“Mmmm,” she says, and I hear the disapproval in her tone.
“Mom. I know you worry about him, but I’m not just going to write Colin off. You know that.” She does, too. Colin was there for me after the kidnapping in a way that my mom and dad couldn’t be, and that was despite my mom and Eli having terminated Colin’s parental rights years before. He could have washed his hands of me, but he didn’t, and we’ve rebuilt what for a while was a very rocky relationship.
I understand why she’s worried—apparently the IRS has been looking at Colin again, and she’s afraid he’s fallen back into the well of white-collar crime—but I just want to maintain a relationship.
“I know, sweetie. And of course I get it. So you’re going with Dallas?” Her voice has a lilt to it, like someone forcing herself to make small talk.
“Yeah. Actually, Adele is going to be there, too. Apparently she invited me.”
“Adele,” she repeats. “That reminds me, why on earth is Dallas interested in a laundry list of the women Colin dated between me and Adele.”
I balk. “I have no idea. What makes you think he does?”
“Well, because he asked me. Yesterday? No, the day before. I thought it was the oddest question.”
“Can’t argue with that.” I’ve put the phone on the bed and have it on speaker as I pull on a skirt and sleeveless summer sweater.
“It doesn’t matter. I just thought he might have explained himself to you now that you two are getting along so much better.” There’s a beat. “I saw the pictures from outside the Balcony.”
I’m leaning over my vanity, and my hand stills as I apply mascara. “Yeah, that was a fun night,” I say casually. “It was kind of a birthday present. We’re, you know, trying to get along better.”
“I’m glad.” She clears her throat. “Jane, sweetheart …”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
I can see her soft smile in my mind as she shakes her head, dismissing her words. Normally, I’d press her. There’s something on her mind. But I’m not in the mood to discuss my relationship with Dallas with my mom. Especially not now when I need to get out the door.
“Listen, I really am running late. I’m sorry I can’t meet you tomorrow.”
“No, no. That’s fine. I’ll let you go.”
“Love you,” I say.
“Love you, too,” she responds. And then, right as I’m about to end the call, she says, “Jane.”
“Yeah?” I’m frowning, something in her voice making my insides tighten with dread.
“Your father—he saw the pictures outside the Balcony, too.”
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip, wondering what exactly Daddy saw in those pictures. Did he see more than the two of us getting in a limo? Did he see the truth?
Because Eli has known for years how Dallas and I feel about each other. Or, at least, how Dallas feels about me. He’s never spoken to me about it. But he’s made clear to Dallas that if anything happens, he’d disinherit us in a heartbeat. And years ago, the embers that burned between me and Dallas were one of the reasons that Eli sent Dallas off to boarding school in London.
I hold my breath, wondering if my mom is going to expand on her comment. We’ve never really talked about me and Dallas except to push the lie that he and I couldn’t really be together after the kidnapping because it brought back too many dark memories.
So I don’t know what she really thinks. What she really feels.
What she fears.
I don’t even know if she sees what’s really between her two kids.
She told me once that she sometimes regrets the spiderweb of adoptions that made Dallas and I brother and sister, but I don’t know if that’s because she understands that those machinations now keep him and me apart. I don’t know, and I’ve never asked.
I’m not going to ask now, either.
“Well, anyway,” she says brightly, “you need to run. I just thought I’d mention it. I love you,” she says again, and then the line goes dead.
Weird, I think. And troubling. Because as much as I fantasize about not having to hide from the world or my parents, I know damn well that I’m really not ready for that fantasy to become a reality.
Dallas is already at the kiosk when I arrive. He’s still in his work clothes, a charcoal suit paired with a crisp white shirt, all of which is perfectly tailored. He looks good enough to eat, and if the unapologetic stares from passing women are any indication, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
“You look amazing,” he says as I approach, and I have to laugh.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”