“Are you sure, though?” She gave him that inscrutable look again. “About not making any more weapons? I was thinking we could fire up the forge tomorrow morning. I know how important that was to you.”
She shrugged and stood, looking down at him. A faint smile graced her lips. “No, I was just being silly. Besides, it’s not like it’s a skill I’ll need while doing real estate investment.”
She emphasized the last three words, and seemed to be waiting for some response from him.
“Is that the family business then?” he asked.
“Yup. Just some rich assholes buying property in emerging neighborhoods and making a profit by selling at a higher cost.”
Ah. He saw what she was doing now. She looked calm, apart from the challenge in her eyes, but this was a berserker’s move; she was swinging her weapon wildly to keep him away from her. He hadn’t known what her family did. He didn’t know if it was the same as the gentrifying companies ravening through Bodotria. But he did know that she was pushing him away and he needed to respect that, even if he didn’t agree.
“Sounds like loads of fun,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe not what I’d imagined you doing with your life, though.”
“And what did you imagine exactly?”
Tav hadn’t really allowed himself to explore those unlikely paths because given the least leeway, his imagination was off and running. Breakfast in bed, cycling along the docks, sharing dinners and dreams and a shared hope for the future. Tav couldn’t lay that on her. Not when she’d already decided to go.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m sure the job will be grand.”
“I’m going dress shopping with Cheryl. Later.”
“Later,” he mumbled as she walked off.
There was no promise in the word for him any longer because she’d be gone, and soon.
Chapter 25
Portia was a pro at balls, dances, galas, and other synonyms for “rich person excuse to show off,” but she lay on her uncomfortable bed on her scratchy duvet and wished she could just stay at home. The fact that the armory was what she thought of when she thought of “home” now made her slap a hand down on the bed in exasperation. She’d let her impulsiveness get the best of her again, and now she was drowning in a field of popped Tavcorn.
Her phone rang and she squeezed her eyes together.
Great.
“Please just be cool,” she muttered as she picked up the phone. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby. Your father’s on the line, too.”
“Is everything okay?” Fear briefly turned her stomach as she remembered being called to the school office and told that Reggie was in the hospital, and that it was very serious.
Her mother heard the panic in her tone. “Nothing to worry about. Everyone’s okay. Well, there is one thing.”
“Marvin Dixon’s daughter is apparently looking for work,” her father cut in. “You know Narisa? Who interned here for three summers in a row?”
Portia didn’t know her . . . because she hadn’t paid attention to what happened at Hobbs Capital until very recently.
“Um, yeah. She was nice.”
“She was, and a really sharp analyst, too,” her dad cut in. “She got let go when her company downsized and had heard about Reggie leaving, so she checked in with us.”
Portia realized she still hadn’t looked through the research her father had sent her weeks ago. It had just . . . completely slipped her mind. She thought of the important/priority matrix she’d learned about from one of the Hot Mess Helper videos. The job research had been nowhere on that matrix, had simply fallen off the edge into the abyss where all of Portia’s forgotten obligations went to die.
“That’s interesting?” Portia had a not-good feeling about this.
“What your father is trying to say is that, after some discussion, we’ve decided to offer the job to Narisa. She always got along great with everyone and worked really hard, and we think she’s a good fit.”
Portia read between the lines: you aren’t a good fit with us, your own family.
She didn’t know why it hit her like a fist around a brick—it was the truth. She hadn’t ever wanted the job. She hadn’t even bothered to look into it. She’d just spent half a session telling Dr. Lewis how the job offer itself had made her feel awful and inadequate, and how she needed to talk to her parents about her possible ADHD diagnosis and how that would affect her career choices. But some small part of her, behind the fear of disappointing her parents, had been surprised and pleased that they’d considered her, without even being informed that a good portion of her mistakes were possibly the result of not knowing how her brain was wired. That, knowing how prone to flightiness and error she was, they’d decided to take a risk. And now they’d rescinded that offer.
It wasn’t surprising; she hadn’t even been able to give them the reassurance of checking in, of providing a start date, of showing enthusiasm. And they’d chosen someone who would make their lives easier instead of harder. That was what would always happen when it came to her.
“All right. I understand. Thanks for letting me know.”
It would be better this way. She wouldn’t mess up the family business, or be a constant reminder to her parents of how unreliable and untalented she was compared to her sister.
Tension grew in her neck and pressure expanded in her sinuses.
“See, I knew she’d be fine with it,” her father said, apparently to her mother. “Your mom saw all that stuff in the press and figured you might as well stay there since you’re all lovey dovey with the duke anyway. Is it true he was spotted ring shopping?”
Oh fuck.
Portia tapped at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes before they could ruin her makeup. How humiliating. It made more sense now; her parents decision to rescind he job offer had been at least partially spurred by the mistaken belief that she had someone else to look after her now. It hadn’t occurred to them that if they didn’t want her around, Tavish wouldn’t either.
“Probably not, but way to ruin the surprise if that was the case,” she said cheerily. “We’re actually heading out to a big event, meeting the Scottish peerage, so I have to go.”
“All right! Have fun, baby!”
Her mother sounded prouder of her than she had in years, and oh did it burn.
There was a knock at the door. “Are you coming to get your nails did, Portia?” Cheryl asked excitedly. She’d offered to help fix the chips in the manicures they’d given themselves the other day.
“Coming!”
“Okay! Meet you in the parlor!”
Portia dropped her phone, checked her face and dress in the full-length mirror. She had been rejected by Tavish, and her family, but at least she looked like a goddamned princess. She would put on a happy face and pretend everything was all right because this was Tav’s big night and she wasn’t going to ruin it.
PORTIA HAD ALWAYS assumed that riding up to a castle in a queue of carriages would be magical, but she was too nervous to appreciate the fairy tale she was acting out. Each clop of the horses’ hooves as they approached the squat, foreboding building made her stomach flip. Maybe this was what Cinderella had felt like: filled with dread and unable to tell if she was light-headed from nerves or because the bodice on her dress was too tight.
This was different from a fancy fund-raiser or any of the numerous black-tie events she’d attended throughout her life. It was Tavish’s debut, and she needed to make sure it went well. If she got him started on the right foot, perhaps everything else would fall into place.