I was just Rae.
And I had Benji.
As Cliff opens the back door for me and I slip onto the expensive leather seats, I glance at my phone screen again.
Still nothing from Benji.
I should just text him, right? Call him? Make sure he doesn’t hate me?
But I hesitate.
He sounded hurt when I called him earlier. Maybe he just needs some space. I know how important the event tomorrow is, and I’m sad to be missing it.
As we drive onto the freeway, I stare at the night sky and the expanse of concrete around me. The wide, multi-lane freeway is pretty empty at this time of the night, but it still feels like an alien planet to me.
This isn’t where I belong.
I’ve traded lush trees and windswept cliffs for traffic, overpasses, and concrete. This city doesn’t make my heart sing. The money and career waiting for me here don’t cause me any excitement. I lean my head against the headrest and try my best to push those thoughts aside.
I’m not here to live the life my parents want. I’m here to speak to them. Beg them once more to come back with me. Plead with them to reconnect with their other children.
This feels like my last, best chance to reconcile my family. Once my parents leave, who knows when they’ll be back? They’re getting rid of all their American assets, and I’m pretty sure they’ve been stuffing money away in an offshore tax haven.
And the house?
I don’t care about the house.
But it’s a good excuse to come down here and get them to listen to me.
As we make our way toward the mansion where I grew up, my heart starts to thump harder. I check my phone every thirty seconds, and finally stuff it into my purse.
Benji’s mad. He has a right to be. I need to give him space.
But he’ll come around. He has to.
He loves Sarah, and he’s starting to reconcile with his father. Doesn’t that mean he’ll understand what I’m trying to do here? Don’t I deserve the same chance he gets?
He knows I care about my family above all. He has to understand. Has to.
As we pull up to the tall wrought iron gates outside my parents’ home, my mouth goes dry. The fountain at the end of the drive is on, spraying a tall arc of water thirty feet in the air. Cliff drives me up to the front door, where the half-dozen white marble pillars stand proud in front of the heavy double doors.
My chest clenches. My gut churns.
This might have been my home for many years, but not anymore. It feels as strange to be here as if I’d just arrived on the moon.
Cliff opens the door for me and I slip out, taking a deep breath. The air is hot and humid and stifling, even late at night.
The front door opens and a maid steps out. I haven’t met her before, but then again, my parents have never been able to keep staff for very long. The young woman doesn’t meet my eye. She keeps her head down as she opens the door wider, nodding to me.
Neither of my parents steps out to greet me. The dark opening into the house stays vacant.
“Where are my parents?” I ask the maid.
“In bed, miss.”
My heart sinks. They couldn’t even be bothered to stay up for me. Cliff hauls my carry-on suitcase up the steps and the maid grabs it from him.
When I step across the threshold, it feels like I’m entering an alternate dimension. Is this really where I grew up? Is this really where I chose to come instead of staying with Benji?
I swallow my hesitations down, following the maid deeper into the house. She leads me inside, all the way up to my childhood bedroom. I nod to her, grabbing my carry-on and closing the door. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for a few hours, drifting off into a fitful sleep in the early hours of the morning.
When I get up, the house is a hive of activity. I make my way down to the kitchen, where my mother’s shrill voice can be heard.
When I step into the huge kitchen, my mother turns to face me.
“Darling,” she proclaims, spreading her arms wide. Her sheer, gauzy kaftan flutters down to her feet. Her hair is styled in a perfect blow-out, her skin glowing and plump from the multitude of facials and injections she submits herself to in the ever-constant pursuit of youthfulness.
I want to throw up.
As soon as I see her swan her way around the marble kitchen island toward me, her expensive sandals slapping on the expensive tiles beneath us, I know she’s never going to come up to Woodvale. She doesn’t see me as a person. She sees me as an asset.
“How was the flight?” My mother gives me two air kisses, not waiting for me to answer. “Do you want some coffee? Your father’s in the study.”
Without waiting for me to grab a coffee, she leads me down the long hallway toward my father’s study. When we stop outside the massive door, she raps her knuckles on the door and calls out his name in a sing-song voice.
“Grayson! Your favorite daughter is here!”
I wince.
That would be a funny joke if I were their only daughter, but it’s like my parents forgot Lucy even exists. The door opens and my father appears in the doorway. He’s got more wrinkles than I remember. His potbelly hangs over his belt as he readjusts it, leaning into me for an awkward hug.
“I have the paperwork prepared,” he says as a greeting. “You can sign the papers that confirm your appointment to the company board of directors, and then we’ll do the house.”
My heart shrinks smaller and smaller, until it feels like it’s completely disappeared from my chest.
I sit down on a plush armchair, looking at the papers my father pushes toward me. My mother talks about Milan, and
