her silence and the guilt in her eyes tell me she heard what Dad said and knew about this plan.Andshe looks like she agrees with him.
I don’t know what hurts me more. It was Mom who fought for my independence when I wanted to study journalism, and she fought for me when I insisted on staying in L.A. after the accident and rehab. She thought being at theChronicledoing what I loved would help me heal.
Usually I can look into her eyes and see that openness, where she’d be willing to help me when Dad becomes the control freak, but I find no such thing tonight.
“Sweetheart, we just want the best for you.” She finally speaks. “Anything that will help you get better faster.”
“I’m not sick like that, Mom.” I know I sound just as foolish as I did when I said that to Dad at the fundraiser. My symptoms aren’t just going to leave me because I say so, but I hate it when I’m made to sound like I’m crazy.
“Autumn, you know what I mean.”
I step around Mom, not bothering to continue the conversation. There’s no point.
I go back the way I came and head upstairs, once again hating everything and wishing I could head back to L.A.
Tears pull at my eyes, but I will them away. I try my best not to cry these days. Crying breaks me. I cry over everything, and it’s all too much.
To anyone on the outside looking in I’d probably seem like a difficult brat who doesn’t appreciate her parents for the care and support they offer, but I’m not that at all.
I’m appreciative and loyal to a fault but there’s caring and then there’s controlling. My fatheriscontrolling.
When I question his actions I look like I’m being difficult, uncooperative, and unappreciative.
What the hell am I going to do? I’m already at my limit of how much I can take, and the journey has only just begun.
If this keeps up, by the end of the sabbatical there’ll be nothing left of me.
I go to my room and open the door but notice straight away that the French doors leading out to the balcony are open and the curtains blowing out on either side.
I didn’t leave the window open when I left. Everything was locked up.
God, please don’t tell me my parents have been in here.
But if they were, why would they leave the doors open?
I get my answer when I hear footsteps and realize someone else is in my room.
In the silver moonlight, a tall dark figure steps out. The light hits his face and I realize it’s Luc. Any doubts I had earlier on whether or not he was at the restaurant to see me disappear because he’s here in my room.
For me.
Chapter 17
Autumn
Istare back at him. Tall. Powerful. Gorgeous.
I allow the door to close behind me and stare at the man who’s filled my dreams since the night we met.
Placed against the sultry silver of the moonlight, Luc Le Blanche looks even more like the god of war than he ever did.
